“I’m afraid so.”
“And he’s going to be here in Tent One this section. Well, well, and a couple more wells! You don’t seem to have taken to him very kindly, Brick.”
“He just sort of riled me from the start, I guess.”
“Well, he’ll be all right after a couple days here. No quarreling, now! We must all be like little birdies in the nest, Brick—— Hark!”
Brick Ryan had heard it too. From the mountainside had come a despairing cry.
“Help!”
He jumped to his feet, and the two, leader and boy, stared solemnly into each other’s faces. Then McNulty grabbed for a pair of rubber-soled tennis shoes, and began furiously lacing them on his bare feet.
“Come along, Brick!” He dived for the door of the tent and up the wooded hillside, his red-headed follower close on his heels. “Somebody in trouble on the mountain! We’ve got to run, old boy—and I mean run!”
In the wake of his racing leader, Brick Ryan dashed through the thickets behind the tent, and crossed the road. Here Sax paused and shouted toward the mountainside.
“Hello! What’s the matter?”
Ahead came a faint cry in answer, and a spitting crack. Something buzzed through the leaves of a maple overhead, and a detached twig drifted down.
“That was a gun!” said Brick in amazement. “Somebody shootin’ through the trees.”
Sax was angry. “The fool!” he cried. “Is he trying to pick us off?” He raised his voice and shouted again to the unknown. “Cut out that shooting! We’re coming right along!”
Again he plunged into the woods. Brick, who had been rubbing his uncovered arms and legs where his swimming suit had not protected him from scratches and whipping branches, panted at his side. “Over this way it came from, Sax,” he said. “Not very far off, either.”
McNulty saved his wind for running, and his long legs bounded out of sight. In short order, Brick heard the man’s voice upraised in stinging rebuke.
“Put that gun down! Here, give it to me, before you kill a few of us! Now, What do you mean by this——”
Brick came to the edge of a little glade, and saw the leader standing threateningly above a youth who crouched on the sward, guiltily handing over his weapon. His body was covered with a stained blue coat and the wreckage of a pair of white flannel trousers; his yellow hair was rumpled; and on his pale face there was a look of mingled relief and dismay.
“Begolly,” said Brick to himself, “it’s the Baby!”
Sax McNulty seized the rifle and poured out the contents of the magazine into his hand. “What are you trying to do?” he asked. “What do you mean by shooting around Camp Lenape? Who are you, anyway?”
Brick came up, and grinned at his councilor, indicating the prostrate figure on the ground. “It’s the guy I was tellin’ you about, Sax,” he sneered. “Young Moneybags. What else could you expect?”
“My—my name is Van Horn,” the other boy stammered. “I’m a camper.”
“A camper? You?” McNulty was scornful. “Well, you must be in the wrong camp. At Lenape we don’t go around firing rifles all over the place.”
Dirk Van Horn swallowed, and began clambering to his feet. “I—I got lost,” he began. “I read somewhere that three shots was a signal for help. They didn’t sound very loud, so I shouted, too. I imagined that someone might hear me and direct me back to the camp ground. You see, sir, I hurt my leg——”
“Badly?”
“No—I can walk on it now. But then I got a trifle frightened, I suppose, and things got mixed up somehow.”
Brick broke into a rasping laugh. “Lost, is it! He gets lost a few hundred yards from camp, and yells for help! You got a job ahead of you, Sax. He don’t need a councilor—it’s a nurse-maid he needs!”
“That’s enough, Brick,” the man said shortly. “Now, Van Horn, if you can walk all right, we’ll go back to the tent. I understand you’ve been assigned to my outfit. Well, first off, if you’ve got any more guns, they’re going to be locked up with this one. We can’t have bullets flying about. Come along—I’ll show you where camp is. After swim, we’ll see about clearing up that mess of stuff you left on the floor.”
He led the way back toward the campus, bearing the forbidden weapon, followed by the crestfallen Dirk. Brick Ryan began cautiously picking a path through the underbrush—a swimming suit was not the best uniform for mountain rescue-work. He chuckled. “Lost, he was! And Sax and I thought we were goin’ to pull somebody out of trouble!”
The bushes ahead crackled as somebody ran through, and Brick paused. The face of his friend Kipper Dabney appeared from behind a tree.
“What’s all the shootin’, Brick?”
