CHAPTER VI
A Strange Adventure in the Night
It seemed to Peanut that he had hardly been asleep at all, when he was awakened by the sound of a motor. He listened, cross at being roused, for the noise to die away up or down the road, but it didn’t. Instead of that, he plainly heard the power shut off and the engine come to rest, close to the camp—right in the road opposite the camp, in fact. He sat up, rather startled. Then he heard voices, men’s voices. They were talking in low tones, which struck him as strange, because out here in the woods there was no reason why they should be afraid of waking people up. He wondered for a second if they could have designs on the camp, but glancing at the camp-fire, he saw that it had gone entirely out, so that nobody could have seen the camp from the road. As he sat there in the dark, straining his ears, Art woke up, as you often will when you are sleeping close to somebody else who has waked.
“What is it?” Art said.
“Sh!” cautioned Peanut. He whispered softly what had roused him.
“Let’s do some scouting,” said Art.
They put on their shoes quietly, without waking any of the others. Art tried to see his watch, but couldn’t. “Never mind,” he whispered, and the two boys crawled softly out of camp. It was easy to get across the brook, because the brook itself made so much babbling over its stones that the sound of footsteps could not be heard. Once across, they were close to the road, in some bushes about three feet lower than the road level. They could see little, in the starlight, but they could make out the shadowy form of a motor, and two men sitting in it. The head lights and the red tail light were all shut off!
“That’s funny,” Art whispered. “Gee, it’s against the law, too.”
The boys listened. The men were talking in low tones. Their voices were rough, and they swore about every second word.
“We’ll start in fifteen minutes,” one of them was saying. “Those swells ’round the Profile House hit the hay late. Won’t do to get there too soon. It’s almost the last house down this way—lucky for us. We can turn the car at the wide place in the road where guys stop to see the Stone Face, and be all ready for a quick getaway.”
“How do you know they ain’t got a strong arm guy guardin’ the sparkle?” asked the other man.
“They ain’t, I tell yer,” said the first. “Ain’t me friend Jim got a stable job at the Profile just to tip us off? Ain’t we got to split with him? Guess they didn’t reckon there’d be any need to watch the weddin’ swag, way up here in these God forsaken hills. Ha! They forgot that automobiles has changed things!”
“They are going to rob somebody’s house—at the Profile,” Art whispered, pulling Peanut back toward the brook. “Gee, how can we stop ’em?”
“Let’s rouse the camp, and pinch ’em right now,” said Peanut.
“And get shot full of holes in the dark, and they get away in their car? Not much!”
“They’d have to crank it, and we could chop up the tires with our hatchets.”
“Probably got a self starter, and what would they do to us while we were chopping? They’d have time to get away from us and do the job before we could hike six miles to the Profile and give the alarm. No, sir, we’ve got to get there somehow as soon as they do!”
“We could sneak a ride on the trunk rack behind the machine!” whispered Peanut.
“If it’s got one—quick—hatchets!”
The two Scouts slipped back into camp. Art grabbed up his hatchet, which he always kept beside his pillow, and slipped it in his belt. Peanut put on his. Then Art leaned down beside Rob, shook him gently, with one hand over his mouth, and whispered in his ear.
“Don’t speak!” he said. “Peanut and I are going up the road to the Profile House. Follow us in the morning. Cut out the climb. We’ll explain later. We’vegotto go.”
“Why—what——” said the astonished Rob.
“Sh! Don’t ask now. Robbers. We’ve got to give warning.”
“Let me go, too,” Rob whispered, trying to rise.
Art pushed him down. “We’ve got to hook on behind an auto. There’d not be room. You stay here, and keep the camp quiet.”
Rob lay back, a little too sleepy quite to realize what he was letting the two younger Scouts in for, and they slipped out of camp again. This time they went down the brook, walking in the water so they would make no sound of breaking bushes, and came out into the road two rods below the motor. Then they stole on tiptoe, hardly daring to breathe, close up behind. As the rear lamp was not lighted, they felt softly with their hands to see if there was anything to ride on. Luckily, there was a trunk rack—empty! Straps across it made a rough kind of seat, just large enough to hold them.
“We can’t get on yet—not till they start,” whispered Art. “It would shake the springs.”
The men were still talking, and the boys crouched behind the car, in silence, waiting for them to start. It seemed to Peanut as if his heart beats must be heard, they were so loud in his breast.
Suddenly they heard a rustle and crack in the bushes almost beside them.
“What’s that?” said one of the men, sharply.
“Oh, a rabbit, or something,” the other replied. “There ain’t a house anywhere ’round here. Don’t be a goat.”
