CHAPTER XX.KINGDON'S SURPRISING MOVE.The catboat's engine was suddenly shut off, and then there was no sound from the water to break the silence that had fallen on the group ashore. Before anybody aboard theSpoondriftcould speak, Kingdon gestured for silence."All right," muttered Red. "I'm willing to get it from here."Down from the bank above the mooring place came the voice of Horace Pence, cool as ever. Kingdon, who had begun to consider the fellow's bad qualities as uppermost, again felt a thrill of admiration for him."Now, Quibb, you know very well you can't do that," Horace was saying soothingly, but with restrained laughter in his voice. "Why bother to try and frighten us?""I'll show you——""You'll show us nothing but warrants for our arrest," retorted Pence. "You know that's the best you can do—summons us to court. If you think we have been trespassing here, that's your limit. You can't scare us a little bit.""Oh, I can't, hey?" blustered Enos."No. Remember we have shown you the permit from the Manatee Lumber Company.""I know all about that," said Enos, his lean jaws seeming to bite off the tart words. "But 'tain't yours. You stole it—or somethin'. I know you ain't that Kingdon feller, now. That's flat.""You know a lot," said Pence. But, before speaking, he had hesitated just an instant. His black eyes had glanced downward and marked the catboat under the bank, and the listening party in her. For that instant, indeed, his gaze fell on Rex Kingdon's face. The latter had smiled suddenly."You know a lot," repeated Horace Pence."I got you foul, young feller," said Enos, evidently happy to say so. His pale eyes gleamed; his freckled face was roseate; he showed all the venom of the shallow mind and vindictive nature. "You pack up—all five of ye—an' git off Storm Island. I'm giving you a chance, when I might have got warrants and pulled ye.""Say not so!" begged Pence. "You wouldn't really arrest us, Mr. Quibb?""Wouldn't I?" returned the constable. "I wish I'd gone to Squire Lowder fust-off and got the warrants. No use doing sech fellers a decent turn. I dunno but I could get ye for false pretenses, takin' another feller's name the way you did.""I didn't take the name!" cooed Pence. "You gave it to me.""You showed me that permit, and acted like it was yourn.""And isn't it?" chuckled the black-eyed fellow."Not by a long chalk!" cried Enos. "I know who Rex Kingdon is now." He turned and pointed to the catboat. "There he is—that curly-haired chap that thinks himself almost as funny as you be. I l'arned who he was t'other day when he was over to Blackport gettin' fixin's for that engine. I heard Val Spear—he's treasurer of the Manatee Company—call him Rex Kingdon right on the street. You ain't him, an' you ain't got no right to that permit."For the instant Horace Pence seemed to have no reply ready, although he was quite at ease. His friends were flustered and terrified."There! What did I tell you?" the Walcott Hall boys heard Ben Comas say."Nice mess you've got us into," whined Pudge."The game's up," said Kirby, rather stolidly.Kingdon made a sign to his friends, and they gathered close about him in the stern of the catboat, which was drifting in nearer to the shore."Fellows, I'm about to play the trump," he said, his eyes laughing but his lips grave. "Are you with me?""What do you mean, Rex?" demanded Midkiff suspiciously.But Phillips said promptly: "We're always with you, Blue-Eyes. Go to it.""It's some foolishness," began Midkiff again. But Peewee whispered:"Put on the muffler, Grouch, and let him have his way. King's always good fun, no matter what he does.""What's on your mind, Rex?" asked Cloudman, his curiosity also aroused."Yes, what are you going to do, pitch in and help Enos clean up the bunch?" asked Red, hopefulness in his tone. "That would have my approval.""I'll give you another guess," laughed Rex. "I've a plan that beats thrashing that crowd, much as they deserve it.""Unfold it to us," urged Midkiff, still in doubt, "if it's anything sensible.""Bide a wee," restrained Rex. "You've got to back me up. No balking.""Confound it!" exclaimed Cloudman, "you haven't told us your scheme.""No time to discuss it," said Kingdon. "You've got to take my plan on trust.""Now I know it's something foolish," declared John Midkiff.The nose of the catboat rubbed against the beach, and Rex was the first one ashore. "Follow your resourceful leader," he called, laughing over his shoulder at the gloomy face of Midkiff. "Bring a line ashore, Jawn, and moor the old girl. We don't want to lose her, now that we've just got the engine to working like a chawm."Cool as ever, he led the way up the bank. For the last few moments the Walcott Hall boys had given no attention to what was being said or done on the island, but now they saw that Enos had stepped back a pace, and had his little black billy in his hand. He was threatening:"You fellers pull up them stakes and begin packin' your stuff, or I'll crack a few heads. I know what I'm doin'. Squire Lowder'll stand back of me."Kingdon came up to the constable, with a good natured smile, and laid a soothing hand upon his shoulder."Why all the disturbance, Mr. Squibb?" he asked. "Don't get overheated on this sweet and pleasant day——""And this bunch of fellows is a sweet and pleasant crowd, I s'pose, Mr. Kingdon?" snapped Enos. "And my name's Quibb, not Squibb, if you please.""Sure, Mr. Fibb. My mistake," said Rex. "What's doing?""You know well enough," said the angry Enos. "You helped fool me, too——""Never!" groaned Kingdon. "You know, Mr. Constable, you are a man who can't be fooled by a parcel of boys. You said so.""Aw—well. I wasn'tsure. This chap had that permit from the Manatee Company.""Of course," said Kingdon easily. "It didn't matter who showed you the paper—as long as we had it and you saw it?"Midkiff uttered a grunt that was almost an ejaculation of pain. "I knew it!" he growled.Mr. Quibb was not the most startled by Kingdon's query, however; Horace Pence almost leaped forward to stare into the smiling visage of the leader of the Walcott Hall boys."What d'ye mean?" snarled the constable. "That these fellers——""Certainly, Quibb," Kingdon replied, quite seriously despite his good-humored look. "You know, it says nothing in the permit about the number of my party. Those other fellows are my friends; at least, I call them so. See the love-light in their eyes when they look at me?"Unable to fathom the bantering lad, Quibb looked a good deal like a fish out of its element, his mouth open and eyes staring."Come hither, Mr. Constable," Rex said, drawing the man beyond earshot of the others. "Let me bare my heart to you.""You can't bluff me!""Oh, I wouldn't think of trying it! This is no bluff. I'm going to spill the truth, and nothing but the truth, into your copious ear. Those fellows did not belong to my party—originally.""There!" exclaimed the constable, swelling again. "That's what I knowed. They stole that permit.""At least, theyhaveit," agreed Kingdon. "But that is not the point. The permit is issued to 'Rex Kingdon and friends,' but it doesn't say how many friends. And so, Mr. Cribb——""Quibb!" ejaculated the constable."Oh, pardon me!" pleaded Rex. "I'm dreadfully forgetful of names, but I always remember faces—like yours. Now, I want you to be a good fellow. You'd be almost lovable, really, if you would let your natural kindness of heart have full play. Say or do nothing to sour the milk of human kindness that lies——""What do you want me to do?" broke in the constable, nettled yet impressed by Kingdon's airy manner."Remember that black-eyed chap jumped into the drink to snatch you from a watery grave the other day. Be grateful. Let us alone to fight our own jolly battles. I claim them as my friends now, and therefore you really have no right to drive them away. What do you say——""I say you're the sassiest set of boys I ever see. But it's a fact you got me out of a pickle," acknowledged the freckled-face constable, putting away his billy."All's well that ends well," quoth Kingdon briskly. "If anybody asks you, you can tell 'em we've got two camps over here for reasons of our own. It's nobody's business as long as you are satisfied.""Sure not. I know I'm right now," said the constable, nodding his head. "I heard Val Spear speak to you as though he knowed you well.""Thank you so much!" cried Rex, seizing Enos by the hand and almost wringing his arm off with enthusiasm. "I knew you were naturally a broad-minded and generous man. Must you hurry away so soon? I hate to see you go, but—good day, good day."The two parties of boys stood waiting and silent until the man had got aboard his motorboat and started it chugging away from Storm Island.CHAPTER XXI.REVENGE."What's the game?" finally asked Horace Pence, when he was sure the constable was out of hearing."Game? No game at all, I assure you," Kingdon answered gravely. "Don't lend yourself to suspicion, as many do, old chap. By the way, hand over that permit now, Horrors. It's served its purpose in your hands, I am sure."Pence produced the paper without a moment's indecision. But he said:"I'd rather you didn't think I swiped it out of your jacket pocket, Kingdon. I fancy it must have slipped out when you threw off your jacket that day to play ball. Joe Bootleg found it in the grass, afterward, and brought it to me."Kingdon looked straight into the black eyes of Horace as he accepted the permit in its envelope. "I believe you," he said simply, putting it into his pocket.Suddenly the coarse voice of Ben Comas broke in:"All very fine, but I take it we go, just the same, Horrors. 