“Here’s another pointer,” remarked Alec Sands. “Where this cow is walking there’s considerable moisture in the ground, and some of the tracks are partly filled with water. It’s oozing in still, and will fill them up inside of five minutes. Judging from that I’d say this cow passed along here not more than five minutes ago.”
“Likely enough we may find them just beyond that line of bushes ahead,” ventured Ralph Kenyon, who had once been quite a trapper, and knew the signs of the woods better than any fellow in the whole Oakvale Troop.
“Wait a minute,” said Hugh, impressively, and then turning to Billy and Alec he added: “I’d advise both of you to pocket the red bandanas you’ve got knotted around your necks cowboy style. A bull will charge anything red, as Mr. Stebbins here will tell you.”
“That’s right,” agreed Bud Morgan, who believed he knew considerable about the habits of bulls in general, especially their “lifting” powers.
“And another thing,” continued Hugh, striking while the iron was hot, “it’s no disgrace for a scout to shin up a convenient tree if an angry bull charges at him. You want to remember that, all of you. ‘An ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure,’ isn’t it, Bud?”
“Well,” replied the other, with a whimsical shrug, “you just watch my smoke if ever he really starts for me, that’s all.”
“Here they are!” cried Arthur Cameron, triumphantly, because it pleased him to be the first one to discover the runaway herd.
“All there, Mr. Stebbins?” asked Hugh, as the little party stood and looked at the feeding cattle.
“Seven keows, and Nero—that’s the full caount, Mr. Hardy; and naow if so be yeou boys’d gimme a lift agettin’ the same back, I would like it fust rate.”
“That’s what we expect to do, sir,” Hugh assured him. “You’ll have to take the lead. They know you, and will be more apt to mind when they hear you shout at them. Besides, the bull isn’t so apt to charge when he knows his master is along.”
“Wall, I doan’t trust Nero too far, yeou understand,” the farmer shrewdly remarked. “Bulls is queer critters and mighty sly. But so long as the herd keeps alongside him I kinder guess as haow we won’t have much trouble.”
It turned out that way. They passed around so as to head the animals off, and then a gentle pressure was exerted to start them along the back trail. Doubtless the cows understood that they were expected to return to their corral, for they showed little inclination to balk or act contrary.
Several times Nero was noticed turning to observe the advancing line of herders with more or less disapproval. It was laughable to notice how every scout edged toward some convenient tree, or looked anxiously toward a fence when on the road, as though mentally calculating how speedily he could make a safe exit from the scene in case of sudden necessity.
On the whole, however, Nero acted decently, for he kept moving on steadily; and in the end the herd was safely placed behind the bars.
“As slick a little job as you’d like to see!” remarked Billy Worth, when the last bar had been put in place.
“And as easy as anything we ever tackled,” added Alec Sands; “but it’s just as well. If those foreigners are going to roam around this part of the country much more, you’ll have to nail up your gates, Mr. Stebbins. Yes, and watch your crops a bit, too, because when their money gives out, they’ll be apt to forage on the farmers for a living, as they have families to feed.”
The farmer looked serious.
“I never did take any tew them foreigners,” he remarked, bitterly. “Years back I had some hired help that came from acrost the water, and they gimme a rough deal. I couldn’t understand them critters nohaow, an’ I had tew let ’em go. As luck would have it one o’ my barns burned daown the next night, which I allowed was some queer. And yeou couldn’t git me tew hire one naow if I hed tew quit raisin’ crops.”
“Well, we’ll start back to our camp, Mr. Stebbins,” said Hugh, offering his hand to the other. “I’m glad you came to see us, and if you have time, drop in some night and listen to the boys sing some of their school songs.”
“I will, by jinks!” declared the farmer, taking the extended hand in his own calloused palm. “I uster be summat o’ a singer myself in the old days when I was acourtin’ Sally Jane. I’d jest like tew hear if boys air improved any sense them times.”
“They haven’t changed much, you’ll find, sir,” Hugh told him, “though the songs have, and none for the better, either, because in my mind there’s nothing like those old tunes, so full of harmony. But drop around and see us, to-night or any night. We hope to be here a week or ten days longer.”