Brick answered the question with a laugh. “You may think you’ve seen greenhorns at Lenape, Kipper,” he said, “but I want to tell you we’ve got the juiciest tenderfoot in Tent One that you ever saw. He’s a lily, he is! There he goes—Sax McNulty just grabbed his gun in time to keep him from shootin’ us for a couple of moose.”
Kipper was interested. “You sound as if you figured on doing something about it.”
“Maybe I will,” smiled Brick wickedly. “Out of the goodness of my heart, I might show him a few handy tricks. He sure needs a workout!” He lowered his voice. “About twelve o’clock tonight, eh? What about it, my boy? Are you game?”
“You mean—pass him the runaround?” the other asked doubtfully. “He looks like a pretty husky fellow. He might go for us.”
“Not a chance! But if you’re nervous, we’ll get Ugly Brown to come too. This baby is easy. Is it a go? Swell! Now let’s get down to the dock—that guy and his fool stunts have made me miss half my swim!”
Dirk Van Horn did not fall asleep until some while after taps had sounded bedtime for the Lenape campers, and their big bonfire had died down to embers. He had gone through one of the liveliest days he had ever known, but although weary, he was too wakeful to join his tent-mates in their slumbers. He lay stretched on his bunk, staring up at the dim, quiet stars glowing above the sighing branches of the pines, and recalling the events of the crowded day.
Around him, snug in their blankets, slept his new tent-mates. It was a strange feeling. Last night he had gone to bed in his familiar room back home in the city, with his father and mother close at hand. Tonight he lay out under canvas, in the forest-clad Lenape hills, listening to the unknown noises of the night and the deep breathing of his new-found companions—Mr. McNulty, and Lefty, and Joey, and the other Tent Two boys he had met at supper. On the line from the ridgepole hung his brand-new camping togs, and the other things he needed were neatly stowed beneath the bunk or in his wooden locker, as Lefty had shown him. Lefty had said that some baseball games were coming——
Dirk sighed. Lefty must know all about his ignominious return from his hunting trip that afternoon. If Lefty thought him a chump, perhaps he wouldn’t put him on the camp team! He could see now that he had made a fool of himself with his silly rifle, but how was he to know all the camp rules? And that Brick Ryan chap had snickered at him! Why did Ryan dislike him so? Thinking of Brick Ryan, the new camper drifted off into slumber....
He opened his eyes. His cheek was tingling. Something had trailed across his face in the dark!
Through the trees he saw the yellow sickle of a new moon. He remembered now. He was at Camp Lenape—— But whose was the voice close to his ear, whispering cautious words?
“Shh! Listen, Van Horn, are you awake?”
He turned his head, and saw the outline of a strange face above him. A boy whom he did not know had thus quietly aroused him in the dead of night.
“Put on your slippers and bathrobe and come on!” the voice urged. “Don’t wake up anybody else. This is just for you.”
“But what—what——” Dirk asked hoarsely. “I don’t believe I know you. What do you want me for?”
“Hurry up!” the strange boy urged. “It’s a party. We want you to be our guest. Just a little fun after taps, old man. Quick, now!”
Wonderingly, Dirk obeyed. He found his slippers and robe in the pale light, while his guide waited motionless. Taking care not to make the least noise to disturb the sleeping leader and the other boys of Tent One, Dirk crept softly out into the thin moonlight. His guide took his arm, and led the way down a path that skirted the upper row of tents, and then wandered into the mysterious shadow of the forest. A hundred yards beyond the farthest tent, the unknown boy stopped, and whispered close to Dirk’s ear.
“We’re giving a party for you, Van,” he explained. “Very select. Some of the best blood in camp is waiting to greet you.”
“Why—that’s very kind of them.” Dirk was flattered. “Where are we going?”
The other hesitated. “Well, you see, our meeting-place is supposed to be kept a secret. Would you mind wearing this for a minute?”
Before Dirk knew what his guide was about, he felt a large handkerchief drop over his eyes. He muttered a protest, but already the blindfold was knotted about his head, and even the dim glow of the night was shut from his sight.
“Just hang on to my arm,” said the stranger reassuringly. “We’re not far off now. This way.”
He gave Dirk a slight push ahead. Slowly, with arms outstretched, Dirk felt his way forward along the rough path. He did not quite know what to make of this midnight game of blind-man’s-buff; but he had no reason to think that the other boy meant him harm. He remembered that at Wild Rose Camp last summer, it was often the thing to have quiet little “spreads” after bedtime, without the knowledge of the councilors. Seemingly, Lenape also enjoyed this adventurous custom; and he took it as a tribute to himself that he, a newcomer, should have been selected to be honored on his first night on the campus.