'Twould have been better if we had got off the island before all this foolishness happened."Kingdon laughed at him cheerfully. "Not at all necessary. I don't see why you should leave, now that things are so comfortable and pleasant all around.""What's that?" demanded Pence, plainly startled."The island's a cramped place, I know," Kingdon responded, with a careless wave of his hand. "But it's been more than a little fun rowing with you fellows. It puts quite a tang into the taste of it all. Hate to see you chaps move out when there's no necessity for it.""Listen to that!" ejaculated Red Phillips from the rear."So you like a row?" Pence asked Kingdon, having recovered his self-possession."It's better than monotony, though there might be other ways of passing the time." Saying which, Rex turned his back on Pence and his party and started for the waterside. "Come on, fellows," he suggested to his comrades, "let's run across to that fishweir over yonder. I see they're going to haul the trap."The five Walcott Hall boys silently boarded the catboat, while Pence and his comrades watched them, equally silent. When theSpoondriftwas well away from the mooring place of the two canoes, Harry Kirby said:"What have you got to say about that, Horrors? I don't understand that Kingdon at all, do you?"Pence did not reply at once. Ben's harsh voice broke in:"You fellows make me tired! He's got some scheme to come back at us, of course. Why shouldn't he? We ought to get out of here.""Where'll we go?" complained Pudge MacComber, apprehending work before him."Don't ask me." Harry Kirby groaned. "Wish we'd never come.""We wouldn't if it hadn't been for this crazy Horrors.""All you can do is growl," flared Kirby, who was Pence's strongest admirer."Give that Kingdon and his crew half a show, and they'll get us into hot water of some kind," Ben fumed."Listen," commanded the black-eyed chap, whose influence over his mates was by no means dissipated. "I want to know why we should get out of here at all?""But, Horrors," Ben said, "you know they'll do something mean to us.""You're judging them by what you'd do yourself.""Didn't they take our canoes in the first place?""But they didn't keep them," said Horrors. "That Kingdon is as square a chap as I ever saw.""What's that?" exclaimed Kirby. "Have you fallen in love with him?""Well, I can't say I hate him just because he is ready to fight, as long as he fights fair.""I could lick him, easy," boasted Kirby."A lot you could! Ask Joe, here, whether Rex Kingdon's got a hard fist."The Indian lad's countenance denoted his feelings on this point. Although he did not speak, his expression was a threat that none of the others quite understood."Look here," insisted Pence argumentatively, "let's settle this. Why should we leave Storm Island?""For one reason," said Kirby, "because Kingdon can get us put off any time he feels like it.""Will he feel like it?""Why won't he?" asked Ben Comas."He says," returned Pence, "that he likes to have us here to row with, and why shouldn't we accommodate him? He hasn't got so much the better of us. We've had just as much fun out of it as he and his crowd have.""Quibb will be coming around again," prophesied Kirby."Don't you believe it. Kingdon has settled that. He'll keep away from Storm Island. We'll take Rex Kingdon at his word. He says he likes to fuss with us. Let's give him all the sport in that line he wants."Joe Bootleg's gloomy face caught the attention of the black-eyed lad. "You going to stay here, Mr. Pence?" the Indian asked."That's my intention, Chief.""Them fellers stay?" demanded Joe, pointing off at the catboat."Sure."The Indian turned and started into the woods. He carried the camp hatchet that had been borrowed from the Walcott Hall boys."Where you going, Joe?" asked Ben, as Horace gave the fellow no further attention."Chop more firewood," grunted Joe Bootleg.But he clutched the hatchet handle with a grimness that might have startled the others had they seen his face. The fire of revengeful determination burned hotly in Joe Bootleg's heart.CHAPTER XXII.THE BOULDER ON THE HILLSIDE.TheSpoondriftand her crew came back from the fishweir with several varieties of edible fish that the pondmen had given the boys. They had a feast that night at the camp, and even Cloudman admitted that, for once, it was a "square meal."Midkiff, unlike the others, could not easily forgive Rex and the others for letting Horace Pence and his friends off so easy."You're piling up trouble for yourself and us," he told Kingdon. "Fellows like those over at that camp would cut your tugs and let the horse run away any time you weren't looking—and think 'twas fun.""We'll be looking," laughed Kingdon."Yes, we will! That Indian, for instance, could be planning something against us right now, and we wouldn't know it, would we? He's a wicked-looking chap, and he hasn't forgotten how you mauled him around that night in the dark.""Nor have I forgotten how he mauled me," said Rex, with some feeling. "My dainty little foot is tender yet. But maybe my upper deck is loaded with a grand scheme to get even." He finished with a soft laugh."Yes it is!" scoffed the gloomy one, with scorn. "I know about the kind of plans you have in your mind."Midkiff really admired Kingdon's whole-hearted and friendly way of settling the matter of the permit and the remaining on the island of the other campers. Nobody but Rex, it seemed to him, could have done just that—and done it so well. Furthermore, he had not lingered around to receive any expressions of gratitude, or to make the chaps with Pence feel uncomfortable. He had taken his own friends away at once, leaving the surprised and shame-faced crowd to recover from the jolt his action had given them.Midkiff was sure he couldn't have done such a thing himself. Indeed, he wouldn't have done it under any circumstances. Heaping coals of fire on the heads of his enemies was not John's way of settling any dispute. He could fight, or he could argue; but it was not in him to be a generous—indeed a prodigally generous—enemy. Besides, he did not believe that it would improve Pence and his friends. He considered them beneath contempt and incapable of holding a generous sentiment for an instant.Kingdon suddenly laughed at him again. "I'm glad I haven't your suspicious nature, Jawn," he drawled, shrugging his well-built shoulders.They went up to the open field in the middle of the island the next forenoon, and before long Pence and his three white companions strolled into view. If Ben, Pudge and Kirby felt any embarrassment, and showed it, not so Horace Pence. He was his usual careless and cheerful self.Kingdon left it to Pence to make advances, and presently Horace wanted to try his arm. Kingdon caught for him, never uttering a word of encouragement or criticism all the time the black-eyed chap was working, although Pence was using all the speed at his command."I say," called Horace at last, "what d'you think of them?""You don't want to know what I think, do you?" Kingdon asked quietly."I wouldn't ask if I didn't," returned the heated Pence."I think you're likely to throw your arm out of joint, if you keep on," was Kingdon's frank response. "I'd take care if I were you. You don't put the ball over; you let it fly anywhere, as long as you put steam behind it."Pence was unable to hide his chagrin. He flung the ball as far as he could across the field, and sullenly started back for his camp. But he slipped on his sweater as he went. He had remembered Kingdon's advice of the week before."He got what he asked for, and didn't like it," Peewee snickered."Shows his bringing up!" muttered Cloudman."Regular Chesterfield for manners!" chuckled Red Phillips.Midkiff, too disgusted to speak at all, looked his contempt.They forgot that it took training of the right kind for a young fellow to get into the habit of controlling his temper. Kingdon might have been intentionally aggravating, for he went off whistling in the other direction, and alone. One could seldom tell whether Rex was perturbed or not. At least, on this particular occasion he showed no