CHAPTER IVHOW MOTHER CARES
Running away would be very popular with boys if they could be sure of finding such good friends as Glen had met. The reverse is more commonly true. Glen knew well enough that the boy on the road, trusting to chance for friends, is much more apt to fall a prey to people of the J. Jervice variety. He remembered the pitiful plight of a boy who had been returned to the school after falling into the hands of tramps, and he thanked an unknown Providence that he had tumbled into the kind arms of Jolly Bill.
Mother Spencer was just as kind and cheerful as her son, though she neither made jokes nor appreciated those offered by Will.
"This is Glen Mason, mother," said Jolly Bill, when she came out to meet them. "After he had committed assault and battery on my delicate frame, I prevailed on him to bring home the mangled remains."
"You are hurt, Willie!" she cried in alarm. "Your face is scratched and there is blood. Is it serious?"
"I shall recover," said Will. "I have been in rather worse accidents. Take a look at this other dusty, weary specimen. What do you recommend?"
"I beg your pardon," she apologized to Glen. "I was anxious about my boy. I am every time he goes out. I'll just show you up to the bathroom. There is plenty of hot water and soap and towels, and I'll bring you a clean suit that Willie used to wear."
Glen reddened with embarrassment at this goodness.
"Maybe you'd better not," he protested. "You don't know who I am."
"But I know what size you are," she insisted. "This old suit of Willie's has been lying around for years, but it's perfectly good. Now you take and put it on."
"Take it along and wear it," urged Jolly Bill. "It's been shut up in the closet so long it may turn two or three handsprings when it gets out in the sunshine, but otherwise it will fit you all right. Mother's kept the moth out of it long enough."
Soaking in a tub of clean water after his hot and dusty day, with a nice suit of clean clothing ready to put on, Glen felt that he was indeedfortunate. He actually concluded that he was getting better treatment than he deserved. He was still embarrassed by the thought, when he went downstairs and found Will and his mother at the table.
"I've told mother all about you," announced Bill. "You have her official seal of approval."
"Don't mind what he says," interrupted Mrs. Spencer. "A boy who wants to do right always has a place with me. But you get a reserved seat because you're going to help Willie."
"I hope I'll be able to. I'll surely try."
"Oh, you're just the strong young fellow he needs. He's had the plan quite a while but so many people—"
"Not so very many, mother," interrupted Will. "Very few people know of it."
"Well, the people that you've told—you know how they have all acted or spoken as if it were a wild goose chase—"
"They think so; that's their privilege."
"No it isn't. They shouldn't think so. You've studied it out and you know it's as bright a thought as ever helped any man to a fortune and I'm glad this big boy is going to help you work it."
"And then I'll be rich enough to buy you ahome, and to go to that big hospital and get my old pegs fixed up so they can put artificial legs on me that I really can walk on."
"I'm mighty glad to help," said Glen. "I'd do most anything for folks as good as you."
"There, mother; that's an unsolicited testimonial to your particular brand of goodness," said Will. "He didn't talk a bit that way when he met me first. Acted quite abrupt and seemed to want to get away."
"I didn't know you then," objected Glen. "I was trying to get away from everybody."
"Pretty good horse-power you were putting into it, too," observed Will. "That reminds me, boy. It is now time for you to unroll the full history of your eventful career."
"There isn't very much that matters, until a few days ago," began Glen.
"What's that?" asked Mrs. Spencer. "Did you say not much that matters? How old are you?"
"I was fifteen last May."
"Fifteen years ago last May! Don't you know, Glen, that something happened then that mattered a wonderful lot to one person, even if it didn't then matter much to you. And it's been mattering ever since, to her."
"Yes," agreed Glen, "my mother, you mean."
"Yes, I mean your mother. And your father, too, as long as he lived. Don't you suppose it mattered to them that their boy should be so—" she hesitated, groping for a word.
"Pigheaded!" volunteered Glen.
Mrs. Spencer looked shocked, and remonstrated: "Why, Glen! I didn't say anything of the kind—wayward was the word I wanted."
But Jolly Bill clapped his hands in cheerful applause.
"Good boy, Glen!" he exclaimed. "Pigheaded is the word. Bound to have your own way. Bound to have what you want. No self restraint at all. If you want it, nothing will do but you must have it, good or bad. Believe me, boy, that's the very word."
"I wish you wouldn't interrupt me, Willie," objected Mrs. Spencer. "I wasn't trying to preach a sermon to Glen and I don't know why you should. What I want to tell him is that every little thing about a boy matters to mother. It's always important to her what he does, and if he does wrong to-day she is sure that he certainly will do better to-morrow. Mother's going to be awfully glad when she hears about you, Glen, and I want you to tell me where I can write to herthis very day. Now, go on and tell us about running away."
Glen was interrupted occasionally.
"Oh, did you say Gates?" cried Mrs. Spencer. "Was it Jonathan Gates?"
"I believe I did hear his wife call him Jonathan once or twice, though mostly they all called him 'Father.'"
"It must be they," said Mrs. Spencer. "They're just the people to take care of a boy that way. We know the Gateses very well and they're the salt of the earth. I wonder you ever had the heart to leave them."