Mr. Stebbins went around and shook hands with every one of the four boys. He was rather a different looking Mr. Stebbins from the angry-browed farmer with a grievance who strode into their camp earlier in the afternoon. And somehow the influence of these healthy boys had seemed to make him more human.
After he had gone, turning to wave to them ere he passed around the bend to follow the lane leading up to his own farmhouse, the scouts started in the direction of the camp.
When they arrived they were met with a multitude of questions from those who had not been so fortunate as to go on the tracking expedition. The story was soon told, for there was not much to it; still, it seemed to most of them that this coming of the angry farmer was a good beginning to their outing.
“Our first day in camp,” remarked Billy Worth, as he assisted in getting supper ready, “and already we’ve had two adventures. The signs look good for a real lively time of it up here, seems to me.”
Others were thinking along similar lines. Indeed, it did seem as though the members of the Wolf Patrol always did manage to be on hand when anything worth while was taking place. At least it had been their good luck to be connected with quite a number of lively episodes worth keeping a record of.
When a party of fun-loving boys have gone into camp there is always more or less humor abounding. High spirits are the rule, and everything is taken in the light of a joke.
As they sat around and discussed that evening meal, with the three dun-colored tents lending an air of business to the scene, as viewed in the light of the crackling campfire, the utmost hilarity ruled the hour.
The camp cooks had done their work with credit, and were loudly praised; though possibly there was a method in this flattery, since hopes were entertained that it might induce the officiating cooks to keep on trying to excel one another.
Just about the time they had finished everything in sight in the way of cooked food, and Bud Morgan was trying to squeeze one of the two coffeepots in the hope of extracting a few more drops of the beloved amber fluid, Harold Tremaine, who chanced to be on his feet at the time, sang out:
“Visitors coming, fellows! No, there’s only one, it seems, and I declare if it isn’t our friend the farmer!”
“And he’s got some sort of basket along with him, too!” ejaculated Billy Worth, unconsciously rubbing the pit of his stomach in anticipation; for if the truth must be told, Billy was very fond of eating, and his first thought seemed to be that possibly the grateful farmer might be going to donate something worth while to their stock of edibles.
“Glad to see you, Mr. Stebbins!” called out Hugh. “Move along there, fellows, and make room for our visitor on that log. I invited him to drop in and see us any time he found the chance, and that we would let him hear some of our songs. Mr. Stebbins used to be something of a singer himself long ago; so we’ll expect you to do your level best for Oakvale High.”
“I fotched yeou over a few dozen o’ fresh aigs,” exclaimed the farmer. “’Tain’t much after haow yeou helped me so fine tew git my herd back this arternoon; but the missus she thought as yeou mout enjy knowin’ they was all laid sense yist’day.”
“That’s splendid of you, Mr. Stebbins,” Hugh told him as he saw the clean eggs in the basket, snuggled in some hay; “and if only you’d take pay for them——”
“Stop right there, Mr. Hardy,” interrupted the other, raising his hand in expostulation, “we hain’t a-sellin’ them aigs, remember. They’s a free-will offerin’ from the Stebbins, and I want tew say I’m right glad I had a chanct tew meet up with yeou to-day. I kinder looks on boys a bit different, and I guess they’s some truth in what I heard ’baout this scout business amakin’ ’em act like they never used tew do ten years back.”
“Then thank your good wife for the Boy Scouts of Oakvale Troop, will you, Mr. Stebbins?” said Hugh. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy eating such fine eggs. We brought a few with us, but even now they’re nearly all gone.”
“Mebbe if so be them Eyetalian strikers doan’t wring the necks o’ my dominick fowls some night, when they’re aprowlin’ araound lookin’ for food, they might be more o’ the same kind acomin’ this way from my coops.”
Apparently Mr. Stebbins had been impressed by the behavior and cordial ways of the scouts more than any of them had suspected. Here he was opening his heart to them in a way that would have amazed those of his neighbors who had known him all his life as perhaps a close-fisted tiller of the soil. Hugh hugged to his heart the conviction that it paid to make a friend out of one who seemed inclined to be an enemy.
