"Jove, we'll have some celebration, eh, fellows?" said Romper.
"You bet we will," assured Bud.
"Yes, but we have a lot of work to do yet before everything will be ready," stated Bruce. "We'll go over to Granny Mastin's right away and find out if she'll make the flag for us. We'll get Nipper to drawn a design for her. Then we'll have to come back and get the silk and whatever else she wants to do the work with. And say, fellows, we'll have to erect our poles at Firemen's Field, do you realize that? We'll be mighty busy for a while—hello, look who's inspecting our motorcycles."
Bud and Romper looked up in time to see Dick Austin, the boy fromArizona, scrutinizing the three machines that were lined up at the curb.
"Howdy," he said as they came up. "I was just eyeing these here critters. Look blamed ferocious, they do."
"Would you like to ride on the tandem behind me?" asked Bruce.
"Who, me?" exclaimed Dick. "No, sirree, yo' cain't git me to straddle that there animal. Ef 'twas a hoss I'd be tickled to death, but you cain't git a snorting machine under me."
"Huh," said Bud, contemptuously, when Dick was out of earshot, "that sounds like a bluff to me. Bet he's afraid of a horse, too."
"Oh, I don't know," said Bruce, as he started his engine, "he has the legs of a horseman and he comes from Arizona, you know."
"Yes, but he's a scared cat," asserted Romper as the trip got under way.
Woodbridge was a profusion of bunting and streamers on Independence Day. Almost every building, from the meanest little stores on Stone Street to the big business blocks on Willow and State Streets, was gay with flags and emblems. The thoroughfares were thronged with people, too. Summer folk from the cities, mingled with the easily distinguished farmers who had come to town for the celebration, and these with the residents made the population of the town almost double its normal size.
Soon after the dinner hour the crowd all began to move in one direction, for everybody was headed for the exhibition grounds.
Firemen's Field was an ideal place for the celebration. It was in a broad unfenced stretch of valley bottom on the outskirts of town and a grandstand had been erected there for the Firemen's Tournament in the spring, so well remembered by the "smoke-eaters" of Quarry Troop. A deep woods stretched along the west side of the field and Otter Creek formed the southern boundary, while the highway to St. Cloud ran across its northern extreme. There were several acres of broad green lawn in front of the grandstand, and the only obstructions in the whole area were the tall and short poles the scouts had erected. These, however, had been placed so as not to interfere with the dancing and other events scheduled for the day.
The grandstand was filled to capacity long before the hour set for the beginning of the ceremonies, and by the time the Mayor and various other officials had entered their special reviewing stand hundreds of people were massed in a semicircle about the field.
To one side of the entrance was a group of gay colored tents or marquees, about which were crowded hundreds of tiny tots, all arrayed in the gaudy carnival dress. Some were ladies of the French courts, some were garbed in Colonial costumes and some were masquerading as bears or as wolves. One group was wearing the wooden shoes and frocks of Holland, another group was costumed as Russian peasants and still others were dressed to represent German, Swedish, Danish and Irish folk. The Campfire Girls were there, too, in a special little marquee by themselves, and to the right of their location was the Quarry Troop, every lad in full uniform, and looking very important.
"Corking crowd, eh, Bruce?" said Nipper Knapp, who stood watching the bank of faces in the grandstand.
"You bet it is. Say, we'll have to do our finest. Not a hitch to-day, fellows," said Bruce.
"Right-o," asserted half a dozen members of the troop enthusiastically.
Then every one became silent, for the director of the carnival had taken the center of the field. A moment he stood there and surveyed his performers, then he gave the signal for the music, and presently the grand march was under way.
Hundreds of youngsters ranging from tiny tots who were to take part in a Mother Goose scene, to the stalwart scouts themselves, formed in line and paraded around the field, passing in front of the stands.
A very impressive scene representing the signing of the Declaration ofIndependence was the first number on the program. In this, severalacademy boys took the parts of John Hancock, John Adams and JohnDickinson, and the members of the First Congress.
Immediately following came the folk dances, in which scores of pretty girls in costumes executed the national dances of the various foreign countries. These little maids tripped lightly to the fantastic dance music of the people of the old world for fully twenty minutes and as the last group began the final steps of a pretty Scotch fantasy Bruce stood up and mustered the scouts in line.
"We're next, fellows. Now do your finest. Are the tents ready and the rest of the equipment in order? How's 'Old Nanc'?" he called.
But it was needless to ask the question, for the lads had been ready for fully fifteen minutes.
"How about the flag?" asked Bruce, as the little girls danced their way off the field and the band changed to a martial air.
"All safe," said Romper, who had been appointed custodian of the precious bunting.
"Fine!" said the leader of the Owl patrol.
Bugler Benson sounded the call, "Forward, scouts," and the brown-clad column started toward the tall pole near the center of the field, where Mr. Ford, in Scoutmaster's uniform, stood waiting. They marched in scout order with "Old Nanc," laden with the wireless equipment trundling slowly behind them.
For a moment the lads stood in line in front of the grandstand and saluted, then at a word from Mr. Ford they broke ranks, and presently a scout camp was growing before the surprised spectators' eyes. Tents were erected in a jiffy, scouts were scuttling here and there with camp equipment, cooking utensils and firewood. Some were mixing dough, some frying bacon, some cutting wood and some carrying pails of water. Within ten minutes a model scout camp had appeared in the center of Firemen's Field.
But presently the spectators discovered that they were doing something even more interesting than building camp. A half dozen scouts under the direction of Bruce were unloading queer looking sections of electrical apparatus from the troop's home-made automobile.
While this was being done, Bud Weir strapped on his climbing spurs and began to climb the tall pole, carrying the end of a good strong manila halyard. This he wove through the pulley at the top and soon the scouts were hoisting one end of the wireless aerials up to him. This was quickly adjusted, as was the machinery on the ground, and in a few minutes the wireless station had been assembled and Bruce was at the key, flashing crackling messages into the air.
Applause came from the grandstand, but before the clapping died away, the lads lined up in front of the taller of the two poles again and Romper produced a roll of shining red silk from one of the tents. With this under his arm he took his place before the flagpole and waited, one hand upon the new halyard, which still remained in the pulley. At this sign Mr. Ford stood out and, removing his campaign hat, faced the spectators and the reviewing stand.
"Honored Mayor, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "the boys of Quarry TroopNo. 1 have been granted the privilege by the Town Council to presentWoodbridge with a city flag. It is our—"
The Assistant Scoutmaster paused here. In the crowd before him he saw scores of frightened faces. He saw men pointing and heard women cry out in terror. He saw children cower and scamper for the protection of the grandstand.
Instantly all turned and looked across the field toward the strip of woods that bordered it, and what they saw paralyzed them with horror.