Glen told why he had left and then related his further adventures with J. Jervice, his final escape, and his day of dread lest he should be apprehended.
"I think I can tell you why Mr. J. Jervice didn't send after you," said Will. "It's been his busy day. I just read about it in the evening paper. Excepting that it was funny I wondered what excuse they had for giving it so much space. But I now see why it is important. Look at this!"
He handed Glen the paper folded back to a column headed: "Peddler in Wrong Pew."
"Every good citizen knows of the new licenseordinance but not every peddler. One came briskly to the county clerk's office this morning. He was not too rushed to stop and sell a patent tie clip to a man at the door.
"'I'm a traveling merchant,' said he to our genial county clerk.
"'Very good,' said the clerk. 'I see you are doing a little business.'
"'Pretty fair,' agreed Mr. Peddler. 'But that ain't what—'
"'Hold on a bit,' interrupted the clerk. 'First thing is a license.'
"'I've got something more important, just now,' urged the peddler. 'I want to tell you about—'
"'First things first,' persisted our efficient clerk. 'You must pay a license to peddle in this county.'
"'But I don't want to peddle now. I want to lodge—'
"'One thing at a time. You may lodge longer than you want if you break our ordinances. Get your license. Five dollars!'
"'But I don't want a license. I want to give information—'
"'No, no! You want to get information (our clerk is just bound to have his way). 'You shouldhave information about our new license fee. Every peddler must pay it.'
"'I'll not pay it. Five dollars is more'n I could make in a whole day, and I don't aim to be in your county that long. I'll go on.'
"'Too late. You've made one sale that we know of. Five dollars or—'
"'I can't, Mister. I can't pay that. You, just forget about it an' I'll tell you how we can divide ten dollars, easy money.'
"'Trying to bribe a county officer! That's worse and worse. Here, Mr. Sheriff, you'd better look after this man.'
"The man's name was J. Jervice and he found five dollars in his clothing before the sheriff had fully clamped his grip. He went away in great wrath, taking with him not only the objectionable license but also the valuable secret which was worth ten dollars—easy money.
"The honest merchant who has a regular route does not object to the license. The objections come from these itinerant peddlers, who claim that they are just passing through. Our county officers will insist upon payment. They do not fear to discourage their visits for these fly-by-nights are the very men who cheat our citizens, sometimes stealing under guise of a sale and sometimesstealing outright. We do not say that this peddler looked suspicious, but we observed our sheriff taking a good mental picture of him."
"Good-by, Mr. J. Jervice," exulted Glen, as he laid down the paper. "I don't care if I never meet you again."
"But I'm not sure that you won't," said Jolly Bill, with a purpose to tease. "Now that Mr. Jervice has had to pay a five dollar license fee, all because he loved you so and wanted to see you safe home, he'll be apt to look for you."
"He'd better not come near this house," declared Mrs. Spencer, energetically. "I'll give him a piece of my mind if I see him, I can tell you."
"I surely hope he'll come," said Jolly Bill. "He deserves all he can get."
But neither Jolly Bill, Mrs. Spencer nor Glen were to be gratified with a sight of Mr. Jervice immediately, although they were by no means through with him.
Later in the evening after Glen had given Mrs. Spencer very efficient aid in helping her crippled son to his bed on the ground floor, she showed the boy up to a cozy little bedroom where he was to spend the night.
"Have a good night, son," she said. "I'm so glad you are going to help my boy, because youlook like a boy with grit and determination, and I'll feel safe about him with you looking after him. It means a lot to us just now. It isn't so much that I care about the money, although Willie insists that I must have this home all clear of debt. But the main thing with me is to see my boy able to take care of himself. There's a place in New York where they can operate on him and then fix him up so he can walk all by himself. All we need is the money. It will be such a joy to me. Good night!"
CHAPTER VTREACHEROUS INDIANS AT BUFFALO LAKE
It was a couple of days later before Mr. William Spencer (sometimes known to his fellow citizens as Jolly Bill) fully explained to Glen the method by which he hoped to increase their fortunes. He had taken Glen into his home, had fed and provided for him and had given him some clothing. An automobile had brought them the twenty miles of their journey, early that morning, and had left them with their belongings at the house of a farmer, with whom Spencer was evidently on the best of terms. Now they stood on a knoll overlooking what seemed to Glen to be nothing but an immense field of growing corn.
"There is our fortune," said Spencer.
"That field of corn?" asked Glen.
"That is Buffalo Hollow and I repeat that there lies our fortune."
"And how are we to get it?"
"That is your job. That's why I brought you."
"What do you expect me to do. Take a spade and dig?"
"Perhaps! We shall see. Sit down while Itell you about this place. Buffalo Mound, over there, is the highest ground in this country. From its summit you can see into six counties. This big field before us is Buffalo Hollow. When I was a little chap I was told a great story about this by an old Indian. He said that years ago the Hollow was a beautiful lake fed by springs from Buffalo Mound. Some freighters carrying bullion camped here and were slaughtered by Indians. To hide the bullion until they could dispose of it they threw it in the lake. When they returned they could not find it readily, so they dammed the springs and drained the lake. Makes quite a romantic story, doesn't it?"