Mr. Stebbins sat down there in front of the glowing fire and listened to the lively talk that was going on. Occasionally he joined in, usually to mention some episode of his past which came up in his mind under the peculiar conditions surrounding him.
Mr. Stebbins must have been asking himself more than once whether he could be awake or simply dreaming all these things. If friends had told the crusty, grubbing old farmer a week before that he would presently be found actually wasting precious time sitting on a log by a blazing campfire, and enjoying himself to the limit listening to a pack of boys chatter and sing, he would have informed them that they were crazy.
When Hugh started the crowd singing the farmer seemed to be quivering all over with delight. Old half-forgotten memories must have awakened in his brain. Once again, perhaps, he was taking a pretty red-cheeked lass to “singin’ skewl,” and he might be even stealing a kiss on the road in the bargain.
He even joined in some of the choruses, and while there could be no doubt with regard to his good intentions, it was also a patent fact that, in the long years since Mr. Stebbins had sung, his voice had become wofully cracked. But then the boys cared nothing for that. It tickled them to see him clapping his hands to keep time with the music, and to notice how his wrinkled face fairly beamed with awakened satisfaction.
That had certainly been a day to be marked with a red cross in the life history of Uriah Stebbins; and it might be set down as certain that from that time on he would try to get closer to the hearts of boys than he had ever thought of doing before.
He could hardly tear himself away when the hour began to get late, that is, for a hard-working farmer who was at work at peep of dawn, often long before.
“I’m sure coming daown again tew see yeou, boys,” he said, as he went the rounds and squeezed a hand of every scout; “and mebbe if it’s all right I’d like tew fotch my Sally Jane along. I kinder think it would make the missus feel ten years younger if so be she could hear some o’ that fine singin’. Haow ’baout that, Mr. Hardy?”
“We’d be only too pleased to have you bring her any time, sir. And let me tell you, all of us have enjoyed this evening almost as much as you did; isn’t that so, boys?” and Hugh turned expectantly to the rest as he said this.
A chorus of approval answered him, and the old farmer went away in high spirits indeed; they even thought he stood up straighter, and walked with a more springy step than before.
“Of course we mean what we said,” observed Alec Sands after the old man had vanished from sight; “but at the same time that insures us a supply of dandy fresh eggs all the time we stay here. So things work out well for us, it seems.”
“Oh! don’t be so mercenary about it, Alec,” remonstrated Billy. “Why, it was worth a lot to me just to see what a remarkable change has come over Uriah. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to learn the newest songs, or even how to dance the tango with his wife if this new spirit keeps on growing.”
They continued to sit there for quite some time—it seemed so cozy by the fire.
Hugh was just thinking of saying that they had better be crawling inside their tents and trying to get some sleep, when he noticed Ralph Kenyon trying to attract his attention. Leaning forward, Ralph went on to say in a low tone:
“Don’t anybody look just yet; but there’s a man watching us in those bushes back of you, Hugh.”
Thanks to the fact that all of them heard the warning uttered by Ralph, no one was so incautious as to suddenly turn and stare toward the bushes mentioned by the chum who had given the alarm.
“Keep on talking as if nothing had happened,” advised Hugh. “By degrees all of us can take a peep.”
Perhaps even then he was half inclined to believe Ralph must have made a mistake and only imagined he saw a face. A minute later and the scout master realized that undoubtedly there was a man concealed back of the bushes, for his face was raised in plain view, only to again vanish back of the covert.
“Looked like one of those foreigners for a fact, Hugh,” muttered Arthur Cameron.
“You mean the three who were chased by the bull, don’t you?” asked the other.
“Just what I do,” replied Arthur, positively.
“It’s a dark face, and might belong to an Italian or a Hungarian, such as they say most of those strikers are,” continued Hugh.
“He may have been looking for a chance to pick up something worth eating.”
“They say grub is getting short in their camp,” suggested Alec Sands.
“And seeing the light of our fire, he came this way to spy on us,” added Billy Worth.
