CHAPTER I.
IN CAMP ON THE SWEETWATER
A troop of khaki-clad boys had been marching, rather wearily perhaps, along a road that, judging from all indications, was not very much used by the natives.
The afternoon was waning, so that a summer's night would soon begin to close in around them. Dense woods lay in all directions, the foliage of which had afforded very pleasant shelter from the fierce rays of the August sun. "Halt!" came the loud order.
"Hurrah! we're going into our first camp, fellows!"
"Is that so, Mr. Garrabrant?"
"Pull off your lids, boys, and give a salute!"
"What a dandy old place for a camp. How d'ye suppose he came to pick this out, Elmer?"
"That's as easy to tell as falling off a log, Toby. We have to use water to cook with; and just notice this fine stream running past us," returned the boy addressed, who seemed to be the second in command of the detachment of scouts. "Besides," he added, "you forget that we aimed to reach the Sweetwater River by evening, so that we could start up the current in our boats to-morrow morning. And this, I reckon, is the stream that we're looking for."
"Hurrah again, fellows! The day's hike is done. Now for a bully rest!"
"Stand at attention, all! Call the roll, secretary, to see if there are any stragglers!" the scout master commanded, as the small troop ranged up before him.
This young man was Mr. Roderic Garrabrant, who had only too gladly assumed the rôle he occupied, being greatly interested in the boy problem; and possessing a few fads and fancies he wished to work out by actual experience. His knowledge of woodcraft was not so very extensive; but the moral effect of his presence was expected to exert considerable benefit in connection with the dozen or more members of the Hickory Ridge troop of Boy Scouts.
The small town of Hickory Ridge lay about seven miles due south of the place where they had struck the winding Sweetwater; and the party had tramped this distance since noon. While it might not seem very far to those who are accustomed to long walks, there were a number among the scouts who had undoubtedly exceeded their record on this same afternoon.
An exceedingly tall and ungainly lad, with long legs that seemed to just delight getting in the way at times, threatening to twist him in a knot, drew out a little pocket volume, and in a sing-song tone started to call off numerous names.
Each boy answered promptly when he heard his own name mentioned; and as they will very likely figure largely in our story, it might be just as well to take note of the manner in which Arthur Stansbury called them off:
"Members of the Wolf Patrol: Elmer Chenowith, Mark Cummings, Ted Burgoyne, Toby Ellsworth Jones, Arthur Stansbury, and Chatz Maxfield.
"Members of the Beaver Patrol: Matty Eggleston, Oscar Huggins, Tyrus Collins, Jasper Merriweather, Tom Cropsey, Lawrence Billings.
"Unattached, but to form Numbers One and Two of the new Eagle Patrol: Jack Armitage and Nathan Scott."
"We seem to be just two shy," observed Mr. Garrabrant, with a twinkle in his eye, as he turned toward Elmer Chenowith, who had recently received his certificate as assistant scout master from the National Council, and was really qualified to take the place of the leader whenever the latter chanced to be absent.
Elmer raised his hand promptly in salute, as he made reply:
"Yes, sir; Nat Scott and Jasper Merriweather. They pegged out a mile or so back; and after examining their feet, and finding that they were really sore from walking, I gave them permission to ride on the commissary wagon, sir."
Now, of course Mr. Garrabrant knew all this perfectly well. He had actually watched the pair of tenderfeet only too gladly clamber aboard the wagon that bore the tents, food, extra clothing, and cooking outfit for the camp. But thus far did military tactics rule the Boy Scouts, that he was supposed to know nothing about such incidents until they had been reported to him in the proper manner, as provided for in the system.
"Suppose then you notify them, Mr. Bugler," said the scout master, turning to Mark Cummings, who, besides being the especial chum of Elmer, was really a fine musician, and naturally had been unanimously chosen as bugler for the new troop of scouts recently organized in Hickory Ridge.
When the clear, penetrating notes of the bugle sounded through the neighboring woods, there came a faint but enthusiastic cheer from some point along the back trail. In addition, the waiting scouts could catch the plain creaking of a wagon, accompanied by encouraging words, spoken undeniably by a "gentleman of color."