While he was pondering this he was stumbling ahead over the rough ground, now and then tripping over a rock or tree-root and leaning heavily on the arm of the boy at his side. Suddenly, that arm was withdrawn; he felt a rude thrust into his back; he stepped forward to catch himself, found his ankles snared in a rope that had been stretched across his path. He tripped and crashed to the earth, throwing his arms out with a grunt of pain. He had landed with a smashing thud into a thicket of scratching branches.
The shock of the impact had driven his breath out of him; he could not cry out. He thrashed about upon the rocky ground, trying to tear the blinding bandage from his eyes. But a sharp knee was now pressing into the small of his back, and even as he struggled, someone unseen lashed his hands together with a skillful handcuff knot.
“Take it easy, Baby!” urged a mocking voice above him, and the knee dug deeper into his aching back. “How do you like our little party?”
He knew this voice! Brick Ryan!
He thrashed about, striving to regain his feet; but the torturing knee pinned him fast.
“Don’t get worked up,” his tormenter advised. “We just want you to do a few little tricks for us. Lift him up, Kipper!”
Dirk was jerked roughly to his feet, pinioned on both sides by strong arms. Behind him rose again the jeering voice of Ryan.
“Now, don’t go wild and hurt yourself. If you’re a nice baby, and do what we tell you, maybe we’ll let you off easy—maybe!”
Dirk choked, and found his voice. “You are a coward, Ryan! A coward and a bully!”
“Shut up!” came the savage answer. “Do you want to wake up the whole camp?” A sharp point of metal prodded the flesh of Dirk’s leg. “Feel that? Any more hot air and you’ll get a touch of this! Now, march!”
Biting his lip to keep back the cry that rose to his tongue, Dirk Van Horn was dragged through the woods. His blindfold was still knotted tightly over his eyes, and he was helpless in the hands of his captors. Soon, he could tell by the’ feel of smooth earth under the thin soles of his slippers that they had come to some sort of clearing. Here his torturers—he judged that there were three of them—halted. Again Ryan spoke.
“Now, you’ve got so much sportin’ goods with you, we thought you must be a swell athlete. We want to see what you can do on the high jump and the dash and the obstacle race. That right, boys?”
“I won’t do it,” said Dirk stubbornly. “Let me out of this, Ryan. If the camp director knew you were hazing me——”
“Shut up! Now, the first event will be the runnin’ high jump. When I say ‘go!’ you take off and show us how to break a record! Don’t try to pull off that blindfold, either, or you’ll get another jab with my knife. Ready?”
The restraining arms were drawn away, but Dirk stood motionless, refusing to reply. Sightless, he knew that he could not run, or even walk, more than a few steps before he would again be brought to the ground with a crash. Where was he? Far from any help, any sympathetic leader who could put a stop to the cruel hazing. Was Ryan determined to push him, helpless, through the motions of a travesty of a track meet, in disregard of bruises and broken bones?
“Go!” rasped the voice. “Run! Run, or——”
Dirk flinched as he felt the sharp knife-point pierce the skin of his thigh. His terror was rising, but he did not cry out.
A horrible moment of waiting; then Dirk heard his unseen tormenter laugh wickedly to himself.
“He won’t play with us, boys! Well, that’s his hard luck! Too bad! It’s over the cliff for him!”
“Over the cliff!” echoed the henchmen hollowly. “We gave him his chance. Come on, you!”
Again Dirk was dragged through the forest, more roughly than before. His captors twisted about so that he had not the least idea in which direction they were heading, but it seemed as if ages passed before they halted at last. During the painful journey he had tried to make some plan for escape; but it was of no use—there were three of them, holding him closely; he could neither see them nor his surroundings, and his hands were tightly bound. Was their threat merely a sham, or were they really now nearing some steep, jagged wall of rock in the forest?
“Don’t move!” warned Ryan suddenly. “We’re right on the edge of Indian Cliff! Now, Baby, we’ll give you one more chance. Will you behave and do your stuff in our moonlight track meet? Or do you want to end up a hundred feet below, down on those big rocks, with a busted neck?”
Dirk’s head was whirling. He tried to fight free, but the clutch of the restraining arms tightened, and an ungentle hand made sure his blindfold was still secure. He cautiously felt out with one slippered foot. A few inches before him, the grassy earth ended in a crumbling edge. A tingle of horror rose up the boy’s spine.