There on the edge of the wood that bordered the west of the field, shaking his massive head menacingly and pawing the ground, stood Ponto, the great black and white bull of the Lyman stock farm. The most savage animal in Woodbridge had broken through his barrier and, attracted by the applause of the people, had wandered through the woods to Firemen's Field. And the wrath that kindled in his wicked eyes as he stood and watched the assemblage made even the bravest scout shudder. For a moment the lads stood as if robbed of their presence of mind by the unfamiliar emergency. But the next instant they were stirred to action by the rush of some one running and a cry:
"Quick, scouts, take care of the children. Get these year kiddies out o' danger. I'll 'tend to the bull."
This was from a stocky lad with legs slightly bowed, who pushed through the group of boys and laid hold of the halyard of the flagpole. In an instant he had whipped out his jack-knife and severed the rope. Then he began to haul it out of the pulley overhead, meanwhile shouting for the scouts to quiet the already panic-stricken crowd and hurry the children out of danger.
Bruce gave one look at the boy from Arizona and in his eyes saw something that told him he was master of the situation. Then he turned to the scouts.
"He can handle the bull, boys," he cried; "come, work fast, get the children back."
And the next instant the scouts, armed with their staffs, began to herd the tiny tots behind the grandstand, leaving Dick Austin alone in the center of the field.
The lad from Arizona was working frantically. With his knife he cut the flag from the rope and with the line thus freed began to weave a bowline knot into one end. This he made to serve as the ring for a lariat, and presently he had a fifteen-foot loop spread out before him on the ground. Then with his eyes on the enraged bull he coiled the rest of the rope into his left hand. And all the time he worked his plucky face wore a grim smile.
As for the bull, he stood there grunting and pawing the sod furiously, his fiery eyes fastened on the lone figure.
But it was not in Dick Austin's make-up to flee from a bull. Instead, he shouted:
"Come on, you old son-of-a-gun," and he actually kicked the red silk flag into the air to tantalize the animal. This was too much for the beast. When he saw the red flag flaunted at him by this puny human he let out a bellow and charged.
Dick was on his toes in an instant. With a twist of his hand he started the loop circling about his head, while his eyes were fastened on the enraged animal charging toward him with lowered head.
Nearer he came! Dick could see the red in his distended nostrils; he could see the cords and arteries in his massive neck and shoulders standing out under his velvety skin. He could feel the ground tremble under the pounding of his heavy feet. The next instant those short, ugly, black tipped horns might be buried into his flesh and he would be tossed into the air. And if he dropped limp and helpless he would be stamped to death. The beast was twenty feet away now. His head dropped lower for the final plunge. He lunged his great body forward.
But the boy was not there! Like a panther, Dick had leaped behind the flag-pole, but not until he had hurled the whistling loop straight at the charging animal's feet. Then with a quick turn he snubbed the line about the pole.
The next instant the great beast's legs were jerked out from under him and with a roar of rage he turned a complete somersault and crashed to the ground, every bit of his wrath jarred out of him by the stunning impact.
In a twinkle Dick came from behind the pole and with the lariat still in his hands rushed toward the prostrate animal. Two dexterous twists were all he made and the hind legs of the bull were lashed as fast as the front ones and savage Ponto was helpless.
After the members of the Quarry Troop had viewed the municipal fireworks in front of Town Hall that night they gathered at headquarters to discuss the day's events before going home. But there was only one event to be discussed, and that was on the lips of every individual in town.
"By Jove, I called him a coward," said Bud Weir. "But if there's a fellow among us who has as much sand as he had—I—I—-well, by cracky, there isn't any."
"Well," said Bruce thoughtfully. "It's this way—ah—er—I mean— Aw, shucks, I can't express it the way I want to, but he surely didn't shirk the duty for which he was prepared. He told me this morning that lassoing cattle (roping he calls it) and riding horses is part of a day's work where he comes from."
"I don't care if he is skittish about machinery," said Romper Ryan emphatically, "I'm going to see that Dick Austin becomes a scout before he leaves Woodbridge; he's the kind of a chap we need."
Bruce and two companions, Romper Ryan and Jiminy Gordon, were passing the Post Office just as Morton McCabe, the little old man who delivered mail in the southern district of Woodbridge, came down the broad stone steps.
"How are you, Mr. McCabe?" saluted Bruce.
"Hello, boys; fine, fine, thanks. Say, did you get your letter?" said the diminutive postman, Who always talked very fast and tried to crowd as many sentences as he could into a single breath.
"Letter?" demanded Bruce, "what letter?"
"Why, I left a letter up at headquarters for you this morning. It was addressed to you, care of Quarry Troop No. 1, of Woodbridge. Came from Old Harbor Beach, Maine. Saw the postmark. Big letter. Looked important."
"Is that so? Thank you, Mr. McCabe," said Brace.
"Who do you know at Old Harbor Beach, Bruce?" asked Romper.
"That's what I was wondering. I can't figure it out. The letter must be meant for all of us, or else it wouldn't have been mailed to headquarters. Come on, fellows, we'll see what it is."
Ten minutes later the three lads arrived at headquarters. There was the big blue envelope sticking under the door. Bruce picked it up and ripped it open, while his companions crowded around and looked over his shoulder. Hastily the patrol leader's eyes ran through the first paragraph. Then, as if he could not believe what he had read, he started to go over it again.
"Out loud, out loud. Don't be so blamed stingy," said Romper, who was eager to hear the news it contained.
"I—er—aw, say, this must be a joke. Gee, if it isn't, it's the biggest piece of luck the troop has had in some time. Listen, fellows:"
Bruce Clifford, Chief of the Motor Cycle Fire Department, Woodbridge, Vt.
My Dear Bruce: From what I have heard of your motor cycle fire department I have come to the conclusion that the members of your troop are exactly the boys I need to help me this summer. I would like to hire the services of ten scouts to take charge of a motorcycle life-saving corps I am organizing at Old Harbor Beach.
I own all the bathing concessions here and we have a strip of the finest beach along the Atlantic Coast. It is fifteen miles long, just as firm as concrete. The bathing here is treacherous at times, however, and there have been several lives lost far this summer. I do not care to have any more such accidents and I want a good crew of life savers to help me. This crew will cover the beach on especially designed motorcycles. I know you scouts are trained in first aid work and are well fitted for these duties, and that is why I am eager to have your services. Of course I want only the ten best swimmers in the troop.
It is necessary that you come to Old Harbor Beach at once, as the International Automobile Races will be held here next week, and these with several large conventions will bring thousands of people to Old Harbor from now until the end of the summer. I will pay transportation for ten scouts and will board you and pay each of you $5.00 a week. If these terms are satisfactory, wire me at once and I will send a cheek to cover expenses.
Very truly yours,J. Arthur Herrick,President,Old Harbor Improvement Association.
"By Jiminy, what do you think of that?" exclaimed Gordon in amazement.