"Git up dar, youse ol' sleepy-haid, Andy Jackson! Wot youse t'ink we's gwine tuh do up hyah in dis neck ob de woods, hey? Git a mobe on yuh, Jawdge Washington! Jes' quit dat peekin' outen de tail end ob yuh eye at me! We ain't playin' dat ere game ob politics now; dis am real, honest, sure-nuff work. Altogedder now, bofe ob youse; or de waggin dun stick in de mud of dis crick!"
Then followed a few whacks, as the energetic driver applied the goad, some startled snorts, in turn succeeded by another relay of faint cheers from the two footsore scouts aboard the wagon.
And presently the lumbering vehicle, with its sweating steeds, halted alongside the site selected by the scout master as the spot for the first camp of the scouts' outing. An opening was readily found where Ginger, the ebony driver, might urge his reluctant team to leave the hard road, and enter among the trees.
Immediately a scene of great bustle, and more or less confusion ensued; for it must be remembered that while the Hickory Ridge scouts may have drilled in the work of starting a camp, that was only theory, and the present was their first actual practice on record.
The contents of the wagon were overhauled, and several tents started to go up on spots particularly selected by the leaders of the patrols, who had this duty in their sole charge.
Here Elmer had a great advantage over all his fellows, since he had spent much of his life up in the Canadian Northwest, where his father had held a position as manager to extensive lands that were being farmed on a colossal scale, until a year or so previous, when, being left a snug little fortune, Mr. Chenowith had decided to return to his native state, to settle down for the balance of his days.
Of course the boy had picked up a considerable amount of useful knowledge during his stay in that country of vast distances, which was likely to prove of use to him in his experiences as a scout.
They had elected him as president of the troop, and he had readily been given the position of scout leader in the Wolf Patrol because of this wide range of knowledge pertaining to the secrets of outdoor life. It had also been mainly instrumental in securing for him the coveted certificate from Headquarters, recognizing him as a capable assistant to Mr. Garrabrant.
Elmer could toss a rope, follow a trail, throw a "diamond hitch" in loading a pack horse, travel on snowshoes, recognize most wild animals just from their tracks, make a camp properly, and do so many other like tricks that made him the envy of his mates, and especially Matty Eggleston, who was the leader of the Beaver Patrol, and had much to learn concerning his duties.
It was a cheerful scene, as the tents were raised, and fires began to crackle, one for each patrol, according to custom. Even the two limping scouts forgot their recent lameness, and began to sniff the air hungrily when Ginger started to get supper for the crowd.
Ginger had qualified as an expert first-class cook, but the truth might as well be stated right in the beginning that the boys quickly tired of the greasy messes the son of Ethiopia flung together, and soon followed the example of the Wolf Patrol, doing their own cooking, an arrangement that pleased the good-natured but indolent Ginger perfectly. He was always on hand, however, when the time for eating came around, being possessed of an enormous appetite that alarmed Mr. Garrabrant more than a little.
Night had closed in long before supper was ready, for things somehow worked at sixes and sevens on the occasion of the getting of the first meal, since many essential articles had to be hunted for, entailing a loss of time. But all this would be remedied as soon as they were in their permanent camp, for both Mr. Garrabrant and Elmer were keen on system and order.
The boys were almost famished after that seven-mile hike, and could hardly wait for the signal to "fall to." But there was an abundance for all, and none of them was much inclined to be what Arthur Stansbury called "finicky" that night.
Mr. Garrabrant, however, while eating, looked suspiciously toward Ginger, and shook his head in the direction of Elmer, as if to say that if this mess were a fair specimen of the cook's best efforts along the culinary line, the sooner they started in to depend on themselves the better for their digestion.
After the meal had been finished the boys left Ginger to clean up while they lay around, enjoying the sparkling blaze, something that most of them were not very familiar with. For the time being all formality was thrown aside, and they laughed and chatted, just as normal boys are prone to do when out upon a holiday jaunt.
Mr. Garrabrant showed the two laggards how they had been unwise not immediately to dislodge sundry small pebbles that had found a way to get in their shoes, with the consequence that presently stone bruises had formed that became painful. He made them easy with some lotion he carried for just such a purpose.
In this and dozens of other ways the efficient scout master expected to teach the boys of the troop how to take care of themselves when away from home. But the lads who had to be told the same thing twice might expect to forfeit some privilege since they were expected to think for themselves, after being shown.