“Indian Cliff,” Ryan’s voice assured him harshly. “That’s where they’ll find you in the mornin’. Well, what about it? Yes or no?”
“You don’t dare go through with it!” Dirk cried. “You’re trying to frighten me! Well, I won’t be fooled! I don’t believe you!”
“He don’t believe us!” jeered Brick. “We’ll have to show him. Get ready. Let him go, my lads!”
The two henchmen fell back. Dirk turned swiftly; but the point of the knife caught him in the side, and he recoiled to the treacherous edge of the embankment.
“So long, Baby! One jump, and it’s all over with you! Well, will you jump yourself, or will we have to heave you over?” Another prod of the blade accented his words.
Dirk swallowed heavily, and tears came into his shrouded eyes. “You’ll be sorry for this, Ryan, you mucker!” he shouted. His teeth were chattering, and a faint breeze fanned his brow where beads of cold sweat stood out. “You’re a coward——”
“That’s enough!” Ryan’s tone was ugly. “Do I have to prod you again, or will you jump?”
Dirk took a deep gasp of air, and his muscles tensed.
“I’ll jump,” he said, and leaped blindly forward.
He still lived!
Dirk drew himself up on one elbow, choking. His mouth was filled with powdery dust, and every bone ached. Frenziedly, he thrashed about, and found he had shaken free of the rope that had bound his hands together. He reached up and tore off his blindfold.
In the light of the waning crescent moon, he looked up. A few inches above his head lay the bank from which he had leaped into the unknown. Standing there, doubled with silent laughter, were the three figures of his torturers. Instead of jumping to death from a precipitous cliff, he had plunged dramatically from a ledge barely a foot high!
He knew where he was now. To his scattered senses came the knowledge that he had landed sprawling in the dirt road that led to camp. The tents could not be far away, although, blindfolded, he had thought that Ryan and his gang had led him for miles through the woods. He scrambled painfully to his feet and ran up the road.
Behind him rose an alarmed, muffled shout from Brick Ryan. “Head him off, Kipper! He’s goin’ back to camp! Get him, Ugly!” The shout only made him run faster. Up the rutted road he sped, flying to security—anywhere, away from the clutches of those who had so brutally mistreated him. His pursuers scattered, seeking to head through the woods and cut him off from the tent. Dirk lost a slipper, but did not pause. If they got their hands on him again——!
A shape darted out at him from behind a tree. He dodged, and raced ahead, gasping for breath. Now he could see the gray sheets of canvas that marked the tents close beside the dark silhouette of the lodge. Behind him hammered the running feet of Brick Ryan. He was almost upon him!
Dirk stumbled into Tent One, and fell upon the bunk where Sax McNulty slept the sleep of the weary councilor.
“Save me! They’re after me!”
The leader started up open-mouthed, blinking his eyes. “What—who——” he mumbled. “Get off!”
“Save me, sir! It’s Brick Ryan, and he made me jump over a cliff, and they chased me—— Don’t let him get me again!”
Others in the tent stirred. Slim Yerkes, in the bunk above the councilor, sat up and silently looked at the sobbing figure beneath him. Young Eddie Scolter woke and giggled uncomprehendingly at the scene.
“Why, it’s Van Horn!” exclaimed McNulty. “Having a nightmare, old chap? Wake up!”
Brick Ryan had halted just outside the tent, and taking advantage of the commotion, sought to gain his bunk unobserved. He had not intended that his captive should escape him and return thus to the tent and arouse the ire of the leader. He began shedding his garments quickly, hoping to be found peacefully snoring when Sax should waken sufficiently to take charge. But McNulty caught a glimpse of him just as he was pulling the blankets over his head, and read the situation in an instant.
“This some of your work, Brick?” he asked grimly. “There, there, calm down, Van, old man—why, you’re shaking like a leaf! What happened?”
“They hazed me!” Dirk gulped back the tears. “I’m sorry to make such a fuss, but it hurt——”
The councilor snapped on the flashlight he always kept under his pillow, and examined the haggard boy at his side. “Anything serious the matter with you? No bones broken, or anything like that?”
“I—I don’t think so, sir. I’m ashamed to act this way,” Dirk stammered bravely, “but you see, there were three of them, and they were pretty rough——”
“All right. Now, just get back to bed, and we’ll straighten things out in the morning. We’ve already roused the whole tent, so don’t make any more noise tonight.” McNulty climbed from his bunk, helped the shaking boy to his own blankets, covered him gently, and looked about the tent to assure himself that all was well. Then he crossed to where Brick Ryan lay crouched, listening furtively.