“It’s Rob. He’ll spoil everything,” whispered Art, dropping on his hands and knees, and literally crawling out from behind the motor to the roadside bushes where the noise came from.
The noise, of course, had ceased when the men spoke. Peanut could no longer see Art, in the shadow of the bushes, but his excited ear could hear the faint sound of a whisper. He wondered why the burglars didn’t hear it, also, but they were talking again, oblivious.
A minute later Art returned, and before he could whisper, they heard one of the robbers strike a match. Evidently he looked at the time, for he said, “One o’clock. Let her go.”
There was the click of a self starter, and the engine began to purr. A loud cough came from the exhaust at Peanut’s feet, and made him jump. The car began to throb. As it started, both boys swung as lightly as they could up on the trunk rack, their legs dangling out behind, and the motor moved up the road slowly. Having no lights on, the burglars couldn’t drive rapidly. Once they ran off the side into some bushes, and had to reverse.
They swore, and evidently turned on the minor head lights, for after that the car went faster and kept the road. The dust sucked up into the boys’ faces.
“I gotter sneeze,” whispered Peanut.
“Quick, tie your handkerchief over your nose and mouth,” Art whispered back.
It was a ticklish job letting go both hands to tie on the handkerchiefs, but they managed to do it without falling off, and the sneezes were averted. The sharp edge of the rack hurt their legs. The dust almost choked them, even through their handkerchiefs. But they clung fast, and for fifteen or twenty minutes—it seemed hours—they rode in this uncomfortable position rapidly through the dark. It was very dark indeed, for most of the way was through woods, and they could scarcely see the stars.
Presently the machine stopped. Art yanked off his handkerchief. “They are going to turn it here. Quick, into the bushes when they back up!”
The driver ran the car to the right, on what appeared like a very wide place in the road, and then reversed. As she slowly backed toward the edge, the boys waited till their feet were almost in the bushes, and then they dropped. While the car moved forward again, they wriggled hastily on their stomachs in among the dusty bushes, and lay there, not daring even to whisper, while the driver again reversed, and brought his car around facing back down the road up which they had just come. The two men were now close to the Scouts. They stopped the engine, and got out. One of them got out on the side toward the boys. Peanut could almost have stretched forth his hand and touched the burglar’s foot.
But he stepped away, unconscious, and took something out of the tonneau of the car.
“Got the sacks?” the other asked.
“O. K.,” said the first.
The two men moved up the road on foot, leaving the car behind, beside the road. Art held Peanut down till they were so far away that their footsteps were not audible. Then he sprang up.
“Quick!” he whispered, “take your hatchet and cut the tires. Don’t chop and make a noise—draw the edge over.”
“They’ll explode,” said Peanut.
“That’s so. Wait—find the valves, and let the air out!”
The two boys worked rapidly, with matches. They let the air out of each tire, and then cut the rubber through, to make doubly sure.
“Wish I knew more about cars,” Art said. “There must be some way to put the engine on the blink.”
Peanut lifted the hood. “Hold a match—not too close!” he said. “Here—here’s a wire. That’ll disconnect the battery, or something.”
He yanked the wire out of its connection.
“Good,” Art exclaimed. “Now, up the road after ’em!”
The two boys stood directly under the Great Stone Face, one of the sights of the White Mountains which they had come three hundred miles to see—but they never knew it, nor thought about it. They began to run up the road, in the dark, as fast as they could go.
Before long, however, they pulled down to a walk.
“Those burglars will reconnoitre first, before they try to break in,” Art whispered. “Go easy, now. They said it was almost the last house this way.”
A moment later, the Scouts came out into an open space. At the farther end, they could see the night lamps in the windows of what looked like a hotel.
“Must be the Profile House,” said Peanut.
To the left they could see other houses, a row of them, close together, and in the trees, directly at their left, they could distinguish the outline of what seemed to be the last house of all. They stole toward it, on tiptoe, along a path in front. It was quiet. There was not a sound in the world. The whole settlement seemed asleep. But Art suddenly put his hand on Peanut’s shoulder, and they dropped down together on the ground. The two men were sneaking from behind this house toward the next one. Art had seen their figures, as they passed a dimly lighted window of the second house. A second later, and the boys heard a faint, curious sound.
“I know it!” Peanut whispered. “It’s a glass cutter. Heard it at the painter’s shop.”
They waited breathlessly, and heard a window catch sprung, and a window opened.
“They’re climbing in!” said Art. “Quick, now, to rouse the house!”
He sprang up, Peanut after him, and emitted a Comanche yell, and then began shouting at the top of his lungs, “Robbers! Robbers!”
“Robbers! Robbers!” yelled Peanut.
The two of them sprang up the steps of the house and began to pound the door with their fists, crying, “Robbers, robbers!” all the while, as loud as they could.