"Yes, but did it ever happen?"
"I believe there is some record of such a thing, but my private opinion is that the draining was done by some stingy owner who had little use for a lake and thought he saw an opportunity to secure twenty acres of good bottom land. Probably he thought he was a great economist. But as a matter of fact he did a very foolish thing. This prairie country is poverty stricken so far as lakes and woods are concerned. In the town I live in there are many wealthy men who take their families long distances every summer in order to reach a lake. A twenty acre lake isonly a pool in the lake country, but out here it is worth more than a gold mine."
"And you think if you could make it a lake again you could sell it to these wealthy people?"
"I know I could. I know an athletic club in town that would pay a big price for it. There are many of our wealthy men who would pay five hundred dollars for a hundred foot frontage, so that they might put up bungalows for summer residences. My plan is to find those choked springs, bring them again into their old channels, and convert the Hollow into a lake. Mr. Ryder, our farmer friend who now owns this farm, doesn't think much of my plan, and won't have anything to do with it any more than to sell me options on the land and the privilege of cutting this excellent stand of corn, and that is as far as my arrangements with him extend."
"And what is the first thing for me to do?" asked Glen.
"Excellent talk, that, my boy. What would you advise as to the first thing."
"I suppose you can't do much exploring while the corn stands. It should be cut."
"It should, and it must be cut in the old fashioned way. Did you ever cut corn in the old fashioned way?"
"You mean with a corn-knife. I helped cut a hundred acres at the school last fall."
"Well, there's only about five acres of this land in corn so the contract is smaller. The first thing is to borrow a corn-knife of our friend Ryder."
Glen's attack upon the field of corn began that very day. A year ago, at the reform school, he had hated this work; now, he enjoyed it. The corn was higher than his head, and the heavy stalks, piled on his left arm as he cut with his right, wore through his shirt and made an attempt upon his skin, but he did not complain. He was doing a work into which his heart entered, and so he was enjoying it.
Spencer could give no help at all. There are people, with like misfortune to his, who are able to make some sort of a shift with crutches, but Will could not use them at all. As Mrs. Spencer had explained to Glen, there had been some trouble in the amputation. All that was needed was money to go to a famous hospital and have things properly arranged and a pair of artificial legs fitted that would enable him to walk, run, race, dance or play the pipe organ. Will hoped to be successful enough to command the money for this and meantime he intended to be happy in the prospect. So he sat and watched Glenwork, made suggestions, cracked jokes and drew diagrams of the surrounding country.
The day that Glen finished his work was very hot. He had been working hard in the hope of completing the job by nightfall and was wet and grimy with perspiration and dirt. As he carried an armful of stalks to the shock he noticed a boy standing there dressed in a khaki uniform of olive drab.
"Wouldn't you like a little help?" asked the boy.
"I could use some," said Glen. "But I have only one knife."
"You rest, then, and let me use it awhile. I know how to cut corn."
"You'll spoil your pretty suit."
"This kind doesn't spoil. It's a scout uniform."
"Perhaps it won't spoil for as long as you'll work," said Glen. "What are you doing here?"
"We have a camp around the other side of the Mound. We only came yesterday or you would have seen some of us before now."
He was cutting cornstalks with a practised hand and Glen decided that he could trust him.
"You can go ahead for awhile. I'll go over and see what my partner says," he agreed.
"There's a boy scout over there," he told Spencer. "He wanted to help cut a piece, so I let him. Do you mind?"
"Not a bit. I'd like to get a whole troop of boy scouts to help. They ought to be some good at our game."
"There is a troop of them camped the other side of the mound, this boy says. Maybe we could get them to help."
Spencer straightened himself in his seat.
"Bright idea, Glen. To-night you shall push Jolly Bill and the old billy-cart over there, and we'll give them a chance to do a good turn."
Glen went back to where the scout was working.
"That's enough," he said. "You've given me quite a rest. We're coming over to see you to-night."
"I hope you will," the scout replied. "My father is the scout master and I know he'll be glad to have you come. His name is Newton."
"I suppose you get along with the same name?" suggested Glen.
"I surely do. And my other name is Corliss, but the fellows call me Apple."
"Why's that. Is it your round face and red cheeks?"
"No. I couldn't help looking that way and theboys wouldn't throw it up to me. No, sir; they started to call me Core, then Apple-core, and so down to Apple."
"It's a good name for you," said Glen. "Did I tell you I'd be bringing my partner over this evening, too?"
"He's welcome. It's in our articles, you know. 'A scout is friendly.'"
"Well, don't forget to ask him to tell some stories. Then you'll be glad we came."
"We'll be glad, anyway," said Apple, politely, as he turned away. When Glen learned to know him better he found this sunny cheer and gentle courtesy to be characteristic of him at all times and places.