apparent feeling for Horace Pence.None of the others followed Rex at the moment, and he slipped into the woods alone while his mates were picking up the bats and recovering other articles. He did not care to be questioned just then. Nevertheless he was smiling. He was wise enough to appreciate how Horace Pence felt.Going whistling down the aisles of the wood, but bearing off the usual route to their camp, Kingdon suddenly came upon something that stopped him."Hul-lo!" he murmured, startled if not surprised. "Who's been chopping down trees?"The spot was almost directly above their camp. The steep hillside fell away to the small plateau on which the Walcott Hall boys had set up their tent. Below that was the cove, with its pebbly, narrow, crescent beach, and the catboat courtesying to the swell of the water. Kingdon could get a glimpse of her stick through the trees.Here, just before him, a goodly sapling had been cut off near the ground. That, in itself, was an infringement of the rules laid down by the Manatee Company. Rex had been warned against cutting wood of this kind for any purpose whatsoever on Storm Island."Now, who did this?" muttered the lad again. "Surely none of our fellows."His quick eye saw something in the grass, and he hastened to pick it up. A hatchet, with one side of the blade rusted."Our extra hatchet! The one that MacComber fellow borrowed. I'm sure he didn't return it!"He went on a little way and saw where the sapling, all of four inches through at its butt, lay half hidden in the rank weeds and grass. It seemed that the stick had been cut wantonly, after which the marauder had tried to hide it."I'm sure none of our fellows would have done such a thing. Here's the hatchet," Kingdon told himself.He went on a little farther, and came to the opening above the camp. The forest trees seemed to withdraw on either side and leave a small, wedge-shaped pasture on the hillside, with the thin edge of the wedge up-hill. Down the slope, not two hundred yards away, was the tent.Kingdon's gaze swept the opening in the forest, studying every detail of the narrow landscape. Suspicion had been bred in his mind. It was more, an intuition that all was not right.He walked slowly down the hill, observing several outthrust rocks and one rounded bowlder directly in his path. Apparently a dog had tried to dig a woodchuck out from under the upper edge of that bowlder.Kingdon passed on. Then he turned, startled, and went back to the gray rock. The thought had flashed through his mind that there were no dogs on Storm Island!At least, he had neither seen nor heard a dog since his party had arrived. A dog had not dug under that bowlder, nor would a groundhog have left so much loose soil at the mouth of his burrow.Kingdon stopped and studied the situation. There was a small rock lying just above the bowlder and about two feet from its uphill edge. This smaller stone had recently been placed there.He walked back to the felled sapling at the edge of the wood. Its butt, freshly cut from the stump, should be white. Instead it was crusted with earth.Rex returned down the hill again, and stood for a minute by the great gray bowlder, testing one hand upon it, thinking. His gaze scrutinized minutely every foot of the slope below him. Presently, his face frowning and thoughtful, he sought the path by which he and his mates usually descended the hillside, and arrived at the camp before the others.CHAPTER XXIII.A THREATENING SKY.Rex had brought the camp hatchet and placed it where everybody could see it. None of his fellow-campers spoke of its return. They were all hungry, and they hurried through dinner, took a nap, and then made for the sound while the tide was up.There was a good diving place just east of their cove, and within a few rods of the spot where the other fellows moored their canoes. When the Walcott Hall boys arrived at the bathing place the four white youths from the other camp were already in the water. Joe Bootleg seemed to have a constitutional objection to water for bathing purposes.With a driftwood plank they had found, Midkiff and Phillips rigged a diving-board. The rocks which weighted its shoreward end sometimes slipped off and "dumped" the diver ingloriously into the deep hole under the bank, but that merely added to the sport.Peewee hailed Pudge MacComber, with whom he had struck up something of a doubtful friendship, and soon four of the other fellows were at the spot where the Walcott Hall boys bathed.Pence, a fine swimmer, dove like a shark and stayed under water longer than anybody in the crowd, save Kingdon himself. The two raced informally from the diving hole to the canoes and back again, and it seemed that Pence had a wee bit the better of it."You do that Australian crawl fine," Kingdon told the black-eyed chap frankly."That's one thing I do all winter. There's a corking pool in our town gym., and I don't often miss a day.""Swimming and rowing are as good all round training stuff as a fellow can do," Kingdon said. "Gives you wind and what Downs, our coach, calls stamina. You handle a paddle like a veteran, Pence. How are you with the oar?""So-so," Horace replied languidly. "Had good crews at Belding where I went for a year. I made Number Two eight.""Belding?" ejaculated Kingdon. "Did you go to Belding?""I went and then I came away again," laughed Pence with that unpleasant curl of his lip. "Didn't stay long.""Why not?""I rather think my absence was requested because of something regarding a calf being led into chapel and tied in the pulpit. Had a kind of a weak-voiced chaplain and the calf helped him out in bellowing.""Boys will be boys," Kingdon said sadly, "and calves will be calves. Sometimes it's hard for the faculty to tell 'em apart."Pence's eyes twinkled with appreciation. "At least, they didn't make the mistake of rusticating the calf instead of me.""After that?" quizzed Rex."After what?""Belding wasn't your last school? Where do you go now?""I've finished school. Nothing to it," yawned Pence."That reminds me," Kingdon said quickly. "Those fellows sailing theNothing To Itclaim to be the fastest crew in these parts in eight-oared shell.""Nothing To It?" echoed Pence.Rex told him about the Blackport Boat Club fellows and their boasting. "I'd dearly love to get hold of that old boat of theirs, train a bit, and see how bad they could trim us in a race.""But you five fellows can't handle an eight-oared shell," the black-eyed youth said."No. But we five, with your four, could. Even Pudge would do as ballast. Have to work in Hicks as cox."Pence stared and laughed shortly. "You're a queer fellow," he said. "Anybody'd think we were bosom friends of yours.'"Bosom enemies," responded Kingdon. "What's the odds, enemies or friends? We might work up a good crew and have a little fun with thatNothing To Itcrowd.""You must have sport on the brain, Kingdon," drawled Horace."Sure. Clean sport. There's nothing like it. I can have a fine time with the worst enemy I've got, if he only plays the game—anygame—fair.""Suppose you've got plenty of deadly enemies?" was the other's rejoinder."Got one, I fancy, right in your crowd," Kingdon said, with rather a meaning inflection to his voice.Horace stared at him. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about Ben Comas.""I don't. It's your Indian chum, Joe Bootleg.""Joe? Tut, tut! He's as tame as——""As a tarantula," finished Kingdon, laughing again."I'll have an eye on him," said Pence, rather sneeringly smiling once more. "But you don't expect a fellow like him to play any game fair?""Not so's you'd notice it," Kingdon cheerfully returned. "But you other fellows, now—take for instance yourself, Horrors."The other straightened up on the rock where they were sitting in the sun, at a distance from the other fellows, and looked with hard eyes at Rex. "What do you mean?" he questioned. "I don't just get you.""Consider your pitching," Kingdon said coolly. "It's crude.""Crude?""Very.""Say, I've got some reputation as a pitcher around home."Rex repressed a laugh. "Others before you have been Walter Johnsons around home, but have lost their reputations as soon as they got away anywhere.""What's the matter with my pitching, anyhow?""I've told you that you lack control, but you need experience and training in other things. Speed is a great thing, I'll admit, when a pitcher mixes it with brains.""Perhaps I've got as many brains as your friends Midkiff and Cloudman," flared Horace. "I suppose you think them Mathewsons?""They're steady and dependable, at least.""Plugging horses!" snapped Pence. "No real stuff.""I've seen fellows who didn't succeed though everybody thought they had the 'real stuff,' and I've seen 'plugging horses' who climbed steadily and surely to the top. Brilliancy is sometimes nothing but a flash in the pan.""Is that so?" demanded the heated Horace. "I don't