"Jove, I can't believe it. Seems like a—well, I think some one is making fun of us," said Bruce. "Wait, I'll read it over again and see if I can see a joker in it somewhere." Once more he read it aloud, while Romper and Jiminy Gordon listened.
"Sounds mighty good on second reading," asserted Romper.
"It sure does," exclaimed Gordon enthusiastically, "and just think, fellows, if we go we can see the Internationals. Jove, I was looking over the entry list in the paper this morning. The best automobile drivers in the world will be there—St. Clare, Dublan, Osterhout, and—and—best of all, Dan Dacy, the American, who has been smashing all of the old records. The papers say Dacy is the favorite. He's going to make a new record in everything from five to fifteen miles and trim the Frenchmen and the Germans an—"
"Oh, say, quit! We're not there yet. Gee, you almost make me believeI'm really going," said Romper.
"But what's to prevent?" demanded Jiminy.
"Well—well—I don't know, unless this letter is a joke."
"We'll find out if it is or not by sending a wire immediately," saidBruce, who had been thinking the situation over.
"Yes, but first why not get the troop together and see if we can get ten good swimmers whose parents will let them go? We can call a meeting this afternoon and send our telegram to-night," said Romper.
"Right-o; good suggestion," said Jimmy.
"And I really think we should submit the whole thing to Mr. Ford and get his opinion before we take definite action. If some one is joshing us, he'll be able to see through it all right."
But subsequent events proved conclusively that the letter was not a joke. The scouts called their meeting immediately, and after a careful study of the troop's merit badge list, and a painful process of elimination, the ten oldest and best fitted scouts of the troop were selected to become members of the life-saving crew. Then Bruce, Romper and Jiminy took the letter to Mr. Ford and gave him the whole details of the case.
Mr. Ford read the letter slowly, carefully considering every detail.Then he laid it down and removed his glasses.
"Well, boys, if you want my opinion on the whole matter, I would say that you were quite the luckiest lot of chaps I've ever heard of. I spent a summer in Old Harbor Beach three years ago, and, of course, I met Mr. Herrick. He is quite the finest man I ever hope to come in contact with; big, stout and jovial, and as good-hearted as can be. If your parents will let you, I would advise every one to accept the offer."
"Cracky, we are in luck, fellows. I move we telegraph our acceptance right away," said Romper.
"I move we turn the matter over to Mr. Ford and let him telegraph. He's our Scoutmaster, and I'm sure Mr. Herrick would feel better about the whole thing if he found he was dealing with a grown-up person," said Bruce.
"Right," said Jiminy and Romper.
"Well, if that's how the wind lies, I'll do it," said Mr. Ford; "only you boys consult your parents first and tell me what they have to say."
"Whoop-e-e, we will see the Internationals!" exclaimed Jiminy.
"Yes, and we get a month at the seashore. When'll we start?" demandedRomper.
"Just as soon as the money arrives. About Tuesday, I should guess," saidBruce, as the lads left Mr. Ford's house.
It is hardly natural for ten thoroughly healthy scouts to be confined to the restricted limits of a day coach for four solid hours without becoming extremely weary of the monotony of it all. Bruce and the rest of the members of Quarry Troop No. 1 became quite restive before the long journey to Old Harbor Beach ended. Indeed, the lads were thoroughly pleased when, after the engine whistle had emitted a prolonged shriek, the conductor poked his head in at the door and drawled—"'Old Har-b-o-r—, Old Harbor Beach! Next stop Port Junction."
"Thank goodness we're here at last," exclaimed Nipper Knapp, as he began to gather his luggage together.
"That's the best news I've heard to-day," insisted Bud Weir, swinging his suitcase to his shoulder and crowding out into the aisle with the rest of the scouts.
A stout good-natured looking man with a little five-year-old girl in a bathing suit perched on his shoulder and a big collie dog romping by his side, was easily the most conspicuous individual on the long station platform. Bruce caught sight of him as he descended the steps of the coach.
"That's Mr. Herrick, or I'm a duffer at guessing," he said to Romper, who was just behind him.
"You're not a duffer, for here he comes to welcome us," said Ray Martin, who had overheard the remark.
Indeed, as soon as the big man saw the group of uniformed scouts leaving the train he hurried toward them.
"Hello, there, boys. I'm the one you're looking for, I guess. My name'sHerrick."
"My name is Bruce Clifford, Mr. Herrick," said the patrol leader, extending his hand, "and these are the life-savers you have been looking for."
"Good, I'll learn your names later, boys, and if I don't, I'll give you names that'll be just as good, won't I, May? Boys, this is my daughter May. Now come along with me to my office on the pier and I'll outline just what my plans are. I want you to go on guard as soon as you can, for the crowd at the beach is getting larger with every train that pulls in. The Internationals start to-morrow, you know. The racing cars are all here. For a week past they have been tearing up and down the beach from sunrise until the bathers begin to turn out for their morning dip. Sort of tuning up for the big events."
"Will we be able to see the races?" asked Gordon eagerly.
"I don't see why not. They start to-morrow and will last for three days," replied Mr. Herrick.
"Won't that be great," exclaimed several as they fell in line behind Mr.Herrick and accompanied him through the resort toward the pier.
Old Harbor Beach was like all other high-class watering places along the Atlantic Coast, only a great deal larger than the average. At least a dozen tremendous hotels were located on the heights back of the beach. There were the usual number of shore restaurants and candy stores, too, and a board walk that stretched along the entire waterfront. Below this was a great wide beach of pure white sand as firm as a well-paved road, and fairly crowded with bathers. This beach was known throughout the world as an automobile race course, and many a speed record had been made on it.
"So this is the famous Old Harbor Beach race course?" said Jiminy, as he eyed the straightaway.
"That's what it is, son, and if you'll look away down there you'll see a number of low green sheds. Those are the garages where the speed maniacs store their high-powered cars."
"Jiminy!" whispered Gordon, thoroughly awed.
Mr. Herrick's office was in the big white building at the shore end of the steel recreation pier. Without any ceremony he ushered the lads into the room and had them make themselves at home. This invitation the scouts accepted by promptly taking a seat on whatever was handiest, including window sills, tables and even the floor; Mr. Herrick sat down at his desk, while the collie curled up at his feet and his daughter took her place on his knee.
"Scouts," he said, "there have been three very sad occurrences at the beach this Summer, and while in each case the fault lay entirely with the bather, I feel very much disturbed by the accidents, and I don't want any more to take place this year. I have called upon you boys to help me prevent them. Remember, from now on you lads are the guardians of the lives of bathers at Old Harbor Beach." He spoke the last sentence very impressively.
"Here's my plan," he continued after a pause. "Last Winter I was out to California, and at one of the beaches I saw a motorcycle life-saving corps that had been organized by an old-time lifesaver. It pleased me so much that I decided to have the same sort of a patrol on my beach. I ordered two motorcycles built along the lines of the machines used there. They arrived here two days ago and are now in their garages waiting for you. These cars are equipped with all kinds of life-saving and first-aid devices, including a stretcher, a pulmotor, bandages and medicines of all kinds. There will be two men to a motorcycle; a driver and a man on the tandem seat, ready to spring from the wheel and plunge into the surf and make a rescue. He should be the best swimmer of the pair, of course.