It was no easy job to propel the old "billy-cart" over the fields, but Glen managed it. The scouts were just getting together for their evening camp-fire. They were all attracted by the queer vehicle and its jolly occupant and cheerfully and noisily responded to the introductions given by Apple Newton. Mr. Newton, the scout master, was just such a gentleman as one might expect Apple to have for a father and cordially welcomed both Spencer and Glen to their fellowship.
A hint from Apple Newton that Mr. Spencer was a teller of stories drew forth a wild clamorfrom the boys for his services. His first story, a funny one, brought forth delirious applause—a "side-splitter" they voted it. Then he told them a story of adventure which held them spell-bound. They clamored yet for more.
"Only one," stipulated the scout master. "It will soon be time to turn in."
"Then I will tell you a short story about this country, but I cannot vouch for its truth. First I must tell you that I grew up a mile or two from here. There are still some Pottawatomie Indians here occasionally, I saw one yesterday. When I was a small boy there was quite a colony—a number who never had gone onto the reservation. I knew some of the old men pretty well and one of them used to tell me stories. The most remarkable story he ever told was the story of Buffalo Lake. Years ago the place now known as Buffalo Hollow was a twenty acre lake. Lakes of any size are so rare in this country that even one of twenty acres is sure to be preserved in tradition, so there is plenty of record to verify this part of his story. The remainder may be true. He insisted that it was.
"It was late in the evening of a hot day. The freighters had been pushing along their tired horses for the last three hours, with their eyessteadfastly set on a clump of trees ahead—probably this clump in which we sit. When they reached the trees they no longer needed them for shade, for the sun had already set, but they were none the less glad of their leafy branches, glad of the green grass, glad of the cooling waters of the lake. They could scarcely restrain their tired but eager animals from plunging in as they were, and dragging their loads along, and once the harness was released the beasts made a wild dash for the water and reveled in its coolness. The men themselves lost no time in stripping off their clothing and taking the first swim of their trip. They swam and larked and sported until they were not only refreshed and rested but actually tired again. Then they ate a plentiful supper, spread their blankets around the treasure wagons and soon slept the sleep of exhaustion. Even the watch slept, for he, too, had borne the burden of the day and worn himself with the frolic of the evening. He felt no need of special caution for they were now in territory considered safe.
"But the Indians had been following them for many days, eager for such an opportunity. They dreaded as well as hated these plainsmen. They had not dared to attack them on the open prairie.But now, one dark form after another slipped noiselessly from tree to tree, and very soon every tree sheltered a savage form and made cover for the marksmanship of an Indian brave in feathers and war-paint.
"I don't dare to tell you the rest of this story as the old Pottawatomie told it to me, for it is near bedtime and these are the very trees between which the ghostly, ghastly figures flitted in the darkness. It is all past and gone now and you need have no fear. You boys on the outer edge who are crowding up to the light of the camp-fire are just as safe as the fellows in the middle. The thing to interest you is what the Indians did with the bullion, after they had massacred its guardians.
"There is a government record that such a massacre actually occurred and that the bullion has never been recovered. The old Indian said that being unable to take the treasure away they rowed it out in the lake and buried it in its waters. They were chased out of the country and it was years before they dared to venture back. Then they tried to regain the treasure but without success. As a final measure they dammed up the springs and drained the lake. But thetreasure was not there and so far as known it has never been found. What has become of it!"
A moment of deep silence followed.
"Supposing they didn't put it in the lake at all? Supposing they hid it in a cave?"
It was Apple Newton who spoke and his speaking was the signal for a perfect babel of suggestions and guesses.
Spencer held up his hand for silence.
"I did not come here to search for this bullion; but I feel sure that it did exist and that it may exist yet. Your scout master has invited me to stay with you for a week. I will tell you all that I know about the country, and you will help me as much as possible in getting about. We will hunt for this treasure. I try to be generous, so I will say that the scout finding it may keep it."
"I have a word to add," said Mr. Newton. "In this treasure hunt we must have system. Every scout desiring to enter will choose the section which he thinks most favorable, draw a map of it and present it for our approval. Afterwards he will give a full report of all his actions, how he has gone to work and what he has noted."
And then came a third speaker who had been expected by no one. He stepped from behind a tree, and to the eyes of the boys he was tall anderect and to some of their eyes he wore feathers and war-paint.
"Boys hunt gold! Boys hunt heap stone!" he said and disappeared.
CHAPTER VIGETTING ACQUAINTED
Most of the boys around the camp fire sat as if petrified for a few moments. Some of them clutched at their scalp locks, as if to make sure of their continued existence.
The first scout to show real signs of recovery was a thin, lanky, freckled-faced hero of unheroic appearance, who spoke in a jerky fashion peculiarly his own.
"Help!" he cried. "Help! Mother! Why'd my pa let me come to this wild place? Injuns! Robbers! Help!"
"Oh, shut up, Chick-chick," cried a small boy. "You'll have 'em coming back."
A contemptuous laugh came from a big, handsome boy who sat in the middle of the circle—big and handsome, yet with a supercilious look.
"Never mind, kid," he assured the little fellow. "You are safe enough here. Chick-chick can't help having hysterics, but you're safe while I'm here."