“Well, he looked surprised, and half scared, to me,” observed Bud Morgan. “It’s easy to understand why. You know, over in their country, the only authority they recognize is that of uniforms. Police officers or army men they bend the knee to. So, seeing a dozen stout chaps all in khaki uniforms seated here, I guess that dago is laboring under the idea that in some way we’re connected with the U. S. Army.”
Hugh looked uneasy.
“I hope he isn’t going to carry that impression back with him to his mates, then,” he argued, “because they would think the soldiers were hiding up here, waiting to shoot them down if any rioting began. And we might have a hundred wild strikers breaking in on the quiet of our little camp when we least expect visitors.”
“They’re an awful unreasonable lot, too,” added Harold Tremaine. “You can’t make ’em understand what you mean: and they’ve got ugly, hot tempers in the bargain.”
“There, Hugh, he’s crawling off now!” said Ralph.
“A good riddance of bad rubbish!” declared Arthur Cameron. “The less we have to do with these queer foreigners, the better for us all.”
When he said that Arthur little suspected what strange happenings there were destined to come their way ere long, and also what surprises they would be thrown in contact with, even to a close association with the very foreigners he was, in his ignorance, speaking of so bitterly.
“I hope he’s gone for good, that’s all!” was what Hugh said.
When they got to talking it all over a little later, it seemed to be the consensus of opinion that they should do something to guard the camp. While there might not be the slightest chance of any peril descending upon them as they slept, at the same time the motto of all scouts is “Be Prepared,” and Hugh as well as some of the others did not believe it was sensible to wait until “the horse was stolen before locking the stable door.”
All sorts of familiar maxims were brought out and paraded in order to bolster up this idea, and finally Hugh paired his followers off. Two of them were assigned to keep watch the first hour, with instructions to arouse Hugh at the least suspicious discovery.
In turn these sentries were to arouse the next pair, and so, in regular routine, all the inmates of the camp without exception would do their share of work between that time and the coming of welcome dawn.
Nor was that all. Since they had no firearms in camp, Hugh made them arm themselves with staves or cudgels, so that in case of necessity they might have some means of defense should the camp be invaded.
Some of the more timid doubtless looked around at the black woods and may have peopled those shadows with the lurking figures of many excitable strikers. These might be eager to see for themselves the “soldiers” that one of their number reported as having gone into camp not more than two miles from the threatened cement works upon which the strike had been declared.
There was not a great deal of sleeping done that first night in camp. There seldom is, but on this particular occasion the boys had additional reason to be wakeful as they lay there under their blankets, and with the dun-colored waterproof canvas above them moving from time to time in the night breeze.
The frequent change of guards for one thing kept them from sound sleep. Then the fellows who were on duty persisted in walking about more or less; or else they talked in low but distinctly heard tones as they threw additional fuel on the fire.
Once Billy Worth managed to arouse the whole camp when out of his tent he came crawling forth, sniffing the air vigorously, and asking if that was breakfast getting ready he scented.
He was informed it was only an hour after midnight, and that he must have dreamed he smelled coffee; after which they chased him back to his blanket.
Well, dawn came finally, and it found the camp of the scouts undisturbed, for which all of them doubtless felt duly grateful. There was Bud Morgan, however, so fond of excitement that he never met with enough, heard to lament the fact that after all their fine preparations, and the waste of time that might have been put in napping, “nothing had happened after all.”
As they ate their breakfast of fried ham and eggs, the latter the gift of their grateful farmer friend, the scouts planned all sorts of diversions for that particular day. One wanted to do this thing, and another had his favorite scheme on his mind, which he was only waiting for a chance to try out.
Hugh always tried to suit the caprice of the boys when arranging plans for the day. It was most unwise to stick a round peg in a square hole, he figured. The fellow who was making a hobby of learning all about animal tracks and habits would be wasting his time with a camera trying to snap off scenery; or making a bungle of tying up the broken wing of an injured crow he had managed to catch.
“Every one to his taste,” was Hugh’s motto; and by adhering to this plan whenever practicable he managed not only to satisfy the boys but accomplish much better results than if he had persisted in crossing their wishes.