"All along the beach I have had signal towers built, each of which will be manned by a scout. He will keep constant vigil, and, at the first sign of trouble in his vicinity, he will flash a warning to the next tower. The scouts in that tower will flash the signal on until it reaches the lookout at the garage. Then the motorcycle will be off to the scene of trouble, tearing down the beach at a mile-a-minute clip. How does that strike you?"
"Great," exclaimed several of the scouts in unison.
"Well, don't get the idea that it's all fun. Indeed, it's mighty serious business, I'll have you know. On your quickness to respond to an alarm and upon your bravery and cool-headedness in a crisis will depend a human life, perhaps several of them," said Mr. Herrick.
"We realize that," said Bruce soberly.
"I guess you'll do, all right. I've heard a great deal about you Vermont scouts and I guess you'll be able to do what I ask of you and do it right. Now, if you are ready, we'll go down to one of the garages; there are two of them. If you will look out of the window you will see one about a mile down the beach there. The other is a mile to the north of us. The distance between the two stations includes all of the beach reserved for bathers and it will give each machine about a mile to patrol.
"The garages have just been completed. Each will contain sleeping accommodations for five boys. You will divide your crew into two patrols, with a leader for each patrol. One patrol will occupy the north station and the other the south. There will be two life savers and three watchmen to each patrol. Do you understand?"
"Indeed, we do," said Bruce.
"Good," said Mr. Herrick. Then, after sending his little daughter out on to the beach to romp with her collie companion, he continued: "Come on and we'll inspect your new quarters." And, with Mr. Herrick in the lead the scouts filed out upon the pier and down a long iron stairway to the beach below.
Through crowds of bathers the lads made their way until they arrived at a long, low structure built near the board walk. This was the south station.
Carpenters and painters were putting the finishing touches on to the building, and it looked to the scouts as if they were going to have a capital home in which to spend the month of August.
Inside the big double doors were two rooms. The rear room was equipped with five white iron beds and several chiffoniers and wash stand, while the front apartment contained the life guard's motorcycle.
"Jimmy, look at that machine," exclaimed Gordon, who was the first one to enter the building.
"Cracky, it's the best make on the market, too," said Nipper Knapp, examining the maker's name plate.
"Bet it will burn up the beach, eh, fellows?" said Romper.
"It sure will. It's a two-cylinder tandem. It'll make fifty miles an hour, or I'm no judge," said Bruce enthusiastically.
"Like it, boys?" queried Mr. Herrick, who had been watching them as they inspected the apparatus.
"Like it! Gee, we couldn't help but like it. It's a corker. But what's that side car paraphernalia, that long box and the cigar-shaped tin can and the reel with wire cable on it, and all that?"
"I'll explain that to you right away," said Mr. Herrick. "That long, flat-topped box on the side car serves several purposes. When you want to take an unconscious person to the emergency hospital over on Beach Avenue you can use the box as a stretcher. Just put your patient on to the top of it and while the man on the tandem seat holds him fast the driver can rush the machine off to its destination at top speed; regular mile-a-minute ambulance service, you see.
"Under that flat top are a lot of interesting things. The box contains several compartments in which are all sorts of first-aid preparations, including bandages, medicines, aromatic stimulants and the like. And, last of all, there is a pulmotor."
"Oh, I've heard of the pulmotor and always wanted to see one in use," said Bud.
"Well, I'll tell you how they work," said Mr. Herrick. "It is the latest thing in the way of first-aid appliances. It pumps oxygen into the lungs of an unconscious person automatically. Firemen and life savers all over the world are using them now. That blue tank there contained oxygen. This machinery under the glass covering is a pump that works by the pressure of the oxygen. A little of the oxygen escapes from the tank and moves the pump, which forces the life-giving gas into those long pipes. That muzzle at the end of the pipes is placed over the victim's mouth and nose, and in that way the oxygen enters the lungs. You boys can study the directions for its use on the cover of the box here. When you have a pulmotor around you won't have to resort to the artificial respiration drill described in your Handbook. Try it out on each other until you know exactly how to handle it."
"You bet we will. We'll work out a regular rescue exercise, won't we, fellows?" said Bruce.
"Right-o!" exclaimed half a dozen lads in unison.
"Fine. Now, I'll explain the way a rescue is made by the California life savers. That reel of wire cable and the cigar-shaped float attached to the rear end of the side car is a very important factor in rescue work. The float has a life belt attached to it, as you can see. When a rescue is to be made the motorcycle comes to a stop at the water's edge and the man on the tandem seat leaps off and seizes the float. He buckles the life belt on to him as he plunges into the water and the man on shore reels out the cable as the rescuer swims to the person in trouble. When the life saver reaches the man or woman he is after he does not have to struggle to keep afloat, for the buoy holds him on top of the water. If he has to dive for the drowning one, he merely unbuckles the life belt and when he comes to the surface the buoy is right there for him to seize hold of, or, if he chose to, he could strap it fast to the one he is trying to save. The wire cable is very light, but very strong, and when the buoy is made fast to any one, the man on shore hauls away and drags the body out, just as he would haul out a big fish."
"Jove, butthat'san outfit for you," exclaimed Romper.
"Well, I'm glad you like it, Scouts. The outfit in the north station is identically the same. I didn't spare any money to have your equipment the finest."
"That's mighty good of you," said Bruce.
"Why, it's to my own interest, lads. A single life saved is worth more to me than all the money I've put into this scheme. Now it's up to you boys to make good my investment."
"We'll do it," shouted the scouts in unison.
"Alright, boys, that's all I ask. I'll leave you now. You can organize your own patrols and select your own leaders without my help. When you get hungry, go to the Pine Grove Hotel I've arranged to have all your meals served to you there.
"You can spend the rest of the afternoon becoming familiar with the apparatus, and I guess you'll have all the time you want to practice during the next two or three days, for while the races are on no bathers will be allowed on the beach. Well, good-by and good luck to you."
And the genial bath house proprietor left the scouts to their own devices.
"Jiminy, fellows, I can't believe it. Some one pinch me, please. I want to see if I'm awake. Just think of being in charge of such an outfit," said Gordon after Mr. Herrick had left.
"It does seem like a dream, doesn't it?" said Bruce, examining the contents of the first-aid chest that formed the body of the side car. "Come on, let's dig into this and see what we have to work with."
That invitation was unnecessary, for several of the lads were rummaging through the chest while others were inspecting the machine and still others were wandering through the building looking their new quarters over. So occupied were they in this pleasant occupation that they completely forgot the time. Indeed, it was after six o'clock before they realized it. And since six o'clock was the dinner hour at the hotel the lads hustled off up the beach to find their boarding place.