"Sure, you're safe," echoed Chick-chick. "Ev'body's safe. Matty will protect you. Matty protects whole camp. Go after heap big Injun, Matty. Jes' disappeared northwest by south."
"That's enough from you, Chick-chick," retorted the handsome scout, Matt Burton, who did not bear chaffing cheerfully. "I could go after that Indian if I cared to. And get him, too."
"Why should anyone want to go after him," interrupted Apple Newton. "He's done nothing but suddenly appear and give some information that may be valuable."
"He just came up from nowhere," said a scout. "I don't believe he's a real Indian at all—just a spirit."
"He was right close to me," declared Chick-chick. "I smelled the spirits."
"Maybe he is a phantom Indian. I've heard of such things," said Apple Newton, ignoring Chick-chick's absurd remark. "I think it would be fine to have a phantom come purposely to get us started on the right track for the treasure hunt. 'Hunt heap stone' was what he said. We shall have to look for peculiar formations of stone."
"Maybe we'll find one that has a letter underit telling where to dig," eagerly suggested one of the younger ones.
"Likely thing," said another. "How long would a letter stand the weather? There'll be marks cut in the stone if there's anything."
"Much you fellows know about Indian ways," boasted Matt Burton. "What did those Indians know about our language. Indians talk by signs and numbers. It will take a smart fellow to tell what it means when you find your heap stone."
"Don't worry, fellows. When you find it hike back an' ask Matty. He'll tell you."
Matty was saved from delivering his angry response, for just then "taps" sounded. The scout master demanded prompt attention to all camp signals. It was understood that after taps there was to be no noise, no unnecessary conversation. All was to be quiet and orderly.
Mr. Newton would not hear of Glen pushing Jolly Bill back to the farm house.
"We have an empty tent with two cots and bedding too—left here by members who were called home. You turn right in with us. We are glad to have you—both of you. I think we'll make Glen a scout."
This invitation suited both of them splendidly. Spencer was pleased, and, as for Glen, he hadnever experienced anything so gratifying in his life. He was so excited that he could not sleep for some time, but lay on his comfortable cot thinking of the many happenings of the last few eventful days, and especially of the exciting story of the camp fire, and the dramatic appearance of the Indian. He was glad that he was here to help his good friend, Jolly Bill, but he felt that it would be much more glorious to help him by finding bars of bright, glistening bullion, than by looking for a lost lake.
Glen was still dreaming of Indians when the bugle call aroused him, and he awakened to the glorious activities of a summer morning in a scout camp. Two scouts were in the tent almost before he had hopped out of his blankets and into his clothes.
"We came to help our friend, Mr. Spencer," explained Apple Newton.
"Want to wind up his machine an' put on some funny story records," added Chick-chick.
"I can't tell funny stories before breakfast," objected Jolly Bill. "I'm hungry enough to eat Indian."
"We have eggs for breakfast—fresh laid. We got 'em from the farmer yesterday."
"You're sure they're fresh?" asked Spencer."I'm very particular about my eggs since I camped out a few years ago. One of our fellows wasn't much good about cooking, but he said he'd get the eggs. He came back pretty soon with a whole dozen. 'You're sure these are fresh?' I asked him. 'Dead positive' said he. So I started to break one into my pan, and about all there was that was still egg was the shell. 'What made you so positive these eggs were fresh?' I asked that chap after I let him come to a little. 'I could have sworn to it,' he said. 'I lifted the hen right off the nest myself and the eggs were warm yet.'"
"Our eggs aren't laid by the dozen," said Apple, "and we know they're fresh because the farmer said so. Come on now, if you're ready. The scout master says we're to push your automobile right up to the end of the table, next to him."
It was a jolly crowd at the table, and no less jolly was the squad acting that morning as waiters. The scout master believed it good discipline to teach every scout how to do the humblest duty as well as how to do the greatest, so each scout took his turn at waiting on table. Patrol leader Matt Burton was in charge of the waiter squad this morning. He was the one exception whoshowed that it did not agree well with every scout to do these menial tasks. He considered them beneath his dignity and never would have condescended to them had there been a way of escape. Since there was not, he had made the best of a bad job, and as he was very bright and a natural leader he had managed to reach the rank of Patrol Leader in spite of his disinclination to certain matters of work.
"Bob said he had a special order for Mr. Spencer, Matt," said Apple, stepping to his side after he had wheeled the cart up to the table. "Tell him Mr. Spencer wants his eggs sure fresh and likes 'em soft."
"You can just carry Mr. Spencer's order to Black Bob yourself," said Matt disgustedly. "I'm no waiter."
"You won't be if the scout master hears you," said Apple, his good nature exhausted. "You'll be a traveler."
"He surely will," observed Chick-chick. "I'll take care of Mr. Spencer, Apple. Leave him to me."
"It's more in your line," insinuated Matt. "I guess it's about the same thing as waiting on your father's customers at his garage."
"An' it's proud I am to do it," retorted Chick-chick."I do it whenever they want anything I can handle, from gasoline to a new machine. Lem'me sell you a new car, Matty. Lem'me sell you one that'll make your blue blood bubble all over itself. Tell ye 'bout it jest as soon as I get those eggs."