As for himself, Hugh had so many “hobbies” that he was ready and willing to join any group in carrying out their plans, for it was likely that in so doing he would be pleasing himself in the bargain.
All arrangements had been made for sharing the onerous duties of cook. Some of the boys were so much better at this than others, that an agreement was effected whereby those who did more than their share in preparing the meals, should escape wood-chopping and such hard labor.
Needless to say, Billy Worth gladly took upon his shoulders the task of relieving two other fellows at this cooking game; for he loved to be where he could make sure that there would be enough of a supply for everybody, because Billy hated a short allowance above all things. Then again it gave him something of a lofty position, since the cook was the “king of the camp” while at his labors.
He had set his scullions to work cleaning up the breakfast things, and was feeling quite important, Hugh noticed, as he bustled about, having donned the round little white cap that had been brought along in a spirit of humor to distinguish the Great Mogul who would be the officer of the day.
None of them had, however, started out on their several errands when Ralph Kenyon was seen to step up on a log, and shading his eyes with a hand, look earnestly off in a direction that might be called “up” the road.
“What did you think you saw, Ralph?” asked Billy, noticing the other. “I hope it turns out to be our friend the egg-man coming with a fresh supply.”
“Hugh, come here and take a look,” said Ralph, in a strained voice; “there’s something queer about that crowd, seems to me!”
No sooner had Hugh looked than he turned to the rest.
“Keep quiet, and do nothing to attract attention,” he said. “Fortunately the fire has burned itself nearly out, so there’s little or no smoke rising, and the breeze is coming from them to us. We’d better let them go past without knowing we’re in camp here.”
His words of warning thrilled every scout, and there was immediately a general movement under way to find some chance to discover what it was that had excited the two who had been standing on the log.
As they looked over the tops of the screening bushes, they discovered moving figures up the road; and at the same time could be heard the scuffling sound of many feet not keeping time as soldiers would have done.
The boys stared as they saw several squads of men passing swiftly along. It appeared as though some of these parties seemed suspicious, perhaps half anticipating an attack from the neighboring woods. They were on the whole a tough-looking crowd, and seemed to be muscular workers, some natives, others of foreign birth.
Half a dozen heavily-armed men strode along with them. At sight of the repeating rifles they carried, Billy whispered to Hugh, close to whom he now stood:
“Who are they, Hugh? Can they be game wardens arresting poachers up here?”
“I reckon that they are strike-breakers, guarded by armed deputies,” Hugh replied.
“That’s going to mean a pack of trouble, isn’t it, Hugh?” said Billy the Wolf, as he counted the men who were passing, and found that they numbered fully a score, with six armed guards who looked very grim and determined.
“Yes,” replied the scout master, reluctantly, “I’m afraid it does spell that, not only for the strikers’ families but to the company as well.”
“How’s that?” demanded Alec Sands, who had also pushed alongside so as to see better, and at the same time learn what the leader of the Wolf Patrol thought of the situation.
“Why,” replied Hugh, still speaking softly so that those on the road might not overhear the sound of his voice, “there never was a bitter strike yet when bullets flew but what the company involved suffered in the end. Public opinion is against the use of force. There must sooner or later be some way found to arbitrate all these labor troubles. Both sides would be better off if that could be done.”
They remained very quiet as the several detachments passed along the road. Perhaps it was fortunate that the presence of the boys was not suddenly discovered by those guards. They looked as though they might prove to be somewhat reckless in the use of the firearms they were carrying; and since they knew the striking foreigners were camped somewhere in this vicinity, they might have fired on the spur of the moment and investigated afterward.
“I wonder if that’s the whole bunch?” remarked Tom Sherwood, looking up the road as though under the impression that what they had seen was only the advance guard of an invading army.
“They’d be apt to keep as much together as they could,” said Hugh, “so as to be able to cow any demonstration the strikers might make; and on that score I reckon we’ve seen their full strength.”
“Wow! if those excitable foreigners find out that strike-breakers are being taken into the cement works by the back door, they’ll be hopping mad, let me tell you,” observed Billy Worth, seriously.