There was also a second colored man along, who expected to take the team back on the morrow, since the scouts would have no further need of it, once they embarked in the boats that were to meet them here. In these they expected to ascend the Sweetwater to a small lake called Jupiter; and from thence by way of Paradise Creek find a passage to Lake Solitude beyond, where they meant to camp and learn the numerous "stunts" a good scout should know.
Some of the lads had fair voices, and school songs were sung around the fire, Mark doing the accompanying with soft notes on his bugle. He had mastered this instrument, and his mates never wearied of hearing him play.
Ted Burgoyne was afflicted with a slight lisp that gave him no end of trouble; though he always insisted that he spoke as correctly as any of his companions. Ted had a strong leaning toward the profession of a surgeon, and indeed was forever loudly wishing for a subject upon whom to operate. The boys had considerable fun over this weakness, but all the same they must have felt more or less confidence in his ability to do the right thing; for whenever any slight accident occurred it might be noticed that every one in camp called upon "Dr. Ted" to take hold; and he nearly always proved himself equal to the occasion.
Charlie Maxfield, or Chatz as he was universally called, was somewhat of a queer chap. He believed in ghosts, and was always reading stories of hobgoblins and haunted houses. Of course, with such a propensity, Chatz could be depended on to try and frighten his chums from time to time. He was forever "seeing things" in the dark.
The rest of the boys had plenty of fun with Chatz, which he took in good part; but although, as a rule, his alarms proved to be false ones nothing seemed to disturb his deep-rooted convictions. They even said he carried a rabbit's foot, for good luck, the animal having been killed by Chatz himself in a graveyard, and in the full of the moon.
Needless to say Chatz Maxfield was a Southern-born lad, as his accent alone proved. He was a fine fellow, taken as a whole, outside of this silly belief in ghosts, which he possibly imbibed from the small darkies with whom he played on his father's Georgia plantation, years back.
"I don't see any boats around here, fellows!" remarked Ty Collins, when there came a little lull in the conversation, after Mr. Garrabrant had been explaining some puzzling matter that one of the boys had put up to him.
"Why, that's a fact!" exclaimed "Lil Artha," as the long-legged secretary, Arthur Stansbury was called by his mates – he was a devoted amateur photographer, and even then had been busying himself with some part of his equipment as he sat by the fire.
Arthur was keenly desirous of learning all the various kinks that a first class scout must know. He was somewhat of a joker in his way, and at times a little addicted to the use of current slang; but a warm-hearted, impulsive lad all the same.
"They are to be on hand in the morning, boys," remarked Mr. Garrabrant. "And of course we shall not think of leaving here until they come. Make your minds easy on that score, Nat and Jasper. Your heels will have a chance to get well, never fear."
"Where's Chatz?" asked one of the other boys, suddenly.
"He asked permission to walk back a bit over our trail," observed Elmer. "Said he missed a buckle from his coat, which he was carrying over his arm when he tripped. I let him take a lantern with him to see if he could find it."
"Lil Artha" began to laugh, and several of the other boys joined in.
"Oh! my! what if he happens to run across one of those ghosts he's always talking about?" suggested Toby Ellsworth Jones, whose grandfather had been a veteran, and a soldier under the colonel who died at Alexandria, Va., in the Civil War; whence the name of Ellsworth – Toby was just wild on the subject of aeronautics; and while thus far everything he attempted had proven as flat a failure as the famous flying machine of Darius Green, still he lived in hopes of accomplishing something that would make the name of Jones renowned.
Several of the boys struggled to their feet at this, finding themselves stiff in the legs after their long walk.
"Look! there's a light coming just flying along the road right now!" cried Larry Billings.
"And that must be Chatz on the full run, though he wouldn't yell out for anything!" exclaimed Mark.
"Something must be chasing him, fellows!" declared Toby, in great excitement.
"Perhaps it's a wildcat!" suggested Jasper Merriweather, who was a bit timid.
"Here he comes, and he can speak for himself. What ails you, Charlie; what happened to start you running?" asked the scout master, as the boy came hurrying up, breathing hard, and showing signs of positive alarm.