"We've just bought a new car," said Matt. "And I'd walk before I'd let my folks buy one of you, anyway."
"I don't believe that fellow likes you," observed Glen, as he went up to the cook shack with Chick-chick.
"He surely don't disgrace himself by too much show of affection," agreed Chick-chick. "You musn't think it's because it's me, though. There's on'y one person Matty really loves. He's real smart, Matty is. You noticed he spoke so the men couldn't hear him."
Black Bob had Mr. Spencer's eggs all ready.
"These is for the ge'mman as told the stories last night," he announced. "He sure is quality, if they ain't much to him."
"Give 'em to me, Bob," said Chick-chick. "I'm going to wait on Mr. Spencer."
"You go away, you Henry Chicken," objected Black Bob. "I know all 'bout yore tricks. BearPatrol is waitin' table dis yere mohnin' an' you ain't no Bear Patrol."
"Well, here's Goosey," exclaimed Chick-chick, grabbing the shoulder of a small scout who had just appeared. "Goosey is in Bear Patrol, and he's a friend of mine, ain't you, Goosey?"
"I surely am," declared the small scout. "Anything I can do for Chick-chick I do."
"Hustle these eggs down to Mr. Spencer, Goosey, an' make it your business to wait on him. Bob won't give me a thing."
"Not when you ain't on duty. Oh, I know you, Mr. Henry-chick," Bob affirmed.
"Bob doesn't seem to trust you," said Glen. "Aren't you friendly?"
"Just best friends ever. Bob hasn't better friend 'n me in camp. I like Bob 'n I love his cakes an' pies. 'Tain't my fault if he doesn't always seem to reciprocate, is it, Bob?"
"What dat 'bout recipe fo cake? Nev' you min', Mister Henry-chick. I knows you, I do."
Bob shook a fist as he spoke, but the chuckle in his voice and the laugh in his eye were more apparent than the threat in his fist.
"Well, let's go back an' get ours while they're hot," said Chick-chick. "Goosey'll wait on Mr.Spencer. Good boy, Goosey. Goin' do something good for Goosey some day."
He led Glen back to the long table of smooth boards laid on trestles which stood on the grassy level. The scouts were helping themselves from great bowls filled with eggs cooked in the shell, or from large platters on which eggs fried or poached were served, according to their preference. Bob was a good cook and gave them their choice. Glen, with an appetite that cared little for the fine points of preference, chose impartially from every dish that reached him. An occasional glance showed that the small scout known as Goosey was giving good attention to Jolly Bill, and not only he but Apple Newton and other scouts were endeavoring eagerly to anticipate his wants.
Glen was mentally putting the fellows in their proper places on the shelves of his esteem. Apple Newton and the boy called Chick-chick he warmed to most particularly, and they were given prominent places. He liked young Goosey, as well as several other of the younger boys whose names he had not learned. There was a big fellow called Tom Scoresby that he believed that he would get along with pretty well. Just one scout he found no room for anywhere. That was Matt Burton.He hated him, he was quite sure. His unruly young heart only had one desire for Matt. He wanted just one good chance to measure strength with him and plant his hard, clenched fist right where that smile of insolence curled the handsome lips.
Quite engrossed in his thoughts Glen did not notice that the boys around him had risen from the long bench on which they sat. Suddenly he heard Matt Burton's voice behind him.
"Get up," he said. "Can't you see that we want these places for the waiters."
Glen slowly and deliberately turned around in his seat and looked at his questioner.
"Who are you?" he asked, and his voice was so aggressive that every scout in hearing distance turned to see what was up.
"You'll find out who I am," replied Matt angrily. "Get up when I tell you."
"I don't have to get up when you tell me, nor lie down when you tell me, nor do anything when you tell me. Did you get that? What now?"
Matt was getting very angry but he did not entirely forget his position.
"If I call my patrol you'll get up mighty quick," he said. "I'd like to know who let you come here, anyway."
"Never mind about your patrol and don't fuss about who let me come here. You come and make me get up, all by yourself."
Matt looked at the brown skin and the strong tough features of the obstinate boy a long minute, as if making up his mind.
"Oh, well," he said, "I suppose if you're a guest you must do as you please."
"Since you're so nice about it," said Glen, "the seat's yours. Do what you want with it."
Glen knew in his heart that there would be a clash with Matt Burton if he stayed long in that camp. He felt also that he had not come out of this first brush with entire distinction. Matt had been in the wrong and had shown that he was angry, yet he had a certain discipline which had enabled him to control his temper, and the issue had ended in defeat for the undisciplined waif who might well have been victorious had they come to blows.
CHAPTER VIIGLEN IS INITIATED
Strange to say, with the passing of the morning, Glen found himself unhappy, though he should have been abundantly content. Strange, for with all these boys to help, his tasks would be greatly lightened, and to join in the fun of this crowd should be joy beyond compare. But Glen did not want fun just now. There was something much more precious to him, which he felt in danger of losing, and although he himself could not have explained its substance, it was none the less real. It was the trust and dependence of Will Spencer. For the first time in his life Glen had been really trusted and really needed by some one. He had taken up the burden like a man and rejoiced in it. Now he felt that his opportunities would be dissipated among the crowd.