suppose I'd make any showing at all on the diamond of that fancy prep. school of yours?""Oh, you're baseball material; no doubt of that," answered Kingdon carelessly. "I figure Stanley Downs would place you about on the Number Three scrub.""In-deed?" exploded Horace."Yes. We're weak in our pitching staff, too. I could use a southpaw like you, even if you came in as a freshman, with the school nine this fall."Kingdon said it in such a matter-of-fact way that the other stared at him for a full minute before demanding: "What's this you're driving at? What's the big idea?""I might use a fellow like you on the pitching staff of the Walcott Hall nine, if he was amenable to discipline and I could work with him this summer.""You go fish!" jeered Pence, rising suddenly to cast himself into the sea and swam away."Now, let that idea rattle about in that dome of yours, Horrors," chuckled Rex, also rising. "We'll see what comes of it."That evening, while supper was cooking, Rex strolled up the hill over-looking the camp. He glanced at the bowlder, and again found the stick that had been cut and hidden at the edge of the wood. Apparently no one had been there since he made his previous examination.The next day the Walcott Hall boys saw Joe Bootleg and Harry Kirby paddle away from the island in one of the canoes, and knew the pair were going for provisions. When Kingdon and his chums went up to the ball field, the former was not surprised to see Horace Pence there, alone.Pence lay languidly in the shade, chewing a grassblade, and watched the workout of Midkiff and Cloudman, without comment. On this occasion Kingdon was intentionally sharp with both his moundsmen. He criticized them so severely that Midkiff became a boiling volcano of wrath, and Applejack was as wild as a tiger. But neither of them answered back.Further than being catcher, Rex was captain of the Walcott Hall nine. Off the field he was even more easy and democratic than most fellows, but in practice or in a game he was the leader, and would brook no rebellion against his authority.When Cloudman had come in and joined the sullen Midkiff in the shade, Rex whipped around to look at Horace Pence. "Want to get out there and see if you can find the pan to-day?" he asked. "I can give you a little time before sending those babies of mine out to practice base throwing.""If you talk to me the way you have been ballyraggin' those chaps, I'll maybe punch your head," drawled Horace."That would be careless of you. You might make me cry. You might wake up," Kingdon shot at him with surprising fierceness, "and find yourself in the hospital!"Horace laughed. Then he drawled, as he walked out toward the pitcher's box: "My goodness! You're some bully, aren't you? Where's your umpire?""Want one?""I'm going to show you I can cut the platter.""I don't see any of your crew here.""Call one of yours. I can stand him. That sunny-tempered chap you call Midkiff is my choice. He just loves me, I know. If he says it's a fair ball I shall know I've earned it.""Jawn, as a favor to me, please," begged Rex, adjusting his mitt.He knew Midkiff was doubtless stewing in the red-pepper of his own temper. Therefore he was suddenly mild as milk in begging John's assistance; so mild, indeed, that John was forced to repress a smile as he reluctantly came forward.With Pence working, however, Rex continued mild and encouraging, almost complimentary at times; for he was honestly desirous of developing this southpaw with the phenomenal speed. To Kingdon's mind, here was a fellow who, having speed, could be taught control; a fellow who, if he wished, could contain himself and be, on the surface at least, as cold as a glacier.When Horace Pence considered it best to check his temper, he could do so. Kingdon had perceived that. The question was, did he care enough about baseball and about excelling in the game to hold a tight rein on that flaring rage that the lift of his upper lip indicated?With Midkiff and Cloudman, both tempestuous natures, there was an advantage. Each was inspired by the thought that he was working for his Walcott Hall; and the biggest and most sweetening thing in a school-boy's life is his loyalty to his school. In a miniature way, it is the feeling which every citizen should hold for his country; it is that not easily explained virtue called patriotism.Somewhere else it has been pointed out that Rex Kingdon was so successful in molding his comrades, even those who did not much admire him, to his will because he possessed an ability to read character. It was really the foundation of his success in sports.He had read Horace Pence like an open book from the start. He saw just the sort of hot-as-fire, cold-as-ice kind of a youth Horace was. Reckless, bold, dishonorable, yet clean in his habits because he abhorred viciousness. Pence was secretly proud of his influence over others, but too proud in another way to put forth much effort to hold that influence. Never, for one moment, did he think of exercising his power for the good of others.For all such faults, Rex believed that discipline of the right sort would turn Horace into a real pitcher and a real man as well. Everything depended upon leading him into the proper path through an appeal of some sort that, while opening his eyes to what was wrong, would rouse his ambition to do right.Rex kept all this to himself. On this present occasion, despite all that had led up to Horace Pence's work-out, with Midkiff as umpire, the session went through, as Peewee said, "without a skid." Even Midkiff, had he admitted it, would have been forced to acknowledge that the dark-eyed fellow showed distinct signs of improvement."How does the arm feel?" asked Kingdon, when they had finished."Just getting warmed up—as though I hadn't used it at all.""Therefore now's the time for you to come in from practice. It's all right under conditions that demand it, to put everything you've got on the ball and work till the old wing just about drops off. But overwork in practice is as foolish and harmful as too little work. Some fellows, who might be pitchers, kill their arms before they ever get into any real games."Pence did not scoff at this. There was nothing offensive or "preachy" in the way Rex spoke. His manner was as sincere and friendly as if Horace had been one of his chosen chums.That afternoon the mainland grew hazy, clouds began to gather, and a threatening sky presaged heavy weather."Seems to me those canoeing fellows have bad luck," Red Phillips said, as the Walcott Hall boys lazed around the campsite waiting for a contrary fire to burn up briskly so supper could be made. "Look at it now.""Hasn't that Injun and Kirby got back?" questioned Peewee."If they have, I don't see the second canoe over there," Red yawned."If they haven't started from Blackport by this time somebody'll tell them not to," Midkiff said."They had a leg-o'-mutton sail," said Kingdon. "They could skim over with this breeze. It won't rain yet awhile, and the wind's only puffy.""I'd rather be onterra firmajust the same than out in a canoe on this sound," Red declared.Without feeling any disturbance about the absent Indian and Kirby, Kingdon climbed to a point above the camp where he could see far away along the sound shore of the island to the westward. In fact, he stood upon the great gray bowlder which had already attracted his attention.Was that a small sail away to the west? He had no glass, and could not be sure. If it was, the craft was so close under the island that it almost immediately was wiped from the range of his vision. It might have been nothing but a flash of surf. If it were a boat, it had been beached in safety by its crew, who feared the threatening aspect of sea and sky more than they did the sign-boards of the Manatee Lumber Company.Rex was climbing down from the eminence when he fancied he felt the bowlder move under him. His efforts to descend seemed to contribute a rocking motion to the granite."A rocking stone?" muttered Kingdon, leaping down. "If it is so easily tipped off its balance——"He tried a dozen times, and from as many angles, to rock the bowlder. It weighed several tons and of course he might as well have taken hold of the corner of Old Hall and tried to topple it over.Finally he went back to the tent, for the other fellows were calling him.
CHAPTER XX.
KINGDON'S SURPRISING MOVE.
The catboat's engine was suddenly shut off, and then there was no sound from the water to break the silence that had fallen on the group ashore. Before anybody aboard theSpoondriftcould speak, Kingdon gestured for silence.
"All right," muttered Red. "I'm willing to get it from here."
Down from the bank above the mooring place came the voice of Horace Pence, cool as ever. Kingdon, who had begun to consider the fellow's bad qualities as uppermost, again felt a thrill of admiration for him.