“You know what the Chief thinks about hazing, Brick,” he said sternly. “You’ll start the day tomorrow with two hours on the wood-pile.”
“All right, Sax,” the Irish boy answered sullenly. “But I didn’t know the big baby was going to run and tattle! Why didn’t he take it like a man?”
“That’s enough! Now, everybody get to sleep again. We’ve had enough riot for one night.”
Dirk stretched out his aching body, and closed his eyes. Through the dark drifted the vengeful tones of his enemy.
“All right! But anyway, he’s a tattle-tale, and I’ll fix him for it—you see if I don’t!”
The morning period of camp duty found Brick Ryan on the wood-pile, serving his time chopping sawn logs into stove lengths and vowing vengeance upon the boy who had brought the punishment on him. He looked darkly from time to time toward the rear door of the camp kitchen, where the rest of the Tent One campers were helping to make the ice-cream for the Sunday dinner. Among them lounged Dirk Van Horn, who now and then lent a hand at the job of turning the heavy churn in the freezer, or packed some more salted ice around the revolving container. Brick noted that his foe was now dressed in garments more suited to a Lenape camper—basketball shorts and a light, sleeveless shirt. If Van Horn didn’t watch out, Brick mused, he would be laid up with a bad case of sunburn, for his shoulders were pale and lacked the protective coat of tan that marked the boys who had already spent a month in the mountain sunshine.
“Some people never learn,” Brick muttered, viciously splitting a stick of smooth birchwood. “Runnin’ home to mama just because we was havin’ a little fun with him, and squealin’ to Sax so he’d make me do wood-pile duty! Well, all I can say is, my time will come yet!”
He was interrupted by the noisy clatter of the motor of the camp flivver which, driven by Mr. Lane, rattled down the road and drew up at the rear of the lodge. In the back of the small truck, tightly lashed to prevent jolting, was a long, curved object wrapped securely in burlap. As Brick watched, Dirk Van Horn gave a shout and ran to the driver, who was just descending.
“That’s my canoe you have there, isn’t it, sir? Listen—doesn’t it say it’s for Van Horn? That’s me!”
“Yes, it’s for you, I guess,” answered Lane; “and the dickens of a time I had bringing it over these roads up from Elmville. We’ve got plenty of canoes here at camp—what any boy wants with one all to himself, I don’t know.”
Dirk was not listening. He ran to the group around the ice-cream freezer, and summoned them excitedly.
“Come on, you chaps! I made my father buy me a new canoe because I promised to come to camp, and here it is! Help me unpack it, and then we’ll try it out. It’s a beauty!”
“Listen!” Lefty Reardon protested. “We’re on squad duty—we have to make this ice-cream, and if we go away now, it won’t freeze——”
His tent-mates paid no attention to his objection. Dirk darted into the kitchen and returned with a long butcher-knife, with which he began ripping the seams of the burlap that wrapped the canoe. In a few minutes the casing was torn away, and the beautiful slim craft, painted a bright crimson, lay on the ground with its paddles along its bottom.
Dirk was jumping around excitedly, pointing out the features of the superb workmanship that made the canoe a delight to the eye. “Look at her lines, you fellows! See those soft seats. Those duck-boards on the bottom are to keep your feet dry. I tell you, you have to pay plenty of money for a boat like this! She’s a real Indian canoe, and I gave her a real Indian name, too. See?” He pointed to the shapely bow, where in golden letters was blazoned the nameSachem. “Now, who wants to help me try her out?”
“Yes, let’s try her out!” echoed Eddie Scolter. “Come on!”
“Down to the lake!” shouted Dirk. “Here, Slim, grab hold of that end. She’s light as a feather—we’ll have her in the water in no time!”
Slim Yerkes obediently lifted one end; Eddie, Nig Jackson, and Joey Fellowes seized the sides, and led by the excited Dirk, the group made off down the path to the boat dock, bearing the gleaming canoe aloft, leaving her burlap wrappings to clutter the ground. Lefty, wrestling alone with the heavy churn of the ice-cream freezer, shouted a last warning to them, but by this time his truant comrades were out of sight down the hill, bent on taking part in the first launching of the lovely little vessel.