For an hour after they left the hotel the scouts wandered through the resort acquainting themselves with the place. At eight they all returned to the south station, for they realized that they still had a great deal to do that evening.
When the electric lights were lit and the scouts were comfortably situated in the bedroom of the Station, Bruce called a meeting. The four best swimmers were selected first. They were Jiminy, Romper, Bud and Bruce. After a vote Jiminy and Bruce were selected to man the motorcycle in the south station, while the two others were appointed operators of the apparatus in the north station. The six remaining lads were appointed lookouts to man the beach towers. Three were attached to the north station crew, of which Bud was made leader, and the other three were appointed members of Bruce's south station crew.
Before the meeting adjourned it was decided that all ten scouts remain in the south station for the night, since there would be very little work for them to do next day. Bruce also thought it wise to have all the lads together while they were learning to use the pulmotor and becoming familiar with their apparatus. Then, too, the south station was better located to afford the lads a view of the automobile races next morning, which counted for a great deal.
By sleeping two in a bed and disregarding any slight discomforts the ten lads found that they could occupy quarters meant to accommodate only five. And after a round of pillow fights and similar nocturnal diversions they were finally all tucked in and ready for sleep.
"Well, good-night, fellows. Hope we all sleep comfortably," shoutedRomper after the lights had been turned out.
"Good-night yourself," shouted Jiminy. Then he added, "Hi, fellows, theInternationals to-morrow! Whoop—e-e-e!"
Bang—bang-bankety-bang-bang-bang! The ten scouts bounded out of bed at once. All were wide eyed with excitement and wonder.
"What the dickens! An earthquake!" demanded Bud Weir.
Jiminy Gordon was the first one to the window.
"Gee whiz, look at him go!"
"Look at who—what?"
"Why that was one of the racing cars," said Jiminy. "They are tuning up for the big races to-day. Guess it was a foreign car from the racket it made. All the mufflers off. Couldn't make out just which car it was though. Going so fast it looked just like a gray streak. I—"
"Bnr-r-r-r-r bumpety-boom-boom-boom-b a n g bang-bang!"
"Whoopee-e-e, here's another one," screamed Jiminy.
The ten scouts rushed to the front door of the building, ignoring the fact that they were clad only in pajamas and night shirts, and waved to the passing racer.
"Cracky, look at him tear up the beach," exclaimed Bruce.
"Rather early in the morning to risk one's neck, eh? It's only four o'clock. Guess they are doing their last tuning up before the events start," said Jiminy.
"Say, how do they race?" asked fat Babe Wilson. "Do they line 'em up like a lot of sprinters and start 'em when a pistol is fired?"
"Well, they may do some match racing tomorrow, but to-day I think they will hold their time trials. They will race to see who can make the best time over the course," said Jiminy.
"How fast can they go?" asked Ray Martin.
"Oh, they can make a mile in half a minute. The world's record for a mile is twenty-five and one-half seconds," said Gordon, who was more or less of an authority on automobiles among the members of the Quarry Troop.
"Gee Whizz! Say what can they make fifteen miles in? How long will it take 'em to go the full length of the beach?" asked Bruce.
"Well, the world's record for fifteen miles is just ten minutes flat. That's an old record and Dan Dacy says he's going to smash it to smithereens to-day. Hope he does. Say, fellows, what do you say to going down and looking over the garages before breakfast?"
"Fine, let's get some clothes on and we'll start right away," saidRomper.
Dressing was only a matter of a few minutes and presently the troop was on its way down the boardwalk toward the point where the series of green-peaked roofs located the garages of the speed maniacs. Although it was not yet five o'clock in the morning there were scores of people on the board walk all headed in the same direction.
"Say, this is going to be a big day all right," said Ray Martin, as he noted the enthusiasm that prevailed.
"Right-o, just look at the crowd down there at the garages already this morning," said Bruce.
About each of the low houses were grouped dozens of curiosity seekers. The scouts soon joined the throng and began to inspect the quarters of the races. Each garage contained a big sullen looking car about which was grouped half a dozen mechanics. These men were tinkering here, tightening a bolt there, or wiping and polishing the great machines as if they were so many sacred elephants. Mechanical parts, pumps, jacks, boxes of tools, cans of oil, extra tires and wheels, cushions and innumerable odds and ends were scattered about each building and everybody seemed to be keyed up to an extreme nervous pitch. On every side could be heard remarks about the cars and drivers, their records and their chances for winning the various events.
The excitement was infectious and before they realized it the scouts were as thoroughly interested as every one else. They began to talk automobiles to all with whom they came in contact and soon picked up a great deal of information about the notables who were to take part in the races.
"Say, Bruce," said Jiminy Gordon suddenly, "there's Dan Dacy. See him. That big, tall, light-haired fellow down there. I've seen his picture so many times that I almost feel as if know him. Come on, we'll go down and see his machine. That must be his garage—yes, it is. See the sign over the door. Vix-Benson, it says. That's the car he's going to drive."
The scouts followed Jiminy and Bruce and soon found themselves part of a very large crowd gathered about the famous driver's headquarters. Dacy was the favorite American in the race and since he was to operate one of the best known American cars everybody was enthusiastic to see him carry off the honors of the event in which he was entered. He was standing by the door of his garage watching his attendants tinker with his machine, when the scouts came up. The lads pushed their way through the crowd to reach the rope railing about the entrance to the garage, and when the tall racer saw them, he smiled and waved his hand.
"How are you, Scouts?" he said good-naturedly. Then without waiting for an answer he came over to the rope.
"Where are you fellows from?" he demanded.
"Woodbridge, Vermont, sir," said Bruce.
"Woodbridge, Vermont? Well, you came a long way to see the races, didn't you?" he said, a boyish smile playing about the corners of his mouth.
"Well, not exactly. You see we are here on business. That is, we've been hired as life guards at Old Harbor. We're going to patrol the beach for the rest of the Summer.
"Oh-ho, so you are the chaps Mr. Herrick was telling me about—have motorcycles and all that sort of rigging, eh? Say, boys, that's a great scheme. I saw the original motor cycle life guards work out in California last year, and they're great, too. Hope you have luck." Then after shaking hands with Bruce and Jiminy and two or three other scouts, he turned and entered the garage, for one of his mechanics had called him.
And although Dan Dacy did not realize it, this spirit of democracy had won him ten thoroughly capable rooters, for the scouts were more than pleased with his friendship.
"Say isn't he a corking fine chap," exclaimed Bruce.
"I should say he was; a regular pippin' I'd call him," said Jiminy stoutly. And he looked at his companions as if he dared any one of them to deny it.
The crowd about the garage was growing to tremendous proportions, and it was all that the scouts could do to extricate themselves. When they finally reached the open beach again, Bruce looked at his watch.