"Reckon I saw something, suh, that was mighty mysterious!" replied Chatz; at which the entire group of scouts looked at each other, and held their breath in awe.
CHAPTER II.
THE SUDDEN PERIL
"I see you found your buckle, Chatz," remarked Elmer, noticing what the other was holding in the hand that was not occupied in grasping the lighted lantern.
"Oh! yes, I picked that up where I tripped, and nearly fell flat," replied the other, quickly. "Just as I got up off my knees I happened to look alongside the road, where the trees grow so thick, and I give you my word, fellows, I saw a moving white figure that had the most terrible yellow eyes ever! I know you all laugh at me whenever I say I believe in ghosts; but if that wasn't one I miss my guess, yes suh."
"I'll dare you to go back with me till we find out," said Elmer, quickly.
Chatz hesitated; but for all his silly notions in this one line the boy was far from being a coward.
"All right, if you say so, I'm willing," he declared. "I'd just like to know what that was, anyhow, if not a specter. Come on, Elmer."
"Take me along, won't you?" asked Lil Artha, gaining his feet, as he thrust his kodak away.
"Me, too!" called out several others; while a few hung back, not caring to take chances of a meeting with a real ghost.
"You can go along, Arthur, likewise Ted and Toby. The rest had better stay here with me to guard the camp, in case there happens to be a raid of ghosts," remarked the scout master, in a tone that put an end to all protestations.
So the little party trotted off, followed by wishful glances from the balance of those who would have liked to be with them.
Down the road they went, Chatz keeping in close contact with Elmer, and maintaining a discreet silence. Presently they arrived at the spot where he had found the missing buckle.
"Here's where I stooped down to hunt, boys," he remarked, in a low voice; "and when I looked over yonder, I saw IT standing just back of that fringe of brush, waving its long arms at me, and staring to beat the band. Do you see anything there, fellows?"
"Not a thing, Chatz," replied Artha, cheerfully. "To the foolish house for you!"
"What's that?" said Toby, holding up his hand, suddenly.
"Did you see anything move?" demanded the Southern lad, eagerly, as though he wanted to prove that his alarm had been well founded.
"I thought I did," replied Toby, quivering with eagerness.
"Listen, fellows," observed Elmer, with a chuckle.
From somewhere back in the woods there came a weird sound, mournful enough to strike a chill to the heart of anyone not familiar with its nature.
"Oh! whatever can that be?" cried Toby. "Sounded just like some poor feller calling for help."
"Elmer, you know; tell uth, pleath!" entreated Ted, with his usual lisp, which even the alarm that was seizing hold of him now could not dissipate.
"Well, I declare, I'm surprised to think that none of you fellows ever heard an owl hoot before!" laughed the scout leader of the Wolf Patrol.
"An owl – that only a poor little dickey of an owl!" cried Toby.
"Yes, it sounds just like the white owl we used to have up in Canada," continued Elmer, seriously. "And ten to one now, it was what Chatz here saw in that brush alongside the road. Of course it had staring yellow eyes; and in the dim light he must have fancied he saw an arm waving at him. That was only a shadow, Chatz. So come along, let's get back to the fire."
"Well, anyway, it looked mighty spooky," declared the Southern boy, stubbornly.
And he persisted in this attitude, even when some of his companions, who might not have been one half so brave as Chatz, if ever put to the test, began to "josh" him because of his recent alarm.
Mr. Garrabrant, accompanied by Elmer, went the rounds to ascertain just how the boys had erected their tents. He found little cause for complaint, since the young assistant scout master had drilled the members of the troop in this science, and they had it down quite pat, at least so far as theory went.
While the Boy-Scout movement of to-day has little to do with military tactics, still discipline is taught; and numerous things that soldiers employ in their daily life are practiced. One of these is setting a guard at night, and teaching the boys the necessity of keeping watchful when in the woods.
Each patrol had to set a guard or sentry, and lay out a plan whereby the various members would take turns in standing duty during some period of the night.
The two unattached scouts were temporarily added to the six composing the Wolf Patrol, so that they might come under the charge of Elmer, and profit from his instruction.
By ten o'clock the camp had relapsed into a condition of silence. "Taps" had been sounded on the bugle, which meant that every light must be extinguished except the two fires; and each scout not on duty seek his blanket.