"What's the matter, Glen?" asked Spencer. "Why are you moping around with a face like the reverse side of a frying-pan? You ought to be right out with the bunch, egging 'em on."
"Oh, I guess no one has any use for me," said Glen disconsolately. "I guess I might as well go back to the school."
"To the school! And leave me in the lurch?"
"You don't need me any more. You don't tell me anything."
"What haven't I told you, boy?"
"Well, you were telling Apple all about that Indian who came last night, but you didn't tell me."
"Oh, nonsense, boy. You are peeved too easily. That Indian was just old Joe Marrowfat, who had followed me up from the farm. Apple is romantic and he wanted a string of stuff about the noble red man's noble antecedents. I need you, all the time, to be the mainspring of this business."
"Tell me what I can do and I'm only too glad to get at it."
"Well, for one thing you must mix with the boys. Be jolly with 'em. 'Laugh and the world laughs with you.' That's my motto. That's the way I get along. Someone must be around with these boys to keep 'em going, or their hunt won't last long. Get them interested in finding the location of the springs. To-day they are all looking for big stones because of what Joe said. There's enough big stones around here to keep them busy.Tell them the fellow who finds the treasure may get some gold but the boy who finds a spring gets twenty dollars sure. Get them to survey the Hollow and search for marks to show where the old stream used to run in. You ought to be up on your toes every minute. I'm sorry you aren't a scout."
"Perhaps I could be," suggested Glen.
"Why not? Get Apple to teach you the knots and the scout law, and I'll teach you the rest. I'll speak to the scout master and see if they won't initiate you to-night."
The remainder of the day Glen was too busy to mope. When the camp fire came he was at hand as a candidate for tenderfoot initiation which the scout master had agreed to give. Mr. Newton had ideas of his own about initiation ceremonies. He believed in making them interesting and impressive to candidate and scouts alike, and he devised a new ceremony of initiation for special occasions.
This occasion was unusual, for since none but scouts came to camp, initiations were not needed. It was also unusual in being conducted in the open, which was necessary because the camp had no assembly tent. Mr. Newton was glad of the diversion, for the day had been very sultry, astorm threatened, and many of the scouts were afflicted with that uneasy, depressed feeling which seems to be absorbed from the atmosphere at such times.
"All scouts on tent duty," he announced after supper. "Rain threatens. See that trenches are clear. Slacken tent ropes a little, especially where they are new. See that nothing in the tents touches the walls. Have your beds all ready to turn in. You will then all assemble at the camp-fire for initiation ceremonies."
The camp had lanterns and one or two oil torches but Mr. Newton preferred to go back to nature for his light at this ceremony. The night was cool as the storm drew near, and the camp-fire was allowed to flare up in a crackling blaze which spread its light over the wide open circle and threw mysterious shadows among the big trees beyond.
Mr. Newton took his stand with his back to a massive elm at the edge of the circle.
"The candidate may present himself," he announced; and Glen marched out and stood before him, with much more of a feeling of solemnity than he had felt on occasions when he had stood before persons of far greater authority.
"Who desires to bear the lights which shalllighten the way of this candidate as he enters the mysteries of scoutcraft?" called the scout master.
"We desire to bear the lights," came simultaneously from two of the tallest scouts. They stepped to the fire, selected each a blazing torch and ranged themselves under the tree.
"Who is sponsor for this candidate?" was the next question.
"I, First class scout Corliss Newton, am his sponsor," proclaimed Apple, stepping forward, his pleasant eyes alight with earnest gravity.
"It is well. The sponsor may take his stand to the candidate's left. Who desires to bear the scout law to this applicant."
Twelve scouts arose as one—the older scouts they were—those not likely to be confused by bashfulness or to spoil the ceremony by their own self-consciousness.
"Let the bearer administer article I. A scout is trustworthy!"
Forth strode a scout bigger than Glen. Laying his hand on Glen's lips, he said: "No lies proceed from trustworthy lips, no deceit from trustworthy tongue, he lives by the breath of honor and his lips are sealed to all but words of truth."
"The bearer of article 2. A scout is loyal!"
This scout bore aloft the flag of the camp, whichhad been requisitioned for the purpose. He placed the staff in Glen's hands as he said: "Loyal to the flag and to all it represents. Loyal to all scouts and all officials. Loyal to home, to parents and authorities, and loyal to Almighty God."
The wind was swirling through the branches of the trees now and the few stars which had shone were blotted out by the clouds, but the initiation proceeded.
"The bearer of article 3. A scout is helpful!"
This bearer, coming forward, took Glen's hands and raised them up as he recited: "These hands and the body they represent are pledged to lift up righteousness and tear down iniquity. They will do at least one good turn to somebody every day."
"The bearer of article 4. A scout is friendly!"
Glen was glad to see Chick-chick coming forward with a cheerful grin on his face. He stood between Glen and Apple and around the shoulders of each he placed an arm, while he and Apple shouted aloud: "All friends! All brothers!" And immediately every scout rose to his feet and together they echoed: "Brothers all!"