"Say, fellows, it's getting late," he exclaimed; "it's six o'clock and we haven't had any breakfast. I think we will have to hustle over to the hotel if we want to get back to quarters and have a drill before the races start."
"Right-o," exclaimed Babe Wilson, "I know it's getting late because my stomach feels all shriveled up for want of something to eat."
"Huh, that stomach of yours," said Jiminy Gordon in disgust, as he took a lingering look toward the garages. A moment later he fell in line with the rest of the lads, who started up the board walk toward the hotel.
On their way back the scouts paid a brief visit to the north station, but they all returned to Bruce's domain at half-past seven, for the north station crew was rather eager to stay in the vicinity of the lower station for a better view of the races. Then, too, they had decided the night before that it would be well for all of them to practice their first aid work together.
There was very little need for the lookouts to man their tower during this practice work, for they needed no drilling since all of their signaling would be done with signal flags and the semaphore signal code which is part of the examination for all second class scouts.
That being the case, Bruce decided that all of the lads would devote the morning to operating the pulmotor, while the four life savers made frequent plunges into the surf so as to become accustomed to swimming with the aid of the buoy. One after another the lads operated the pulmotor upon a supposed victim until each had learned the proper method of adjusting and strapping fast the mouthpiece, and which screws to turn to start and stop the oxygen pump. An hour of this practice work was quite sufficient, and when it was finished Bruce and Jiminy and Bud and Romper, turn about, took the motor cycle for short dashes up the beach and indulged in a mock rescue At ten o'clock the drilling was stopped, for the racing automobiles began to appear on the beach in final preparation for the races which were scheduled to start at eleven.
"Say, fellows, that rescue work is some fun," said Jiminy Gordon, as he emerged from the surf for the last time and came toward the station.
"You bet it is," said Bruce, as he shut off the power of the motorcycle and wheeled the machine into its quarters.
"And the water is just snappy enough to feel good, too. You know, I think I'll stay in my bathing suit all day, even though there won't be any bathers to rescue. I want to get tanned up right away," added Jiminy.
"Good idea," exclaimed several, with enthusiasm, and forthwith they all donned the special maroon bathing suits that Mr. Herrick had provided for his life guards. But it is hard to tell whether it was the desire to acquire a good coat of tan or the opportunity afforded them to display their rather pretentious bathing suits, that moved them to take this step. However, fifteen minutes later, a group of ten uniformed and more or less self-conscious beach guards were sunning themselves in front of the south station in full view of the thousands of people who were gathering on the board walk to view the races.
By eleven o'clock the crowd had increased to a veritable horde. Thousands lined the board walk from the garages to the finish line and hundreds of automobiles were parked in every roadway. Special guards, composed of the local troop of boy scouts with their staffs and a troop of militia from Portland had been detailed to keep the sightseers orderly and in position on the board walk. They were all having their hands full accomplishing the task, however, for the automobile enthusiasts began to get restless as the time for the start of the races drew near.
At five minutes after eleven the band on the recreation pier, which had been blaring forth popular airs for an hour, ceased, and a moment later the judges made their appearance on the beach. This was a signal for prolonged cheering on the part of the crowd. But the noise stopped When a single individual carrying a black and white flag stepped out into the course and began wigwagging. He was signaling to another individual at the garages, who in turn transmitted his signal to the starting line in the dim distance down the beach.
"That means everything is ready. The first car will start in a moment," said Jiminy Gordon nervously.
Every one was gazing down the beach, where a tiny black blotch on the sand marked the dozen or more racing cars held ready for the start. Then when every one was waiting tense and silent—boom! came the muffled echo of the starting gun. —They're off! cried the crowd, and far, far down the beach the scouts could see the tiniest black speck coming toward them. Soon they heard a curious far-off drone which developed quickly into a grumble, then into a fusillade of loud bangs as the racing car approached. The scouts were all on their feet now, nervous and expectant.
"Osterhout, the German," cried the spectators, as the long, low racer drew near.
Then almost before the scouts could wink, it had roared past, its hood enveloped in blue flames and its driver bending low over the steering gear.
"Gee whiz!" was all that the amazed scouts could say when the big car roared across the line.
A brief but tense silence followed the finish of the run, for the crowd waited while the judges, by means of an elaborate system of telephone communicated with the starters, fixed the time. Presently, however, the huge scoreboard on the recreation pier displayed: Osterhout, two minutes 34 seconds. This announcement was greeted by a roar, for the German had equaled the world record for five miles.
"Cracky," cried Jimmy Gordon, "Dan Dacy will have to go some to beat that. Just think, if Osterhout had been one-fifth of a second faster he'd have smashed the world's record. Gosh, I wish—"
Boom! Here comes another one!
Silence reigned in the vast crowd again and every eye followed the black speck. "Du Blon," guessed some; "St. Clare," said others; "Wolverton," asserted several enthusiasts.
But before the big racer had traveled half of the course the hum of its engines ceased and the black speck gradually came to a halt. Wolverton it proved to be and his car had developed engine trouble. The Stafford car was out of the race.
St. Clare and Du Blon followed in quick cession, each of them driving their madly flying vehicles to the limit of endurance, but each fell behind Osterhout's mark by several seconds. McCalkin, the ruddy-faced Irish driver, was the next sensation. His was the smallest car of the race in point of length. Indeed, it looked as if it had collided with a telegraph pole and lost most of its hood. But under that snub nose were concealed six perfectly good cylinders that spat fire all the way down the course and shot the car over the finish line two seconds better than the world's record. What a roar of applause greeted the boyish driver when the figures were displayed! Even the scouts forgot for a moment that they were rooting exclusively for Dan Dacy and burst forth in a ringing cheer.
But presently their attention was diverted from this achievement, for word was passed from the judges' stand that Dan Dacy with his Vix-Benson was the next contestant.
"Dan Dacy next!" was the word that passed from mouth to mouth through the crowd. Every one was a-tip-toe with excitement. All eyes were strained on the starting line.
"Gee, I hope he comes through with a new record," said Bruce anxiously.
"He will," asserted Jiminy Gordon positively.
Boom! Five thousand pairs of eyes were fastened on the tiny black speck that detached itself from the black blot far down the beach, and sped northward. Ten thousand ears were strained to catch the first far-off hum of the motor Dacy was coming. His Vix-Benson was burning up the beach. Now the scouts caught the buzz of the motor. It grew louder with the passing of every second. Like a black projectile the car came on, flames from the throbbing cylinders licking about the hood.
"Dacy! Dacy! Danny Dacy! Make it a new record!" screamed the electrified crowd while he was yet two miles from the finish line. Unquestionably he was the favorite.
On came the roaring racer. The car was just a gray blur that hardly seemed to touch the beach, and begoggled Dan Dacy looked like the hooded messenger of death.
Then with an ear-splitting roar the great machine passed the scouts on the last mile of the course!