Of course there was more or less whispering from time to time; and apparently it was a hard thing for some of the boys to settle down to sleep. But both Mr. Garrabrant and Elmer knew boy nature full well, and for this one night were disposed to overlook little infractions of the rules. But later on they would expect to hold the entire troop rigidly to discipline, when the time for skylarking had gone by.
Elmer had left word with the boy from the Wolf Patrol who first went on duty to awaken him if anything out of the way occurred. And in turn he was to transmit the order to the fellow who succeeded him.
When a hand gripped his arm as he lay under his blanket Elmer was immediately awakened; nor did he evince the slightest alarm.
"What is it?" he asked, softly, not wishing to arouse the others in the tent, who were sound asleep, if their heavy breathing stood for anything.
"Something moving on the river, and I thought you ought to know," replied the one who had crept excitedly under the canvas.
"All right, Toby, I'm coming after you. Back out!" replied Elmer, as he wriggled from under his comfortable blanket, and pulled on his trousers; for the air of an August night often feels decidedly chilly, especially after one has been snuggled beneath covers.
He found the fires had died down, though the boys made sure that they did not wholly go out, since they had no great love for the darkness.
"Listen! There it goes again," remarked Toby, once more clutching the sleeve of the scout leader in a nervous hand.
Elmer chuckled.
"Well, this is a funny thing," he said, as though amused. "First Chatz takes a poor old owl with its yellow eyes for a ghost, and now you imagine the dip of oars to be something as mysterious and thrilling. Why, don't you make out two sets plashing at different times. Those are the boats we expect. Perhaps the men from Rockaway down the river were delayed; or else they preferred to do their rowing after the sun set. But that's all it means, Toby."
"Aw! well, I thought it my duty to let you know," observed the other.
"And you did quite right, Toby. But I'd better try and get Mr. Garrabrant out here without awakening the lot, if it can be done," and saying this Elmer started toward the second tent, where the scout master had some four boys under his especial charge.
It proved to be just as Elmer had guessed. The two men who rowed the boats had preferred to do their work after the heat of day had gone by. They would not even pass the balance of the night in camp, being anxious to get back to Rockaway, the town some five miles down the river.
So this little excitement died away, and once more silence brooded over the camp on the Sweetwater. The night passed without any further alarm; and with the coming of morning the clear notes of the bugle sounding the reveille aroused the last sleepers, and caused them to crawl forth, rubbing their eyes and yawning.
Mark's grandfather had been a famous artist, and the boy bade fair to some day follow in his illustrious footsteps. He was forever drawing exceedingly apt pictures, with pencil, a bit of chalk, a scrap of charcoal or anything that came handy; and as a rule these were humorous caricatures of his chums in many amusing attitudes. So he now busied himself catching the sleepy scouts in various striking postures, to the great delight of those who gathered around.
Between Mark's readiness with the crayon and the eagerness of Lil Artha to use his camera, it seemed likely that little worth remembering would escape being handed down to illustrate the events of this, their first outing.
"Me for a bully good swim!" exclaimed the long-legged boy, as he started for the nearby river.
Others were quick to follow his example, for few healthy boys there are to whom the opportunity for splashing in the water on a summer morn does not appeal.
"Keep on your guard, fellows!" called Mr. Garrabrant, who was busily employed doing something near one of the tents. "The current is swift, and unless I miss my guess the river is quite deep here. Elmer, you go along and watch out that no one comes to harm," and he turned once again to his task, confident that his assistant was capable of executing his wishes properly.
Ten minutes passed away, and Mr. Garrabrant, having managed successfully to complete the little job he had set himself to execute, was thinking it time the boys who were bathing should be recalled, when he heard sudden cries that pierced him like an arrow.
"Hey! look at Jasper, would you, how funny he acts!"
"Elmer! Elmer! come here! Jasper's got a cramp! He's gone down!"
Hurriedly did the alarmed scout master leap to his feet and start wildly in the direction of these loud outcries. No doubt in that second of time he saw the faces of the Merriweather boy's parents, filled with the agony that comes to those who have lost a son by drowning; and the mental picture sent Mr. Garrabrant flying over the ground.