But the first rain drops were spatting among the leaves and Scout Master Newton raised his hand.
"We must abbreviate our ceremony," he announced. "The remaining bearers will repeat their sections of the scout law after me as I read. The twelve will then form an inner circle around us, and all other scouts will make strong our defenses with an outer circle as we give this candidate the scout oath."
In their order the remaining eight advanced with their salutations:
A scout is courteous.
A scout is kind.
A scout is obedient.
A scout is cheerful.
A scout is thrifty.
A scout is brave.
A scout is clean.
A scout is reverent.
They formed the inner circle and around them all the scouts arose and joined hands to form the outer guard. The lightning became more vivid in its flashes and the mutterings of thunder changed to rumbling and roaring as they stood there. The big drops of rain began to thicken but they paid no heed.
"The candidate will hold up his right hand, palm to the front, thumb resting on the nail of the little finger, and the other three fingers uprightand together, which constitutes the scout sign."
Glen stood at attention with his hand raised as directed.
"The candidate will now repeat after me the scout oath."
"'On my honor I will do my best:
"'To do my duty to God and my country and to obey the scout law;
"'To help other people at all times;
"'To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.'
"Scout you are now admitted into our ranks as a tenderfoot, which is our first step and one from which you may go on to acquire merit and honor. We are brothers all. The skies may be heavy above us, the storms may threaten, the thunder roar and the lightning flash but we extend to you the cheer of scout fellowship and the welcome of scout comradeship. And as you meet the inevitable storms of life we believe that your remembrance of this law and oath will help you to weather them all triumphantly."
The rain was beginning to fall in earnest now.
"Dismiss troop!" called the scout master; and the boys, a second before in impressive order, made a wild scramble for their tents. Glen ranto the assistance of Will Spencer, who had been an interested spectator of the ceremony, seated in his "billy-cart" at the edge of the circle, but Mr. Newton waved him to his tent.
"I will look after this man," he declared. "He is my guest and I am rain proof."
Glen turned into his blankets that night a Boy Scout of America. He awoke to a sunny morning and discovered that he was still Glen Mason. Almost the first thing, he was in trouble with his patrol leader, Matt Burton. It is only fair to Glen to say that Burton's treatment was of a character sure to antagonize a boy of Glen's nature. From the first there had been a feeling of ill-will between them, a feeling that had been manifest in looks and silent expressions as well as in one sharp interchange of words. Now, to Glen's disgust, he found himself assigned to Burton's patrol, and the very first work for which he was detailed was that of camp cleaning.
Glen went at his detail with poor spirit; picking up old papers, fragments, trash of every kind, a hateful work to him. Perhaps he would have made open rebellion but for Apple Newton, who though not in the same patrol was helping in the work.
"Get busy at it, Glen," Apple counseled. "Itisn't a ten minute job if you hustle. Beats washing dishes all to pieces. Every scout has to take his turn. Get busy."
But, filled with the thought that Burton had put him to this work to humiliate him, Glen did not carry through his task to great advantage. He was glad that the morning swim came immediately after, and glad to be able to make a cleaner dive and a longer swim than Burton, who was himself among the best. Therein lay the trouble, Glen was a born leader, and although his opportunities for leading had been few he was quick to assert himself. Burton was also a leader and one who had been given ample opportunity. Neither boy had yet learned that the first element in leadership is the ability to serve; neither had learned that the greatest leader is the one who counts no service too mean for his personal attention.
When the treasure hunt began there were no further restrictions for the morning, and Glen's spirit was rejoiced at Apple's invitation that he bear him company. The sunny-faced, open-hearted boy won the love of everyone, but in Glen Mason he had stirred a real worship.
"We'll have to call you something, Glen," he said. "Your name's all right, but the boys aresure to name you over so we may as well do it now. Let's ask Chick-chick. He's good at names."
"What's his real name?" asked Glen.
"His real name is Henry Henry. His father liked Henry so well for a surname that he had him christened Henry, too. We began by calling him Hen Hen, but that didn't go very well so we call him Chick-chick."
"I don't mind s'long as y' don't call me Biddy chick," explained Chick-chick, who had just come up. "Now what kind o' Mason are you—Stonemason, Brickmason or Mason Fruit Jar."
"Brick's the best," declared Apple. "Matches his hair, too. Let's call him Brick."
"Right it is. Brick for Mason. Where ye goin' to find treasure?"
"You can come along, Chick. We're going to look for signs of water-courses running into the Hollow."
"I won't come, then. I'm going with Goosey to look for a heap rock. We're after gold, we are."
All the morning the two boys explored the Hollow. Many times they traced deceptive depressions in the earth's surface which gave some intimation of having served at some time as a waterway,but never was there any reward for their efforts. At noon, hot and dusty, they made their way back to the camp. A great group of excited boys stood there gesticulating and shouting, and in the center of the group stood Matt Burton.
"What's the excitement?" asked Apple of the first boy they reached.
"Excitement isn't the word," he replied. "Matt Burton has found the treasure!"