"By Jiminy, it's a new record or I'll— Oh mercy! Look! Look! She'll be killed!"
The scouts stood transfixed with horror. Up the beach in the very path of the flying motor stood little May Herrick, clutching a red rubber ball in her hand and looking at the coming machine with horror written in every line of her childish face.
The whole situation was clear. The tot had dropped her ball, which had rolled out onto the sloping beach. With her mind only on rescuing the plaything, she had pulled herself out of her nurse's grasp and run out onto the race course. And then when she found herself in the path of certain death she had become panic-stricken.
Dan Dacy's heart must have leapt to his throat when he saw the little one in his way. But if it did it in no way affected his nerve. He knew that to turn the steering wheel but an inch meant certain destruction to the careening car and a broken neck for himself perhaps. Yet he braved this hideous fate and wrenched at the steering gear.
There was a terrific roar, a crash of shattered metal and in a cloud of sand the big gray racer turned abruptly and plunged end over end down the beach into the curling breakers. The crowd gave vent to a shriek of alarm when they saw Dan Dacy's limp form shoot clear of the wreck and go whirling, arms and legs flying out toward the point where the combers were breaking.
Like every one of the five thousand witnesses of the tragedy, the scouts stood paralyzed for a moment—but only for a moment—Bruce was the first to gather his scattered wits.
"Quick, Jiminy! We'll get him! Come! He may still be alive! The rest of you fellows follow on foot!"
While he was speaking, Bruce rushed into the station and started the motor cycle. Jiminy was right behind him and an instant later the powerful machine was making forty miles an hour over the sandy beach. Bruce bent low over the handle bars while Jiminy clung on and sought to buckle the life buoy belt about his waist.
When the machine reached the wrecked motor car Bruce brought it to an abrupt stop. But already Jimmy had leaped from the machine and plunged into the water. With powerful overhand strokes he breasted the breakers. He seemed to shoot through the water, so mighty were his efforts.
Thirty feet out he saw something bobbing upon the surface of the water. It was Dacy's leather helmet. Toward this Jiminy headed and the water fairly boiled with the struggle he was making to reach the spot. In a few seconds he was near enough to reach out and grasp the black object. But he let go of it immediately and the next moment he was seen to prepare for a dive under the surface. A few feet away he had seen some air bubbles coming to the top.
In a jiffy he had unbuckled the life buoy. Then like a seal the lithe youngster sought the dark green depths, following the line of bubbles. Down he swam, deeper and deeper, for on the white, sandy bottom he could see a dark, shapeless mass turning round and round with the action of the water. He reached out to seize it and his lingers slipped from the driver's leather jacket. Again he tried, and his hand closed about the cold wrist of the unconscious man.
Then he turned and started to struggle upward, dragging his heavy burden after him. It was hard work—terrible work, for he had dived deep and he was badly in need of air. His lungs felt as if they would burst. The blood pressure in his neck and head was almost unbearable. At first he could make no headway. The drowning man seemed to hold fast to the bottom. But he fought hard for he realized that if he let go of Dacy he would have difficulty in finding him with a second dive. Every moment was precious, too. There might still be a spark of life in the limp form he was trying to rescue.
Up, up, he struggled. Above he could see the light of day. Great green bubbles raced past him. Only a few feet now. Only a second or two longer. Thus did he spur himself onward until suddenly his head shot clear of the waves, and, with a-gasp, he filled his tortured lungs with new air. Ten feet away danced the cigar-shaped float with its life belt, and swimming toward him from the crowded beach were two other scouts ready to help.
Jimmy summoned every ounce of his remaining strength and held the head of the unconscious man above the water. And when the spectators saw that he had actually made the rescue a cheer louder and longer than any that had greeted the racers rent the air.
It was hard work and Jiminy was at the point of exhaustion, yet he tried his utmost to buckle the life belt about poor Dacy. But while he fumbled with the straps the two other scouts arrived and relieved him of the task. Quickly the belt was adjusted and the sign flashed to Bruce, who seized the steel cable and hauled away.
Then the two lads turned their attention to Jiminy and between them aided him into shallow water.
By the time the three swimmers reached the beach the scouts had cleared Dacy's lungs of water and had started the pulmotor. For twenty minutes the lads worked valiantly, doing everything that they could to bring back life in the unconscious man, while the anxious crowd looked on.
Finally their efforts were rewarded. Dacy's eyelids quivered several times, then slowly opened, whereat the crowd gave a mad cry of joy and the scouts had all they could do to keep them from pressing closer.
But one man did break through the circle of guards and the lads let him pass. He was Mr. Herrick. Tears of joy coursed down his good natured face when he saw that Dacy was still alive, and before the scouts could restrain him he seized the prostrate man's hand and squeezed it while he murmured:
"Dacy, Dacy, thank goodness you are still alive. I was afraid you had sacrificed your life to save that little girl of mine."
Then turning toward Bruce, he said, "Scouts, I don't know how to thank you for this. I—"
"Don't try to thank us, Mr. Herrick," said Bruce, "but you can help us put him onto the side car. I think we should get to a doctor's right away, for there may be some broken bones or internal injuries."
And a few moments later the life guard's motorcycle was carrying its first patient to the emergency hospital.
Whack—"Nine-hundred-en-ten;" whack—"nine-hundred-en-'leven," whack, "Zare ees almoost une tousan trees what you boys mus' cut awraty. What you zink of zat?" said Paul Nez, the big French-Canadian lumber cruiser, as he hacked a blaze into a six-inch poplar and left his short hatchet wedged fast while he felt through his pockets for a handkerchief.
"Et will take you all ze Wintair for ze work mebbe, huh?" he continued, as he blew his nose with a loud blast.
"George! I shouldn't wonder if it would take us a couple of months at least," said Bruce Clifford as he sat down upon a stump and pushed his hat back upon his head.
"Yes, snow will be thick through here when we finally finish, I guess," added Jiminy Gordon, surveying the forest.
"Well, the Doctair Lyman he say he not such great rush," smiled the Canadian. Then he paused and seemed to search into the very heart of the wood with his coal black eyes, and all this time he kept sniffing the air.
"Camp 'round here sure. One no good camp too, mebby," said he finally as he pointed toward the west.
"I thought I smelled the smoke of a camp fire," said Bruce.
"So did I," added Jiminy.
"I smell heem smoke, I smell heem scraps, too. No good camp, no know woods. Mebby heem get seek. Come on. We all through now. We find 'em wood road now soon. Doctair Lyman heem line run cross by that blaze over tair; you see heem, huh? Heem end of Doctair Lyman's wood."
"So that's the line, eh? Well, twenty-five acres of woods is a lot of territory, isn't it, Bruce?" said Jimmy, as he picked up his scout hatchet and slipped into his belt.
The Canadian wrenched his hatchet free from the poplar and started swinging westward between the trees and the two Quarry Troop scouts fell in behind him in single file. And as they walked on the smell of the camp lire, and the tainted odor that emanates from a camp's garbage dump grew stronger to their nostrils.