"Now, Quibb, you know very well you can't do that," Horace was saying soothingly, but with restrained laughter in his voice. "Why bother to try and frighten us?"
"I'll show you——"
"You'll show us nothing but warrants for our arrest," retorted Pence. "You know that's the best you can do—summons us to court. If you think we have been trespassing here, that's your limit. You can't scare us a little bit."
"Oh, I can't, hey?" blustered Enos.
"No. Remember we have shown you the permit from the Manatee Lumber Company."
"I know all about that," said Enos, his lean jaws seeming to bite off the tart words. "But 'tain't yours. You stole it—or somethin'. I know you ain't that Kingdon feller, now. That's flat."
"You know a lot," said Pence. But, before speaking, he had hesitated just an instant. His black eyes had glanced downward and marked the catboat under the bank, and the listening party in her. For that instant, indeed, his gaze fell on Rex Kingdon's face. The latter had smiled suddenly.
"You know a lot," repeated Horace Pence.
"I got you foul, young feller," said Enos, evidently happy to say so. His pale eyes gleamed; his freckled face was roseate; he showed all the venom of the shallow mind and vindictive nature. "You pack up—all five of ye—an' git off Storm Island. I'm giving you a chance, when I might have got warrants and pulled ye."
"Say not so!" begged Pence. "You wouldn't really arrest us, Mr. Quibb?"
"Wouldn't I?" returned the constable. "I wish I'd gone to Squire Lowder fust-off and got the warrants. No use doing sech fellers a decent turn. I dunno but I could get ye for false pretenses, takin' another feller's name the way you did."
"I didn't take the name!" cooed Pence. "You gave it to me."
"You showed me that permit, and acted like it was yourn."
"And isn't it?" chuckled the black-eyed fellow.
"Not by a long chalk!" cried Enos. "I know who Rex Kingdon is now." He turned and pointed to the catboat. "There he is—that curly-haired chap that thinks himself almost as funny as you be. I l'arned who he was t'other day when he was over to Blackport gettin' fixin's for that engine. I heard Val Spear—he's treasurer of the Manatee Company—call him Rex Kingdon right on the street. You ain't him, an' you ain't got no right to that permit."
For the instant Horace Pence seemed to have no reply ready, although he was quite at ease. His friends were flustered and terrified.
"There! What did I tell you?" the Walcott Hall boys heard Ben Comas say.
"Nice mess you've got us into," whined Pudge.
"The game's up," said Kirby, rather stolidly.
Kingdon made a sign to his friends, and they gathered close about him in the stern of the catboat, which was drifting in nearer to the shore.
"Fellows, I'm about to play the trump," he said, his eyes laughing but his lips grave. "Are you with me?"
"What do you mean, Rex?" demanded Midkiff suspiciously.
But Phillips said promptly: "We're always with you, Blue-Eyes. Go to it."
"It's some foolishness," began Midkiff again. But Peewee whispered:
"Put on the muffler, Grouch, and let him have his way. King's always good fun, no matter what he does."
"What's on your mind, Rex?" asked Cloudman, his curiosity also aroused.
"Yes, what are you going to do, pitch in and help Enos clean up the bunch?" asked Red, hopefulness in his tone. "That would have my approval."
"I'll give you another guess," laughed Rex. "I've a plan that beats thrashing that crowd, much as they deserve it."
"Unfold it to us," urged Midkiff, still in doubt, "if it's anything sensible."
"Bide a wee," restrained Rex. "You've got to back me up. No balking."
"Confound it!" exclaimed Cloudman, "you haven't told us your scheme."
"No time to discuss it," said Kingdon. "You've got to take my plan on trust."
"Now I know it's something foolish," declared John Midkiff.
The nose of the catboat rubbed against the beach, and Rex was the first one ashore. "Follow your resourceful leader," he called, laughing over his shoulder at the gloomy face of Midkiff. "Bring a line ashore, Jawn, and moor the old girl. We don't want to lose her, now that we've just got the engine to working like a chawm."
Cool as ever, he led the way up the bank. For the last few moments the Walcott Hall boys had given no attention to what was being said or done on the island, but now they saw that Enos had stepped back a pace, and had his little black billy in his hand. He was threatening:
"You fellers pull up them stakes and begin packin' your stuff, or I'll crack a few heads. I know what I'm doin'. Squire Lowder'll stand back of me."
Kingdon came up to the constable, with a good natured smile, and laid a soothing hand upon his shoulder.
"Why all the disturbance, Mr. Squibb?" he asked. "Don't get overheated on this sweet and pleasant day——"
"And this bunch of fellows is a sweet and pleasant crowd, I s'pose, Mr. Kingdon?" snapped Enos. "And my name's Quibb, not Squibb, if you please."
"Sure, Mr. Fibb. My mistake," said Rex. "What's doing?"
"You know well enough," said the angry Enos. "You helped fool me, too——"
"Never!" groaned Kingdon. "You know, Mr. Constable, you are a man who can't be fooled by a parcel of boys. You said so."
"Aw—well. I wasn'tsure. This chap had that permit from the Manatee Company."
"Of course," said Kingdon easily. "It didn't matter who showed you the paper—as long as we had it and you saw it?"
Midkiff uttered a grunt that was almost an ejaculation of pain. "I knew it!" he growled.
Mr. Quibb was not the most startled by Kingdon's query, however; Horace Pence almost leaped forward to stare into the smiling visage of the leader of the Walcott Hall boys.
"What d'ye mean?" snarled the constable. "That these fellers——"
"Certainly, Quibb," Kingdon replied, quite seriously despite his good-humored look. "You know, it says nothing in the permit about the number of my party. Those other fellows are my friends; at least, I call them so. See the love-light in their eyes when they look at me?"
Unable to fathom the bantering lad, Quibb looked a good deal like a fish out of its element, his mouth open and eyes staring.
"Come hither, Mr. Constable," Rex said, drawing the man beyond earshot of the others. "Let me bare my heart to you."
"You can't bluff me!"
"Oh, I wouldn't think of trying it! This is no bluff. I'm going to spill the truth, and nothing but the truth, into your copious ear. Those fellows did not belong to my party—originally."
"There!" exclaimed the constable, swelling again. "That's what I knowed. They stole that permit."
"At least, theyhaveit," agreed Kingdon. "But that is not the point. The permit is issued to 'Rex Kingdon and friends,' but it doesn't say how many friends. And so, Mr. Cribb——"
"Quibb!" ejaculated the constable.
"Oh, pardon me!" pleaded Rex. "I'm dreadfully forgetful of names, but I always remember faces—like yours. Now, I want you to be a good fellow. You'd be almost lovable, really, if you would let your natural kindness of heart have full play. Say or do nothing to sour the milk of human kindness that lies——"
"What do you want me to do?" broke in the constable, nettled yet impressed by Kingdon's airy manner.
"Remember that black-eyed chap jumped into the drink to snatch you from a watery grave the other day. Be grateful. Let us alone to fight our own jolly battles. I claim them as my friends now, and therefore you really have no right to drive them away. What do you say——"
"I say you're the sassiest set of boys I ever see. But it's a fact you got me out of a pickle," acknowledged the freckled-face constable, putting away his billy.
"All's well that ends well," quoth Kingdon briskly. "If anybody asks you, you can tell 'em we've got two camps over here for reasons of our own. It's nobody's business as long as you are satisfied."
"Sure not. I know I'm right now," said the constable, nodding his head. "I heard Val Spear speak to you as though he knowed you well."
"Thank you so much!" cried Rex, seizing Enos by the hand and almost wringing his arm off with enthusiasm. "I knew you were naturally a broad-minded and generous man. Must you hurry away so soon? I hate to see you go, but—good day, good day."