Brick gazed after them disdainfully, impressed in spite of himself. It was a swell canoe, all right, and no boy could help being proud of it. Think of hitting the Long Trail in a craft like that! But the fellows had no right to leave their squad duty and run off to play with Van Horn’s new toy——
An amazed shout rose from the back of the kitchen. Sax McNulty, who had been working up in the ice-house, digging out large blocks of ice and heaving them down to his young assistants,had finished and returned to the scene to find that his squad, with the exception of the faithful Lefty, had disappeared.
“Hey, what’s happened? Where is everybody, Lefty? Have they walked out on the job?”
Lefty grunted, struggling with the freezer handle that grew stiffer at each turn. “Yeah, Sax—I told ’em not to beat it, but Van Horn just got a canoe, and they all took it down to the lake to christen it.”
“They did, eh? Well, they’ll have to learn that they can’t run away like this when their duty is still to be done. Here, let me take a turn at that, Lefty. When you’re rested, you can chop some more ice. Huh! If you hadn’t stuck to the job, the camp would be missing its dessert this noon, all right!”
The leader grappled with the freezer. Brick turned to his chopping once more, and at the sound of his ax, McNulty looked over toward the wood-pile and saw him.
“Oh, Brick! I guess you’ve served your time. Do me a favor, will you?”
“Sure, Sax. What do you want?” replied Brick, sinking the ax blade into the chopping block.
“Chase down to the lake and head off that bunch of runaways. Tell ’em to come right back and finish what they started, before playing around with canoes and things.”
Brick needed no urging. He wanted to see what would happen at the lake shore. By this time, the canoe was no doubt already in the water. He ran off down the hillside in a bee-line for the dock. Behind the lower row of tents he sped, across the stone wall, and cut across the edge of the baseball field to the grove of trees that fringed the rocky lake shore. Here he almost tumbled over the bent backs of Wally Rawn, director of water sports and captain of the camp life-saving crew, and the seven boys who made up his tent-group. Rawn had chosen as his squad duty the task of repairing the steps that led down the steep bank to the dock; and Brick had to circle around the busy group to gain the edge of the lake where the boat dock jutted out from the shore.
Here, in the shallows of the bathing beach, theSachemwas already afloat, riding high above the rippling, shadowed waters of Lenape. She was held at one end by the proud Dirk, while the other boys gazed admiringly at her daintiness, that made the moored string of round-bottomed steel rowboats of the camp fleet look like clumsy craft indeed.
“Watch me get in her!” Dirk was shouting in a high voice. “Let me paddle her around a bit, and then maybe I’ll take you all for a ride!”
He drew the light vessel close beside the flooring of the dock, and balancing the paddles in one hand, started to step into the bow. Brick clattered on to the end of the pier.
“Say, you fellows!” he began. “Sax says to come back on the job right away. He’s pretty mad, too—you’re not supposed to sneak off squad duty.”
Dirk turned upon him coldly. “Don’t be foolish, Ryan. Can’t you see we’re busy christening theSachem? If you don’t make a fuss, I’ll take you for a little spin after a while.”
“But——”
The blond boy was not listening. He was too much interested in making his maiden trip in the newly-launched crimson canoe. Teetering precariously, he stepped into the bobbing bow. Before he could clutch the piles of the dock to hold the craft steady, theSachemsheered off and, overburdened by the standing figure at one end, began rocking dangerously from side to side. Dirk swayed, trying to keep his balance as a wave slapped the dancing vessel.
“Sit down!” shouted Nig Jackson. “Look out, she’ll turn over!”
Dirk, alarmed, dropped the paddles overside and grabbed at the gunwale to keep himself from following them into the shallow waters of the beach. In sudden panic, he scrambled to a seat; but it was too late. TheSachemheeled over across the wind; a sheet of water slid easily over the low side, slapped the light canoe to leeward, and dipped it once more below the surface. Water filled half the interior, sloshing about and rocking so that still more water was taken over the gunwale. Dirk gripped the seat desperately, trying to right the canoe; but his efforts were now of no avail.
Slowly, steadily, theSachemsank to rest on the pebbled shallows beneath the surface of the lake, and Dirk Van Horn, with a comic look of amazement on his face, found himself sitting waist-deep in the water with his lovely possession beneath him, out of sight.
Brick burst out in a cry of derision.
“Sunk!” he roared. “You sure scuttled yourself, all right! You don’t know any more about canoes than a baby! The Prince of Whales, that’s what you look like!” The other boys joined in laughing at the joke.