The situation reminded some of the scouts of that time they had accompanied the militia on their annual training trip, when a mock battle was fought, with the boys rendering invaluable service as part of the Signal Corps.
“Suppose the strikers and that crowd did happen to meet, Hugh; there’d likely be a pitched battle, wouldn’t you think?” asked Bud Morgan.
“The chances lean that way,” he was told. “I’ve heard a good deal about these impetuous foreigners. It seems that the women have more nerve than the men. That may be because they feel the pinch of hunger sooner, and see their children suffering. But they’ve always been known to push their men into a fight, yes, and even take part in the row themselves, with clubs, or any sort of thing they could handle.”
“Hugh, if something like that did come off while we were camped on the Hurricane what could we do?” demanded Arthur Cameron.
“Oh, it would be out of the question for scouts to take sides in any labor quarrel; we’d have to be strictly neutral!” the other hastened to tell him.
“Shucks! I don’t mean it that way, Hugh,” continued the other, eagerly. “Wouldn’t it be all right for us to try and help the under-dog in some way? Of course we couldn’t fight, or anything like that, but what’s to hinder us from trying to save the lives of any who might get hurt in the riot?”
Hugh looked decidedly interested.
“That’s a suggestion, Arthur, that does your heart credit,” he hastened to say with enthusiasm. “Certainly there could be no objection to our playing the part of the Good Samaritan to any of the strikers who happened to get wounded. That’s always in the province of scouts; the main part of our manual is taken up with the idea that it’s noble to stretch out a helping hand to those who are down.”
“There is likely to be no doctor near the foreign camps, I should say,” Arthur added, as if the idea was fast taking a firm grip of his mind, “and some of us have made a special study of treating wounds.”
Billy Worth also desired to be heard as favoring the cause of humanity.
“We always carry plenty of lint, bandages, liniment and salve along with us when we go into camp. There’s never any knowing when an accident might happen, with boys handling sharp axes recklessly, and cutting themselves with knives. Of course I hope nothing is going to happen between those two crowds; but if it does, I’m in favor of taking up Arthur’s idea.”
As it was apparent that there were no more strike-breakers coming along the road, at least just then, the boys presently began to pay attention to the various matters they had planned to carry out during this, the first full day in camp.
A couple of them had determined to try the fishing in the river, and as the first requisite toward success they started to find some angle-worms. This is an easy enough task around gardens and compost heaps at home; but off in the woods one has to depend for the main source of supply on grubs taken from decayed tree trunks, beetles, grasshoppers, if they are to be had, and all such things.
Under some of the rocks the boys discovered a few ugly looking dobsons or, as Bud called them, hellgamites. They had a black color, and were armed with a pair of powerful mandibles or “pincers” that had to be avoided unless one scorned the sharp snap they could give when angered.
After an hour or so of searching, enough bait of various kinds had been found to answer their purpose. Then Bud and Billy walked down the river a short distance until they came to a likely-looking place where a deep pool seemed to promise them good results.
They had been wise enough to bring jointed rods along, as well as a landing net, and all the paraphernalia needed for the work. Being experienced bass fishermen, the two scouts knew how to go about the job; and it was not long before they were enjoying the sport.
The Hurricane proved to have gamey bass in its slumbering pools, and the varied kind of bait which the fishermen offered was very tempting to their capricious appetites, for the boys inside of an hour had landed quite a number of fighters, all of which compensated Bud and Billy for their work in hunting for the bait.
Arthur Cameron had taken the tenderfoot under his wing. Harold Tremaine had discovered how much enjoyment the others seemed to get from their observation of things about them. He was earnestly desirous of emulating their example, and since above all other things he fancied he would best like being an expert at reading animal “signs,” Hugh had privately asked Arthur to get him interested in that line.
They spent the livelong morning in the woods, searching everywhere for tracks, and when finding them, trying to read a story in the marks as made by the shy little animals. Sometimes they came upon evidences of a tragedy, such as are constantly happening amidst these primitive circles, where existence on the part of one always means annihilation of another.
There was a creek that ran into the river a short distance above the camp, and it was here that Arthur and his friend spent most of their time. Along the banks, where it was narrow, they could easily find the tracks of numerous small animals.