The two parties of boys stood waiting and silent until the man had got aboard his motorboat and started it chugging away from Storm Island.
CHAPTER XXI.
REVENGE.
"What's the game?" finally asked Horace Pence, when he was sure the constable was out of hearing.
"Game? No game at all, I assure you," Kingdon answered gravely. "Don't lend yourself to suspicion, as many do, old chap. By the way, hand over that permit now, Horrors. It's served its purpose in your hands, I am sure."
Pence produced the paper without a moment's indecision. But he said:
"I'd rather you didn't think I swiped it out of your jacket pocket, Kingdon. I fancy it must have slipped out when you threw off your jacket that day to play ball. Joe Bootleg found it in the grass, afterward, and brought it to me."
Kingdon looked straight into the black eyes of Horace as he accepted the permit in its envelope. "I believe you," he said simply, putting it into his pocket.
Suddenly the coarse voice of Ben Comas broke in:
"All very fine, but I take it we go, just the same, Horrors. 'Twould have been better if we had got off the island before all this foolishness happened."
Kingdon laughed at him cheerfully. "Not at all necessary. I don't see why you should leave, now that things are so comfortable and pleasant all around."
"What's that?" demanded Pence, plainly startled.
"The island's a cramped place, I know," Kingdon responded, with a careless wave of his hand. "But it's been more than a little fun rowing with you fellows. It puts quite a tang into the taste of it all. Hate to see you chaps move out when there's no necessity for it."
"Listen to that!" ejaculated Red Phillips from the rear.
"So you like a row?" Pence asked Kingdon, having recovered his self-possession.
"It's better than monotony, though there might be other ways of passing the time." Saying which, Rex turned his back on Pence and his party and started for the waterside. "Come on, fellows," he suggested to his comrades, "let's run across to that fishweir over yonder. I see they're going to haul the trap."
The five Walcott Hall boys silently boarded the catboat, while Pence and his comrades watched them, equally silent. When theSpoondriftwas well away from the mooring place of the two canoes, Harry Kirby said:
"What have you got to say about that, Horrors? I don't understand that Kingdon at all, do you?"
Pence did not reply at once. Ben's harsh voice broke in:
"You fellows make me tired! He's got some scheme to come back at us, of course. Why shouldn't he? We ought to get out of here."
"Where'll we go?" complained Pudge MacComber, apprehending work before him.
"Don't ask me." Harry Kirby groaned. "Wish we'd never come."
"We wouldn't if it hadn't been for this crazy Horrors."
"All you can do is growl," flared Kirby, who was Pence's strongest admirer.
"Give that Kingdon and his crew half a show, and they'll get us into hot water of some kind," Ben fumed.
"Listen," commanded the black-eyed chap, whose influence over his mates was by no means dissipated. "I want to know why we should get out of here at all?"
"But, Horrors," Ben said, "you know they'll do something mean to us."
"You're judging them by what you'd do yourself."
"Didn't they take our canoes in the first place?"
"But they didn't keep them," said Horrors. "That Kingdon is as square a chap as I ever saw."
"What's that?" exclaimed Kirby. "Have you fallen in love with him?"
"Well, I can't say I hate him just because he is ready to fight, as long as he fights fair."
"I could lick him, easy," boasted Kirby.
"A lot you could! Ask Joe, here, whether Rex Kingdon's got a hard fist."
The Indian lad's countenance denoted his feelings on this point. Although he did not speak, his expression was a threat that none of the others quite understood.
"Look here," insisted Pence argumentatively, "let's settle this. Why should we leave Storm Island?"
"For one reason," said Kirby, "because Kingdon can get us put off any time he feels like it."
"Will he feel like it?"
"Why won't he?" asked Ben Comas.
"He says," returned Pence, "that he likes to have us here to row with, and why shouldn't we accommodate him? He hasn't got so much the better of us. We've had just as much fun out of it as he and his crowd have."
"Quibb will be coming around again," prophesied Kirby.
"Don't you believe it. Kingdon has settled that. He'll keep away from Storm Island. We'll take Rex Kingdon at his word. He says he likes to fuss with us. Let's give him all the sport in that line he wants."
Joe Bootleg's gloomy face caught the attention of the black-eyed lad. "You going to stay here, Mr. Pence?" the Indian asked.
"That's my intention, Chief."
"Them fellers stay?" demanded Joe, pointing off at the catboat.
"Sure."
The Indian turned and started into the woods. He carried the camp hatchet that had been borrowed from the Walcott Hall boys.
"Where you going, Joe?" asked Ben, as Horace gave the fellow no further attention.
"Chop more firewood," grunted Joe Bootleg.
But he clutched the hatchet handle with a grimness that might have startled the others had they seen his face. The fire of revengeful determination burned hotly in Joe Bootleg's heart.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE BOULDER ON THE HILLSIDE.
TheSpoondriftand her crew came back from the fishweir with several varieties of edible fish that the pondmen had given the boys. They had a feast that night at the camp, and even Cloudman admitted that, for once, it was a "square meal."
Midkiff, unlike the others, could not easily forgive Rex and the others for letting Horace Pence and his friends off so easy.
"You're piling up trouble for yourself and us," he told Kingdon. "Fellows like those over at that camp would cut your tugs and let the horse run away any time you weren't looking—and think 'twas fun."
"We'll be looking," laughed Kingdon.
"Yes, we will! That Indian, for instance, could be planning something against us right now, and we wouldn't know it, would we? He's a wicked-looking chap, and he hasn't forgotten how you mauled him around that night in the dark."
"Nor have I forgotten how he mauled me," said Rex, with some feeling. "My dainty little foot is tender yet. But maybe my upper deck is loaded with a grand scheme to get even." He finished with a soft laugh.
"Yes it is!" scoffed the gloomy one, with scorn. "I know about the kind of plans you have in your mind."
Midkiff really admired Kingdon's whole-hearted and friendly way of settling the matter of the permit and the remaining on the island of the other campers. Nobody but Rex, it seemed to him, could have done just that—and done it so well. Furthermore, he had not lingered around to receive any expressions of gratitude, or to make the chaps with Pence feel uncomfortable. He had taken his own friends away at once, leaving the surprised and shame-faced crowd to recover from the jolt his action had given them.
Midkiff was sure he couldn't have done such a thing himself. Indeed, he wouldn't have done it under any circumstances. Heaping coals of fire on the heads of his enemies was not John's way of settling any dispute. He could fight, or he could argue; but it was not in him to be a generous—indeed a prodigally generous—enemy. Besides, he did not believe that it would improve Pence and his friends. He considered them beneath contempt and incapable of holding a generous sentiment for an instant.
Kingdon suddenly laughed at him again. "I'm glad I haven't your suspicious nature, Jawn," he drawled, shrugging his well-built shoulders.
They went up to the open field in the middle of the island the next forenoon, and before long Pence and his three white companions strolled into view. If Ben, Pudge and Kirby felt any embarrassment, and showed it, not so Horace Pence. He was his usual careless and cheerful self.
Kingdon left it to Pence to make advances, and presently Horace wanted to try his arm. Kingdon caught for him, never uttering a word of encouragement or criticism all the time the black-eyed chap was working, although Pence was using all the speed at his command.
"I say," called Horace at last, "what d'you think of them?"
"You don't want to know what I think, do you?" Kingdon asked quietly.
"I wouldn't ask if I didn't," returned the heated Pence.
"I think you're likely to throw your arm out of joint, if you keep on," was Kingdon's frank response. "I'd take care if I were you. You don't put the ball over; you let it fly anywhere, as long as you put steam behind it."
Pence was unable to hide his chagrin. He flung the ball as far as he could across the field, and sullenly started back for his camp. But he slipped on his sweater as he went. He had remembered Kingdon's advice of the week before.
"He got what he asked for, and didn't like it," Peewee snickered.