Dirk still sat helplessly in the sunken canoe, his mouth half open. He didn’t know a boat could act like that. His clothes were drenched. He had thought he was making a brave show, pushing out boldly in his fine canoe, and now they were all laughing at him for a lubber.
He scrambled out somehow, and splashed about in the shallow water, dragging the water-filled craft to the land beside the rock. A shout was heard, and a man came galloping down through the trees. It was Wally Rawn, who had witnessed the performance from the hillside, but who had arrived too late to stop it.
“You there, with the canoe!” he hailed. “What’s your name?”
“He’s Van Horn, the Prince of Whales!” put in Brick. “Old Sink-Easy, the boy sailor—that’s him!”
“Well, Van Horn,” said Wally, looking down at the sodden, crestfallen figure, “stop trying to pull off that canoe’s bottom by dragging it on those rocks, and listen to me. I could see in a minute that you don’t know the first thing about a canoe. Where did it come from, anyway?”
“It’s mine,” stammered Dirk. “My father gave it to me.”
“H’mm. Well, before you can go out paddling in it, you’ll have to learn how to treat it. And you’ll have to learn how to step into it without sinking the poor thing. In the first place, you ought to know that this is no time for campers to go boating—when squad-duty period is over, and you have reported to whoever is in charge here at the dock, you might be given permission to go out. In the second place, no boy is allowed to take out a canoe unless he has passed his swimming and boat tests. You haven’t done that, I know.”
“Well, you see, sir, I just wanted to try the canoe and see how it looked in the water——”
Wally shook his head impatiently. “Look here, Van Horn—can you swim?”
“Why, no, sir. That is, only a little——”
“Whew! This beats me!” The councilor scratched his head, and turned to the other boys. “Isn’t there anybody here who has any sense? Here a new boy comes down without a leader, and without knowing how to swim, puts a canoe in the water and sinks it under him! Suppose you had launched it from the end of the dock, Van Horn, where the deep water is—what would you have done if you had gone over then? That’s the reason we have canoe tests—so a boy won’t go out unless he can take care of himself in the water, no matter what happens. Now, lift that canoe on the dock, drain the water out, and leave it to dry. Then get back to your work. When we have swimming instruction tomorrow morning, come down and I’ll try to show you how to swim. It will be several days before you know enough even to take out a rowboat; but if you work hard, maybe I can teach you how to take care of yourself and your canoe. That’s all.” He turned on his heel and went back to his work.
Sheepishly, Dirk obeyed, and with the help of his grinning comrades, drew the canoe on the dock and tilted it so that it would drain. Then Dirk once more waded about, rescuing the drifting paddles he had lost. At last, dripping and downcast, he joined the others. Brick looked at him with a wry grin.
“Well, if you’re not a sweet sight! It’ll be a long while before your old canoe gets another bath, believe me. She’ll be laid up until you pass your canoe tests—and you can’t even swim! The Prince of Whales!”
“Aw, let him alone, Brick,” put in Slim Yerkes. “We should get back and help with that ice-cream.”
“You can bet you should! Sax is sure mad. Well, if the Prince is ready, let’s go.”
The group straggled up through the trees. Dirk stalked along, saying not a word; but Brick did not give him a chance to forget his misadventure. Instead, he kept up a running stream of ridicule that would have penetrated a skin much thicker than Dirk’s. Something of the bully still remained in Brick Ryan, even though he had spent three summers at Lenape; and now it came out in his words. Besides, he was still smarting from the punishment he had been given for his midnight hazing escapade, and he did not intend to let the despised tattler get off easily.
They skirted the lower corner of the baseball field, and, crossing the wall, entered the meadow below the campus. Brick had not stopped jeering all the while, and now his remarks were growing more and more cutting.
“Yeah, a baby, that’s all you are—a tattle-tale, canoe-sinkin’ baby. I haven’t forgotten what happened last night, and I’ll fix you for it, too, Baby.”
For the first time, Dirk replied to the irksome words. He stopped, turned, and spoke with his head up.
“Ryan,” he said deliberately, “you’re a mucker.”
Brick stuck out his chin, and put his hands on his hips mockingly. “Oh, I am, huh? Did you hear that, boys? F. X. A. Ryan is a mucker! Dear, dear, it must be true—the Millionaire Baby says so! Well, what are you goin’ to do about it, Baby?”
Dirk refused to lose his temper. “I shan’t listen to all your talk any longer, that’s all. From now on, please don’t speak to me unless it’s necessary. If we can’t be friends, we’d better keep apart.”