The response was startlingly sudden, and came from all directions at once. The first thing was a switching on of lights in the house itself, in the upper rooms. Then the hall light came on. A second later, the boys saw the two burglars come rushing around the corner to the path, and make hot footed by the nearest way, which was the path, for the road and their auto. Art, so excited he hardly knew what he was doing, jumped off the veranda and started to follow, yelling “Stop!” But they kept on running. Across the clearing from the Profile House came the sounds of running feet, as two watchmen raced to the scene. In the other houses lights came on, heads appeared in windows, the front door of the house where the boys were pounding was thrown open, and two men appeared there in pajamas and dressing gowns. Behind them the boys had a glimpse of frightened women in nightgowns, and servants in night clothes, also.
“What’s the matter, what’s the matter?” the men exclaimed.
“Two burglars—got in your house—side window—they’ve run down the road to their auto—we punctured the tires——” Peanut gasped out.
“We can catch ’em if we hurry,” cried Art.
The watchmen were now on the scene.
“After ’em, then, boys!” they shouted. “Show us the way!”
Two or three other men, half dressed, had now appeared on the scene, the boys never knew from where. They were too excited. Peanut and Art dashed down the path, the rest following, and led the way toward the stalled motor.
“They can’t use the car,” Peanut panted back over his shoulder. “They’ll have to beat it on foot!”
The pursuing party was going rapidly, but Peanut was running faster than the rest. He was now fifty yards ahead. He suddenly heard the engine of the motor start.
“They’ve got that wire back!” he thought. “But they can’t go far on flat tires.”
He yelled back at the rest to hurry, and at the sound of the yell, he heard the car start down the road. It was gone when the rest came into the open space!
“We hacked the tires to ribbons,” Art panted. “They’re on bare rims.”
“Go back to the house, Tom, quick,” said one of the watchmen. “Get the Flume House by ’phone, and have ’em put a guard across the road there, to stop every car and every person that comes down. We’ll get a car out, and follow ’em.”
Everybody now ran up the road again, meeting more half-dressed men on the way.
“Where on earth did you kids come from, anyway?” asked somebody for the first time.
“We were camping down near the road by the Flume,” said Art, “and we heard ’em stop their car—woke us up——”
“And I heard ’em planning this job,” said Peanut, while Art got his breath.
“He crawled out and heard ’em,” Art went on, “and woke me, and we sneaked onto the trunk rack behind, and rode up here to give the alarm.”
“Say, you’re some kids,” the watchman commented. “Cut their tires—that’s a good one! They were after the Goodwin wedding presents. Told Mr. Goodwin he ought to have a detective.”
“Here he is now,” said somebody.
Another man had appeared. “No, they didn’t have time to take a thing,” he was saying, “so far as we can see. Have you got ’em? Who was it warned us?”
The boys were pointed out to him. “Thank you both,” he said. “I’ll thank you more in the morning. You want a motor to chase ’em in? Get mine out, quick!”
Three minutes later, four motors were brought from the garages, and more than a dozen of the men who were gathered in the road piled into them. Peanut and Art rode in the first car, with two of the watchmen. Art had his hatchet in his hand, and the watchmen had their revolvers ready, too. They went down the road at high speed, the search-lights throwing the road and the bordering trees into brilliant white relief ahead, amid the surrounding gloom. The occupants of the car sat with their eyes glued on the end of the white shaft of light.
“Some rims on that car!” said the driver. He slowed down. “See, there are the tracks. They must have been traveling, too. How many of ’em were there, did you say?”
“Two,” said Art.
“Light load. Maybe they got to the Flume House before a rim broke.”
He put on speed again, and they flashed into a level stretch. Art and Peanut both exclaimed at once, “Look—there’s Rob!”
Sure enough, standing beside the road, was Rob, plainly to be seen in the glare of the powerful search lamps. The driver put on brakes, and stopped. Rob jumped into the car.
“A car just went by—two minutes ago—no, less—a minute. I couldn’t sleep again, worrying about you kids. It was those same men, Art. Heard ’em swear.”
The pursuing car once more leaped forward. Looking back, Peanut saw the lamps of the motor next behind them. The driver put on speed now with a vengeance. It seemed hardly a second before ahead of them they heard a shout, and they emerged from the woods into the clearing by the Flume House, and their lamps struck full upon a dramatic picture.