"Shows his bringing up!" muttered Cloudman.
"Regular Chesterfield for manners!" chuckled Red Phillips.
Midkiff, too disgusted to speak at all, looked his contempt.
They forgot that it took training of the right kind for a young fellow to get into the habit of controlling his temper. Kingdon might have been intentionally aggravating, for he went off whistling in the other direction, and alone. One could seldom tell whether Rex was perturbed or not. At least, on this particular occasion he showed no apparent feeling for Horace Pence.
None of the others followed Rex at the moment, and he slipped into the woods alone while his mates were picking up the bats and recovering other articles. He did not care to be questioned just then. Nevertheless he was smiling. He was wise enough to appreciate how Horace Pence felt.
Going whistling down the aisles of the wood, but bearing off the usual route to their camp, Kingdon suddenly came upon something that stopped him.
"Hul-lo!" he murmured, startled if not surprised. "Who's been chopping down trees?"
The spot was almost directly above their camp. The steep hillside fell away to the small plateau on which the Walcott Hall boys had set up their tent. Below that was the cove, with its pebbly, narrow, crescent beach, and the catboat courtesying to the swell of the water. Kingdon could get a glimpse of her stick through the trees.
Here, just before him, a goodly sapling had been cut off near the ground. That, in itself, was an infringement of the rules laid down by the Manatee Company. Rex had been warned against cutting wood of this kind for any purpose whatsoever on Storm Island.
"Now, who did this?" muttered the lad again. "Surely none of our fellows."
His quick eye saw something in the grass, and he hastened to pick it up. A hatchet, with one side of the blade rusted.
"Our extra hatchet! The one that MacComber fellow borrowed. I'm sure he didn't return it!"
He went on a little way and saw where the sapling, all of four inches through at its butt, lay half hidden in the rank weeds and grass. It seemed that the stick had been cut wantonly, after which the marauder had tried to hide it.
"I'm sure none of our fellows would have done such a thing. Here's the hatchet," Kingdon told himself.
He went on a little farther, and came to the opening above the camp. The forest trees seemed to withdraw on either side and leave a small, wedge-shaped pasture on the hillside, with the thin edge of the wedge up-hill. Down the slope, not two hundred yards away, was the tent.
Kingdon's gaze swept the opening in the forest, studying every detail of the narrow landscape. Suspicion had been bred in his mind. It was more, an intuition that all was not right.
He walked slowly down the hill, observing several outthrust rocks and one rounded bowlder directly in his path. Apparently a dog had tried to dig a woodchuck out from under the upper edge of that bowlder.
Kingdon passed on. Then he turned, startled, and went back to the gray rock. The thought had flashed through his mind that there were no dogs on Storm Island!
At least, he had neither seen nor heard a dog since his party had arrived. A dog had not dug under that bowlder, nor would a groundhog have left so much loose soil at the mouth of his burrow.
Kingdon stopped and studied the situation. There was a small rock lying just above the bowlder and about two feet from its uphill edge. This smaller stone had recently been placed there.
He walked back to the felled sapling at the edge of the wood. Its butt, freshly cut from the stump, should be white. Instead it was crusted with earth.
Rex returned down the hill again, and stood for a minute by the great gray bowlder, testing one hand upon it, thinking. His gaze scrutinized minutely every foot of the slope below him. Presently, his face frowning and thoughtful, he sought the path by which he and his mates usually descended the hillside, and arrived at the camp before the others.
CHAPTER XXIII.
A THREATENING SKY.
Rex had brought the camp hatchet and placed it where everybody could see it. None of his fellow-campers spoke of its return. They were all hungry, and they hurried through dinner, took a nap, and then made for the sound while the tide was up.
There was a good diving place just east of their cove, and within a few rods of the spot where the other fellows moored their canoes. When the Walcott Hall boys arrived at the bathing place the four white youths from the other camp were already in the water. Joe Bootleg seemed to have a constitutional objection to water for bathing purposes.
With a driftwood plank they had found, Midkiff and Phillips rigged a diving-board. The rocks which weighted its shoreward end sometimes slipped off and "dumped" the diver ingloriously into the deep hole under the bank, but that merely added to the sport.
Peewee hailed Pudge MacComber, with whom he had struck up something of a doubtful friendship, and soon four of the other fellows were at the spot where the Walcott Hall boys bathed.
Pence, a fine swimmer, dove like a shark and stayed under water longer than anybody in the crowd, save Kingdon himself. The two raced informally from the diving hole to the canoes and back again, and it seemed that Pence had a wee bit the better of it.
"You do that Australian crawl fine," Kingdon told the black-eyed chap frankly.
"That's one thing I do all winter. There's a corking pool in our town gym., and I don't often miss a day."
"Swimming and rowing are as good all round training stuff as a fellow can do," Kingdon said. "Gives you wind and what Downs, our coach, calls stamina. You handle a paddle like a veteran, Pence. How are you with the oar?"
"So-so," Horace replied languidly. "Had good crews at Belding where I went for a year. I made Number Two eight."
"Belding?" ejaculated Kingdon. "Did you go to Belding?"
"I went and then I came away again," laughed Pence with that unpleasant curl of his lip. "Didn't stay long."
"Why not?"
"I rather think my absence was requested because of something regarding a calf being led into chapel and tied in the pulpit. Had a kind of a weak-voiced chaplain and the calf helped him out in bellowing."
"Boys will be boys," Kingdon said sadly, "and calves will be calves. Sometimes it's hard for the faculty to tell 'em apart."
Pence's eyes twinkled with appreciation. "At least, they didn't make the mistake of rusticating the calf instead of me."
"After that?" quizzed Rex.
"After what?"
"Belding wasn't your last school? Where do you go now?"
"I've finished school. Nothing to it," yawned Pence.
"That reminds me," Kingdon said quickly. "Those fellows sailing theNothing To Itclaim to be the fastest crew in these parts in eight-oared shell."
"Nothing To It?" echoed Pence.
Rex told him about the Blackport Boat Club fellows and their boasting. "I'd dearly love to get hold of that old boat of theirs, train a bit, and see how bad they could trim us in a race."
"But you five fellows can't handle an eight-oared shell," the black-eyed youth said.
"No. But we five, with your four, could. Even Pudge would do as ballast. Have to work in Hicks as cox."
Pence stared and laughed shortly. "You're a queer fellow," he said. "Anybody'd think we were bosom friends of yours.'
"Bosom enemies," responded Kingdon. "What's the odds, enemies or friends? We might work up a good crew and have a little fun with thatNothing To Itcrowd."
"You must have sport on the brain, Kingdon," drawled Horace.
"Sure. Clean sport. There's nothing like it. I can have a fine time with the worst enemy I've got, if he only plays the game—anygame—fair."
"Suppose you've got plenty of deadly enemies?" was the other's rejoinder.
"Got one, I fancy, right in your crowd," Kingdon said, with rather a meaning inflection to his voice.
Horace stared at him. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about Ben Comas."
"I don't. It's your Indian chum, Joe Bootleg."
"Joe? Tut, tut! He's as tame as——"
"As a tarantula," finished Kingdon, laughing again.
"I'll have an eye on him," said Pence, rather sneeringly smiling once more. "But you don't expect a fellow like him to play any game fair?"
"Not so's you'd notice it," Kingdon cheerfully returned. "But you other fellows, now—take for instance yourself, Horrors."
The other straightened up on the rock where they were sitting in the sun, at a distance from the other fellows, and looked with hard eyes at Rex. "What do you mean?" he questioned. "I don't just get you."
"Consider your pitching," Kingdon said coolly. "It's crude."
"Crude?"
"Very."
"Say, I've got some reputation as a pitcher around home."
Rex repressed a laugh. "Others before you have been Walter Johnsons around home, but have lost their reputations as soon as they got away anywhere."