Then presently the camp itself loomed up at the very side of the wood road for which the Canadian lumberman was headed.
A single wall tent of large proportions was the most conspicuous thing about the place. This had its flaps pinned back and in the doorway, reclining on a collapsible canvas camp chair with a bandage-swathed foot propped up on a soap box sat one of the occupants.
The woodsman and the two Quarry Scouts needed only a glance at the little clearing to know that those who had built it here knew nothing at all about the woods and were, moreover, very disorderly by nature. Blankets lay in a confused heap among leaves and twigs instead of being hung up to dry; empty cans, paste board boxes and scraps of paper littered the place; fire burned entirely too near a dry brush pile and there was no stone fireplace to hold it in check; loose papers were scattered about and to make matters even worse, the pots and pans that had been used to cook the last meal lay on the ground unwashed.
It was indeed a bungle of a camp but if the single occupant realized it he did not seem to care a whit for he sat serenely in the doorway of the tent so interested in a book that he did not hear Paul Nez and his young companions approaching.
"'Allo, you get heem broke foot, mebby?" said Paul with a grin as he moved toward the tent.
The camper looked up with a start, and then smiled. "Yes, I twisted my right ankle yesterday by falling down a gully, and ouch—don't make me move 'cause it hurts like sin. Glad it isn't sprained though. It ought to be well in four or five days. Anything you want? Anything we can do for you? If there is, go ahead and do it yourself. The rest of the fellows are off partridge hunting. What do you want, provisions, matches? I'll tell you where they are and you can help yourself. I can't move."
"We don't want heem nothin'. We go out of woods now right off, down wood road. Why you don't fix heem camp up good? Look um fire—poor, bad, very worse. Some day heem catch bush so, leaves mebby, and then heem timber fire. Burn out heem woods. Look um pans, pots, dirty dishes. Not good for smell. Not good for men in heem woods. Blankets, look um all get lousy. Not very good camp, heem," said the Canadian, plainly showing his disgust at the general disorder about the place.
"I know it, old chap. It looks like the sloppiest kind of a place to me, but then I'm not supposed to know anything about camps and woods. I come from Boston, you see. The other fellows are the campers. They are Vermonters, from St. Cloud City," said the man in the doorway sarcastically.
"Huh, a deuced of a lot they know about the woods and camping," saidBruce in disgust as he surveyed the scene.
"They know more about keeping a pig sty," said Jiminy Gordon as he picked up the blankets and, shaking them free of the dust, hung them onto the branch of a nearby hemlock.
"Thanks, old chap, those blankets on the ground worried me a lot. And if you don't mind, will you scrape up a few of those papers? Jack and Bart (they are the fellows who are camping with me) run off every morning and leave a mess like that behind. They are off hunting most of the day and here I have to sit like a blooming invalid until they come back. But I don't mind so long as I have a good book. Thanks, that looks much better, doesn't it? I'm much obliged to you fellows—ah—er, what're your names anyway—mine's Dave—Dave Connors."
The two scouts introduced themselves and then because Paul Nez had started down the wood road they waved farewell to the camper with the injured foot and hustled to catch up to the timber cruiser.
"When you come into heem woods for cut um down?" asked the Canadian when the scouts finally caught up with him.
"Why we are going to start cutting right away," said Bruce. "You see we get a fall vacation and that will help a lot. School closes tomorrow and remains closed until next Monday. The whole troop is coming up to Long Lake tomorrow afternoon after school closes, to start a camp and remain here the whole week. Then after that we are going to come up every Friday night and work all day Saturday until our contract is completed and we have enough lumber to build our log camp." They swung along down the wood toward Long Lake where they met the main highway that led back toward Woodbridge and Scout Headquarters.
The members of the Quarry Troop of Woodbridge had taken upon themselves a real contract. Indeed they felt that they had suddenly all become genuine business men as a result of a bargain they had made with the leading physician of the village, for you see their little stroke of dickering had put them in the way of securing material for a real log cabin on the shores of Long Lake, a site for the cabin, and a chance to make a little money for the troop treasury besides. It had come about this way.
Mr. Ford, the Assistant Scoutmaster of the Quarry Troop, had learned from Dr. Lyman that he intended to cut a great deal of the standing timber on his tract of twenty-five acres bordering the lake. This he intended to dispose of as pulp wood, the only purpose it was really good for. Mr. Ford had imparted this information to Bruce Clifford and Jiminy Gordon that same evening and it was not long before the leader of the Owl Patrol and his chum had discovered the possibilities of a business deal.
Accordingly after the next meeting the two lads visited Dr. Lyman and made him a proposition to the effect that the scouts would cut his pulp wood and take their pay in trees. These trees, the lads explained, were to be felled and used to construct a log cabin on the lake shore. As part of the bargain they asked for permission to use a section of Dr. Lyman's land that bordered the lake as a site for their camp.
The plan struck the physician as being capital and he was particularly pleased to find that the boys were eager to earn their pleasure with good hard work. In fact he was so pleased that he made a bargain whereby the boys would get one cord of wood in every four cut and they could have their wood either in trees or in cord wood lengths, just as they desired. Under this arrangement it was quite apparent that the boys would have more than enough lumber to build their log cabin and Dr. Lyman told them that he would buy whatever extra wood fell to their share and pay for it at the market price of pulp wood.
Moreover, to help the boys, the physician arranged to have Paul Nez, an experienced timber cruiser, traverse the woods, blazing each tree of the proper pulp wood species and size thus giving the boys a clear idea of what timber to cut and what to leave standing. And Bruce and Jiminy were asked to accompany him so that they might become familiar with the forest.
Tramping the length and breadth of twenty-five acres of wood land, blazing every tree between six and eight inches, was not the easiest sort of work the scouts had ever undertaken, and when they finally arrived at Woodbridge at four o'clock in the afternoon they were "plum tuckered," to quote Jiminy.
However, a brief rest and a hearty evening meal put them in fine shape once more and they were able to get to the troop headquarters betimes that evening, for a meeting had been called at which plans were to be laid for the start of the lumber camp.
Mr. Ford was at headquarters to hear the details of the cruise from Jiminy and Bruce, and he also gave the scouts some expert advice as to the equipment they would want for the beginning of the camp on the morrow.
Among other things he suggested that they build a winter camp immediately by putting up lean-tos with thatched roofs on the shores of the lake. These would be warmer than their tents and would make more or less comfortable quarters until along toward snow time, when the big log cabin the lads hoped to build would be well on its way toward completion. Then, too, these structures could be left in the woods and would always be ready for the boys, whereas if they used their tents they would have to make and break camp every Saturday. The Assistant Scoutmaster also made out lists of provisions, clothes and equipment for the boys and they spent a busy evening getting everything together and in shape for an early start next morning.