There, in front, was the car they were chasing. Across the road was strung a heavy rope with a red lantern swung from it, and close to the car, on either side, stood two men, with gleaming revolvers pointed at the two burglars on the seat. The revolver barrels flashed in the glare of the search-light. Art and Peanut and the rest in the pursuing car sprang to the ground and ran forward. The two burglars offered no resistance. What was the use? They were looking into four pistol barrels now! Ropes were quickly brought, and their hands tied. The other three pursuing cars came up, the excitement roused a number of guests in the hotel, and Art and Peanut found themselves in the midst of a throng as the captives were being led to the concrete garage to be locked up. Everybody wanted to know all about it, and the boys had to repeat their story a dozen times.
Finally Mr. Goodwin and a young man who seemed to be his son, and who had been one of those to open the door, got hold of them.
“You boys have saved us many thousands of dollars,” the father said. “We don’t quite know how to thank you. Of course, I know something about Scouts, and I won’t offer you money, because you wouldn’t take it.”
“Oh, no, sir,” said Art.
“Of course not. But I’ve got a motor you can have to go where you please in to-morrow, or next day, or any time, and I own a whole fish pond in the woods back here, with a cabin on it where you can camp, and my wife and daughter will want to thank you. You must give me your names, so my other daughter, who was married this morning, and whose presents you saved, can write to you.”
Art and Peanut both stammered, rather uncomfortable.
“Why, that’s all right, sir,” Art finally said. “We just did what seemed right—had to do something quick. We’re camped just up the road, with a party. We’re going over Liberty and Lafayette to-morrow, and then on to Washington. We’re much obliged, but I guess there’s nothing we could use. You see, we’re on a schedule.”
“Take me back to your camp,” said Mr. Goodwin, with a smile toward his son.
“Gosh, I don’t know whether we can ever find it in the dark!” cried Peanut.
They got into Mr. Goodwin’s car, with Rob.
“Let me ride in front,” said Rob, “and go slow. There will be wheel tracks where the car turned in to pick me up just now.”
“Well, that’s an idea!” said Mr. Goodwin. “You boys seem to be ready for anything.”
“Be prepared—that’s our motto,” Peanut replied, proudly.
The car moved slowly back up the road, and Rob and the driver kept their eyes open. Soon Rob signaled to stop. The driver took a pocket electric flash lamp from under the seat, and handed it to Rob, who led the way through the bushes, and across the brook. He flashed it up and down the wall of bushes and trees, and suddenly, out of the darkness, came a sleepy grunt, and a startled, “Hi, what’s that? Who’s there?”
“Wake up, Frank, and hear the birdies sing,” cried Peanut.
Frank, Lou and Mr. Rogers sat up, rubbing their eyes, as the others came into camp. Art lit the camp lantern, and by its light the story of the night’s adventure was hastily told.
“Well, well!” exclaimed Mr. Rogers. “Iama bad Scout Master! To think I slept right through everything!”
“I think you are a pretty good one, to develop such Scouts as these,” said Mr. Goodwin.
“Oh, rats!” exclaimed Frank, “to think I missed it all!”
“Me, too,” said Lou.
“They didn’t let me in on much,” Rob laughed.
“Why didn’t you wake the rest of us?” Lou demanded of Peanut.
“The more awake, the more noise,” said Peanut. “Rob almost gummed the game. Would have if the burglars hadn’t thought he was a rabbit.”
“Well, boys,” Mr. Goodwin put in, “you want to be going back to sleep.” He looked at his watch, and added, “My, my! it’s three o’clock. The sun will be up in less than two hours! Now, I want you all to come to my house to dinner to-morrow night. We’ve got to celebrate, and talk this adventure over. You can get down Lafayette by seven, can’t you? I’m sure you can. Seven o’clock, then!”
“But we haven’t got any joy rags,” Peanut protested.
Mr. Goodwin laughed. “You’ll have appetites—that’s all I ask!”
He spoke a few words quietly to the Scout Master and then went back to his car. Peanut and Art kicked off their shoes again, and lay down with the rest, to sleep. But they were too excited to sleep. They lay side by side and conversed in whispers of the night’s excitement, while the Scout Master and Rob were also whispering. Once they heard Rob say, “But it was the only way to save the property, and if I’d waked you all up, what good would it have done? We couldn’t get to the Profile on foot till long after the trouble was over. I just had to trust ’em. It seemed to me a job Scouts ought to tackle, even if it was dangerous.”
“I guess you’re right,” they heard Mr. Rogers answer. “But I hope the next time we can all be in on the adventure. I don’t like to have my party split up when there’s danger.”
“Good old Mr. Rogers!” whispered Peanut. “Guess we gave him a scare.”
“There’s one thing we forgot,” said Art, suddenly. “They said they had a pal—Jim, wasn’t it?—employed in the Profile stables. We ought to tip off the Profile House first thing in the morning.”
“Well, you can’t remember everything, when you’re chasing burglars,” said Peanut, as he rubbed his dust-filled eyes.