Arthur, from his longer experience and study, was able to point out exactly what difference existed between the footprint of a mink and that of a ’coon.
“This one here,” he told Harold as the morning waned, and they were about returning to the camp for lunch, “bothers me. It doesn’t look like anything I ever happened to run across before. Ralph Kenyon would know, and if I can get him up here I’d like to see what he makes of it. Even if he won’t come we can describe it to him.”
“But what do you think it can be?” insisted Harold.
“Well, there’s a badger and a fisher cat, besides an otter,” replied Arthur, meditatively. “I know it isn’t made by a muskrat, because I’ve seen heaps of their tracks, and I showed you several.”
“We must tell Billy Worth about the big greenback frogs there are up here along the shores of this creek in places,” remarked Harold, as they started down the winding creek, so as to strike its junction with the river, as that would be the easiest way to keep from getting lost, something Harold seemed to dislike the very thought of.
“Why, yes, Billy was always wild over his favorite dish of frog legs,” Arthur admitted. “I’ve known him to spend half a day prowling about in a marsh and working like everything, only to fetch in a couple of measly little saddles that gave him just a few bites.”
“These fellows are whoppers up here,” the tenderfoot continued, “and he could get a dozen if only he made decent shots with that little Flobert rifle he carries with him. Now, I own up I don’t think I’d like frog legs for a meal. I never tasted any, but then I haven’t been much of a hand for eating oysters or clams, though I do like fish; and I hope the boys manage to catch a mess to-day.”
“I’m in the same boat with you, Harold,” agreed the second scout; “but if I get the chance, I’d like to try a taste. Hugh tells me they’re as fine as spring chicken. It seems cruel to kill frogs, but when you want them to eat what difference is it from stepping out in the barnyard and chopping the head off the old family pet of a rooster when the parson comes to dinner?”
Meanwhile the other boys had spent the fine summer morning in pursuits that appealed especially to them. Two of them roamed the neighborhood looking for birds of every description. They were deeply interested in classifying the various species found in New England during the season, with something of their habits as observed by amateur ornithologists.
This sort of thing entailed considerable work. It became necessary to do more or less running in order to make observations, consultations over the guide book that was carried along for reference, and climbing of trees when a nest was discovered; so that, taken all in all, the morning proved to be an exhausting one, even though enjoyable in the extreme.
Then there was another lot who had made a hobby of photography, and they were forever getting some of the others to pose; or else seeking what they termed wonderful views that might take the prize in a competition.
Hugh was interested in many things. He could have entered into each and every separate pursuit undertaken by the others—from fishing, animal tracking, bird lore, and even taking snapshot pictures; for at times he had pursued each and every one of these with his usual vim.
On this morning, however, Hugh was apparently hardly feeling in a humor to undertake any of these attractive things. He hung about the camp doing many little chores that were calculated to add to the attractiveness and comfort of the place during their term of occupation.
Once he found himself quite alone there, and when assured of that, Hugh got out the little medicine kit that was a part and parcel of the Oakvale Troop’s camp equipage, spending quite some time in overhauling its contents.
From the significance attached to this action on the part of the scout master, it might be suspected that Hugh could not get certain things out of his mind. He feared that sooner or later there was bound to be a collision of armed forces over there between the camp of the strikers, and the cement works where the new men were being guarded by deputies and guards; and the possibility of such a calamity gave Hugh Hardin much cause for thought.
A number of times during the earlier part of the morning, had anyone been observing the scout master, they might have seen him raise his head and appear to listen intently.
This always happened when the wind picked up a little, and rustled through the leaves of the trees overhead. It was also a significant fact that the breeze was coming directly from the quarter where they had reason to believe the shanties of the foreigners made up a settlement, with the cement works not far beyond.
Some sound startled Hugh each time. He feared it might be a distant shout, and that it would mean the beginning of an outbreak, the end of which no person could prophesy. But fortunately these all proved to be false alarms. The morning slipped away, and at noon all of the scouts gathered to enjoy the fish that Billy and Bud had captured and prepared for the pan.