“Dear, dear! Now he won’t speak to me! My heart is breakin’, boys!” Quickly Brick dropped his mocking tone, and his next words were threatening. He scowled fiercely into the face of his enemy. “Now, listen, you! I hate sissies, and I hate tattle-tales, and if you don’t like the way I talk, you may wake up with a ring around your eye, and a lily in your hand!”
Slim Yerkes tried to interpose. “Come on, Brick—don’t pick on him too much. Let’s get back to the lodge.”
Brick wheeled on the peacemaker. “He’s lookin’ for trouble, Slim, and he’s more than likely to get it. I’ve got half a mind to poke him one right now for good luck.”
Dirk’s eyes flashed. “That might not be as easy as you seem to think!”
“Huh! Tough, aren’t you?” His open hand darted out swiftly, and unexpectedly shoved Dirk off his balance. Dirk cried out, caught himself, and his fists clenched. He was pale save for two red spots that glowed in his cheeks.
“That’s enough, Ryan!” he said, his lip trembling. “If you really must settle this by scuffling like a street boy, who—— I’ll fight you!”
Brick’s laugh was unpleasant to hear. “He’ll fight! Listen, sissies like you take a chance on gettin’ murdered if they talk fight to Brick Ryan! Why, you mama’s boy, I’ll knock you so cold you’ll think you’re at the North Pole!”
His words were louder than he thought. From a tent a hundred yards away, a tousled head appeared, and shouted something to those within the tent. “Fight! Fight!” In no time at all, the two Utway twins, followed by Al Canning, had run down from the tent and joined the little ring of boys from Tent One.
Dirk was silently peeling off his wet gym-shirt.
“You’re really going to go against Brick Ryan?” Slim Yerkes asked in astonishment.
“I’m not to blame,” responded Dirk shortly. “It’s his lookout.”
Brick, a grim smile on his pugnacious face, was secretly sizing up the lad whom he had driven by taunting words to defend himself with his fists. He was not quite so sure, now, that Dirk was the sissy he had proclaimed him to be; those shoulders and arms looked quite husky and muscular, now that he looked closely. Brick decided that the thing to do was to pitch in at once and overpower his opponent from the start.
Jerry Utway was looking around the circle eagerly. The Utway brothers were never far away when a scrap arose; it would seem that they smelled the signs of battle from afar. “Gee, Jake!” he exclaimed, “the Van Horn fellow is going to tackle Brick! I’m going to be his second!”
“And I’ll be Brick’s second,” responded his twin. “Come on, men, form a ring here. Let’s have this scrap with regular rules. Al, you can be referee. It’s a good thing no leaders are around to stop it!”
Al Canning pulled out his watch. “Are you ready?”
“Just a minute more,” answered Jake. “Come on, Brick, strip off your shirt. Gosh, this will be a real fight—bare knuckles to the finish!”
Brick shook him aside. “Aw, I won’t need anything like that. It’ll take me just one good smack to finish this fight. He’s a coward.” But inwardly Brick was not so sure. Dirk Van Horn had said nothing since he had issued his amazing challenge. He had calmly prepared for the fray, and stood waiting quietly with no sign of fear on his set features. He did not cower in fright, or try to bolster up his courage with a string of biting words; and there was nothing amateurish about his pose as he stood with his clenched fists hanging loosely at his sides.
“I am ready,” he said in answer to a question from the eager Jerry.
“Good,” said Al. “When I say ‘Time!’, you can start. All set? Time!”
At the summons, Brick Ryan plunged forward over the grassy ground, fists doubled, head down, and struck a sweeping blow at his enemy. To his surprise, his flailing arm landed on thin air. Dirk had side-stepped easily, and still stood with his arms hanging loosely at his side, his face still calm.
Brick whirled about and spat. “Come on and fight, will you? None of this duckin’ like a snake. And you guys get back, so I can have some room.” He plunged again at his foe, and aimed a second wide swing at Dirk’s face.
This time Dirk did not dodge. Instead, he parried with the palm of his left hand, and his right fist shot forward, taking the surprised Brick in the side. It was a stinging blow, and Brick stepped back with a grunt. He had not expected this. There were few boys at Lenape who would dare to stand up against Brick Ryan even in a friendly bout with gloves; yet here was the despised Van Horn, the pampered city boy who couldn’t even swim, not only defending himself skillfully from the Irish lad’s attack, but even striking back!