"What's the matter with my pitching, anyhow?"
"I've told you that you lack control, but you need experience and training in other things. Speed is a great thing, I'll admit, when a pitcher mixes it with brains."
"Perhaps I've got as many brains as your friends Midkiff and Cloudman," flared Horace. "I suppose you think them Mathewsons?"
"They're steady and dependable, at least."
"Plugging horses!" snapped Pence. "No real stuff."
"I've seen fellows who didn't succeed though everybody thought they had the 'real stuff,' and I've seen 'plugging horses' who climbed steadily and surely to the top. Brilliancy is sometimes nothing but a flash in the pan."
"Is that so?" demanded the heated Horace. "I don't suppose I'd make any showing at all on the diamond of that fancy prep. school of yours?"
"Oh, you're baseball material; no doubt of that," answered Kingdon carelessly. "I figure Stanley Downs would place you about on the Number Three scrub."
"In-deed?" exploded Horace.
"Yes. We're weak in our pitching staff, too. I could use a southpaw like you, even if you came in as a freshman, with the school nine this fall."
Kingdon said it in such a matter-of-fact way that the other stared at him for a full minute before demanding: "What's this you're driving at? What's the big idea?"
"I might use a fellow like you on the pitching staff of the Walcott Hall nine, if he was amenable to discipline and I could work with him this summer."
"You go fish!" jeered Pence, rising suddenly to cast himself into the sea and swam away.
"Now, let that idea rattle about in that dome of yours, Horrors," chuckled Rex, also rising. "We'll see what comes of it."
That evening, while supper was cooking, Rex strolled up the hill over-looking the camp. He glanced at the bowlder, and again found the stick that had been cut and hidden at the edge of the wood. Apparently no one had been there since he made his previous examination.
The next day the Walcott Hall boys saw Joe Bootleg and Harry Kirby paddle away from the island in one of the canoes, and knew the pair were going for provisions. When Kingdon and his chums went up to the ball field, the former was not surprised to see Horace Pence there, alone.
Pence lay languidly in the shade, chewing a grassblade, and watched the workout of Midkiff and Cloudman, without comment. On this occasion Kingdon was intentionally sharp with both his moundsmen. He criticized them so severely that Midkiff became a boiling volcano of wrath, and Applejack was as wild as a tiger. But neither of them answered back.
Further than being catcher, Rex was captain of the Walcott Hall nine. Off the field he was even more easy and democratic than most fellows, but in practice or in a game he was the leader, and would brook no rebellion against his authority.
When Cloudman had come in and joined the sullen Midkiff in the shade, Rex whipped around to look at Horace Pence. "Want to get out there and see if you can find the pan to-day?" he asked. "I can give you a little time before sending those babies of mine out to practice base throwing."
"If you talk to me the way you have been ballyraggin' those chaps, I'll maybe punch your head," drawled Horace.
"That would be careless of you. You might make me cry. You might wake up," Kingdon shot at him with surprising fierceness, "and find yourself in the hospital!"
Horace laughed. Then he drawled, as he walked out toward the pitcher's box: "My goodness! You're some bully, aren't you? Where's your umpire?"
"Want one?"
"I'm going to show you I can cut the platter."
"I don't see any of your crew here."
"Call one of yours. I can stand him. That sunny-tempered chap you call Midkiff is my choice. He just loves me, I know. If he says it's a fair ball I shall know I've earned it."
"Jawn, as a favor to me, please," begged Rex, adjusting his mitt.
He knew Midkiff was doubtless stewing in the red-pepper of his own temper. Therefore he was suddenly mild as milk in begging John's assistance; so mild, indeed, that John was forced to repress a smile as he reluctantly came forward.
With Pence working, however, Rex continued mild and encouraging, almost complimentary at times; for he was honestly desirous of developing this southpaw with the phenomenal speed. To Kingdon's mind, here was a fellow who, having speed, could be taught control; a fellow who, if he wished, could contain himself and be, on the surface at least, as cold as a glacier.
When Horace Pence considered it best to check his temper, he could do so. Kingdon had perceived that. The question was, did he care enough about baseball and about excelling in the game to hold a tight rein on that flaring rage that the lift of his upper lip indicated?
With Midkiff and Cloudman, both tempestuous natures, there was an advantage. Each was inspired by the thought that he was working for his Walcott Hall; and the biggest and most sweetening thing in a school-boy's life is his loyalty to his school. In a miniature way, it is the feeling which every citizen should hold for his country; it is that not easily explained virtue called patriotism.
Somewhere else it has been pointed out that Rex Kingdon was so successful in molding his comrades, even those who did not much admire him, to his will because he possessed an ability to read character. It was really the foundation of his success in sports.
He had read Horace Pence like an open book from the start. He saw just the sort of hot-as-fire, cold-as-ice kind of a youth Horace was. Reckless, bold, dishonorable, yet clean in his habits because he abhorred viciousness. Pence was secretly proud of his influence over others, but too proud in another way to put forth much effort to hold that influence. Never, for one moment, did he think of exercising his power for the good of others.
For all such faults, Rex believed that discipline of the right sort would turn Horace into a real pitcher and a real man as well. Everything depended upon leading him into the proper path through an appeal of some sort that, while opening his eyes to what was wrong, would rouse his ambition to do right.
Rex kept all this to himself. On this present occasion, despite all that had led up to Horace Pence's work-out, with Midkiff as umpire, the session went through, as Peewee said, "without a skid." Even Midkiff, had he admitted it, would have been forced to acknowledge that the dark-eyed fellow showed distinct signs of improvement.
"How does the arm feel?" asked Kingdon, when they had finished.
"Just getting warmed up—as though I hadn't used it at all."
"Therefore now's the time for you to come in from practice. It's all right under conditions that demand it, to put everything you've got on the ball and work till the old wing just about drops off. But overwork in practice is as foolish and harmful as too little work. Some fellows, who might be pitchers, kill their arms before they ever get into any real games."
Pence did not scoff at this. There was nothing offensive or "preachy" in the way Rex spoke. His manner was as sincere and friendly as if Horace had been one of his chosen chums.
That afternoon the mainland grew hazy, clouds began to gather, and a threatening sky presaged heavy weather.
"Seems to me those canoeing fellows have bad luck," Red Phillips said, as the Walcott Hall boys lazed around the campsite waiting for a contrary fire to burn up briskly so supper could be made. "Look at it now."
"Hasn't that Injun and Kirby got back?" questioned Peewee.
"If they have, I don't see the second canoe over there," Red yawned.
"If they haven't started from Blackport by this time somebody'll tell them not to," Midkiff said.
"They had a leg-o'-mutton sail," said Kingdon. "They could skim over with this breeze. It won't rain yet awhile, and the wind's only puffy."
"I'd rather be onterra firmajust the same than out in a canoe on this sound," Red declared.
Without feeling any disturbance about the absent Indian and Kirby, Kingdon climbed to a point above the camp where he could see far away along the sound shore of the island to the westward. In fact, he stood upon the great gray bowlder which had already attracted his attention.
Was that a small sail away to the west? He had no glass, and could not be sure. If it was, the craft was so close under the island that it almost immediately was wiped from the range of his vision. It might have been nothing but a flash of surf. If it were a boat, it had been beached in safety by its crew, who feared the threatening aspect of sea and sky more than they did the sign-boards of the Manatee Lumber Company.
Rex was climbing down from the eminence when he fancied he felt the bowlder move under him. His efforts to descend seemed to contribute a rocking motion to the granite.
"A rocking stone?" muttered Kingdon, leaping down. "If it is so easily tipped off its balance——"
He tried a dozen times, and from as many angles, to rock the bowlder. It weighed several tons and of course he might as well have taken hold of the corner of Old Hall and tried to topple it over.
Finally he went back to the tent, for the other fellows were calling him.