They were pronounced simply elegant, and the successful fishermen told they could duplicate their performance at any time they felt inclined that way.
“Mebbe we will to-morrow,” said Billy; “but there’s a louder call for me this same afternoon. Bullfrogs as big as puppies, and singing to get knocked over, eh? Well, I’m much obliged for the information, Harold and Arthur. If I’m lucky in my little hunt, you’ll be able to taste the finest dish going to-night.”
While they ate their midday meal, everybody explained what they had spent the morning in doing; and that added greatly to the enjoyment of the occasion. And it had been amusing to see how Billy’s eyes danced when told about those gigantic frogs hidden among the sedge grass along the low shores of the creek, in places where it widened out and became very shallow.
“I’m going to take off my shoes and wade wherever it happens that’s the best way to get a crack at the sly old chaps,” Billy had told them; and shortly afterward he was seen ambling away to where the creek joined the river, meaning to follow this former stream up until he came to the hunting-grounds described by the tracking party.
Now and then, during the next half hour, they heard a faint report, which, of course, they knew was made by Billy’s small Flobert rifle.
“If he’s a dead shot,” Harold Tremaine was saying, “he must be getting quite a load of game, for that makes about the tenth time I’ve heard him fire.”
It was only a short time afterward when those in the camp suddenly looked up and exchanged significant exclamations.
“He’s shouting about something, Hugh!” cried Bud Morgan, scrambling to his feet.
“Sounds as if he might be in trouble of some kind!” added Harold Tremaine, turning a little pale, for he was new to all this sort of thing, and unused to excitement.
As usual Hugh was quick to do his thinking.
“One of you pick up that rope!” he called out. “Bud, you and Ralph come along with me.”
He jumped over to a tent, and when he appeared again, they noticed that he was carrying the medicine case with him.
“A rope!” exclaimed the bewildered Harold. “Then Hugh thinks Billy’s fallen down into some hole! But we didn’t run across anything like that, did we, Arthur?”
“Leave it to Hugh; he knows what he’s doing,” replied the other scout. “That rope may be for something else.”
“Yes,” added Harold, “I know they use ropes for a good many purposes in different parts of the country; but Billy doesn’t really deserve being lynched, even if he has gotten off some tough stories on us.”
Meanwhile Hugh, Bud and Ralph were running as fast as they could in the direction of the spot from whence those faint shouts came at intervals. The further the three scouts advanced, the plainer the cries sounded.
“Give him a whoop in return, Ralph, just to let him know we are on the way,” suggested the scout master, knowing the carrying power of the other’s voice.
So Ralph let out a call that might have been heard a mile away. Doubtless it afforded more or less satisfaction to the unseen Billy; for while he continued to give an occasional whoop, the frantic appeal was missing from his outcries.
“He’s only shouting now to let us know where he is,” Hugh explained.
“What in the dickens do you think has happened to him, Hugh?” asked Ralph. “Billy isn’t silly enough to get lost, or to shout like a baby if he did find himself mixed up. I wonder if he’s had an accident, and shot himself with that little Flobert gun?”
“Or been caught by a lot of the strikers, who think he must be a soldier because he’s wearing a uniform?” Bud added as his contribution.
“We’ll soon know,” Hugh told them, “because we’re getting close to where he is. If it was the strikers, they wouldn’t be apt to let him yell that way; I’m inclined to think it’s some sort of pickle Billy’s allowed himself to get into; which is mainly why I had you fetch the rope along.”
The other scouts might have demanded what he meant only it happened that just then they came upon the creek.
“Now we’ll find him, for he’s right above here!” exclaimed Ralph, after which he gave utterance to one of his “hallo” calls. An immediate reply from nearby caused the three boys to quicken their steps; and half a minute afterward they burst past a screen of bushes to discover the object of their concern.
“Well, I declare if he hasn’t fooled us to beat the band!” cried Bud. “Hey, Billy, what d’ye mean shouting that way, and giving us such a big scare? Better come ashore and get down on your knees to beg—— Why, look at him tugging away like everything, and the water up above his knees, too! Hugh, is he caught in the quicksand, do you think?”