CHAPTER VIIIMATT BURTON'S TREASURE FIND
When they heard the remarkable news that Matt Burton had discovered the treasure the curiosity of the two boys was beyond measure. They were pushing their way eagerly toward the group to get the full news when a running noose dropped from the overhanging limb of a great tree and neatly entwined them. Their progress was checked.
"That's Chick-chick," said Apple, without looking up. "He's always playing some kind of a trick. Let go your hold of that rope, Chick-chick."
The joker dropped down from the branch almost on top of them.
"I was just fixing a swing when ye came 'long," he explained, in his jerky fashion. "Too good a chance to miss, it was, and worked fine, it did. Don't be in a hurry."
"You loosen this rope and let us go. We want to get the news."
"'Tain't s' important as you think. Gives theGreat an' Only Matty a chance t' spread himself. Come on to dinner; you'll hear all 'bout it."
Dinner was indeed ready and the boys were filling up the long table, for Mr. Newton had decreed that no action should be taken on Matt's discovery until after dinner.
When all was cleared away and the boys were ready to dismiss he made the announcement: "Burton will now tell us of his discovery; the site he selected, how he has worked and what he has found."
"Rah for the Great and Only," yelled Chick-chick, and, the designated title being popularly known and approved, the "rah" was given before Matt began to speak.
There was no embarrassment about Matt Burton as he rose to speak. He was about fifteen years old, tall, straight and handsome. A mass of dark brown hair with well-set eyes of the same shade and regular features gave vigor to his head and face. He was of good family and had been reared in a home of refinement and taught to feel at ease under all circumstances. He accepted his nickname of "The Great and Only Matty" with some complacency, as being not inappropriate, especially since his pitching was the star feature of their baseball playing. A wise father had senthim to the scouts to "get acquainted with himself" but so far the process had not reached perfection. He began to talk with a smile of confidence.
"I know a lot about buried treasure from what I've read and heard tell of," said he, "so I decided to work out my own plans. Chick-chick and Goosey offered to come with me, but I had ideas of my own. I knew a few things about how to look. I knew it was no good to look on top of the ground—might as well look up in trees. Then I knew there's always a false scent thrown out to put searchers off the track. I figured that the false scent was probably the story of the lake. So instead of choosing any place in the Hollow I looked around until I found a heap of rock near the timber. And then I chose one hundred feet from the timber line southeast of the Hollow. I knew that the heap of rock wouldn't be the only sign—there's always a second sign given in a treasure hunt. Usually, in all the books I've read, the second sign is a tree or some tall object which casts a shadow at a certain hour of the day at just the point where you ought to dig."
"What hour?" shouted a boy.
"I'm coming to that. I looked around for the rock heap and decided to pace off a hundred feet.I got no results worth while until I tried it due south. This time it brought me to an old stump of a very peculiar appearance that might have been there a hundred years. It was about ten feet high, and of course the length of its shadow was different at different times of the day. The only guide I had was in the heap of rock. There were four rocks in it. As there is no sun at four o'clock in the morning it was a sure thing that I must choose four in the afternoon. So I waited until four o'clock and at the exact spot where the peculiar knobby head of that stump threw its shadow I commenced to dig."
The boys were listening in strained silence. One of the younger ones squeaked "Rah for Matty!" but drew no response.
"I dug until supper time," continued Matt. "It was hard work, but I made a pretty good hole though I found nothing. Nobody had been around to bother me. I just stuck up a couple of sticks at supper time and came in. This morning I was late getting to work. Digging alone so hard yesterday had taken off some of my appetite, and I didn't dream of what I was going to find so I didn't hurry much. But I found the ground turned up easier and I had hardly dug twenty minutes before my spade struck something thatgave out a metallic ring. I scraped away the dirt until I could see a metal object like the lid of a box about fourteen by eighteen inches. The ground all around it was hard and I could not get it loose. I tried to get my fingers under it but couldn't do it. The dinner call was sounded. I wouldn't have come only I was obliged to have some help anyway, and I thought I'd better tell the scout master all about it and have him see fair play."
"Which the scout master will proceed to do," added Mr. Newton. "We will follow Matt to the scene of his explorations which we hope will turn out to be the treasure, although one box fourteen by eighteen inches would not hold a great deal of bullion. Still there may be other boxes. Who were the boys who wanted to work with you, Matt?"
"Chick-chick and Goosey," replied Matt.
"Very well. You two boys may take a pick and a spade and help Matt get his box out."
The boys did not respond willingly.
"We don't want to," said Chick-chick. "He didn't want us yesterday and he won't want us to-day. Let Brick Mason and Apple do it."
"I don't like that spirit, Henry, but we'll excuse you. Corliss and Glen will do the work."
"You don't seem very much excited over this find," said Glen to Spencer, as he pushed him along in his billy-cart.
"I'd be more excited if they found a gushing spring, my boy. I don't excite easily over buried gold."
"Well, we'll soon see. If I get hold of that pick I'll soon have that box loose."
Matt Burton did not really relish Glen's aid, but he could offer no valid objection. A few rapid and accurate strokes with the pick loosened the hard earth, and Apple and Matt quickly spaded it out. As soon as a grip could be obtained Matt seized the box. It certainly was heavy, especially since he could not yet get a good grip on it. Apple lifted one side and slowly but with great excitement they brought the mysterious box from its hiding place.
A look of disgust swept the features of Matt Burton as he looked at his treasure and read the white letters on the side of the box.
From the edge of the pit came a roar of laughter from Black Bob, the cook, who had been eagerly watching the proceedings.
"Ah ben missin' that yere bread box since yis'day two days gone," he shouted. "Dat ah is mah treasure. Bring her up yere!"
Glen, on his knees, had thrown open the lid of the box. As he saw its contents to be damp earth, tightly tamped, his roar of laughter equaled that of Black Bob.
"Wow!" he shouted. "Look at this. The treasure's name is Mud!"
Matt's look of disgust had changed to fiery anger.
"You're the one who put this trick up on me," he shouted. "You've been rubbing me wrong ever since we let you in here from nowhere. Now I'm going to pay you up!"
He made a wild lunge forward at Glen, and in a second the two were locked in a rough and tumble conflict in the narrow confines of the pit. But the scout master reached down from above and seized each by the collar, and Apple valiantly pushed himself in between their belligerent forms.
"Enough of that, boys," said Mr. Newton. "Climb out of that hole. Glen, what have you to say to this charge."
But Glen was spared from making an answer, for Henry Henry stood forth and spoke.
"He didn't do it, Mr. Newton. It was me," confessed Chick-chick, more convincing than grammatical. "Goosey was in it with me. When Matt turned us down yesterday we thought we'd givehim something to dig for. Never dreamed he'd make big blow 'bout it. Just s'posed be little joke all t' himself. We came last night, dug down to hard pan; cut hole s' near exact size o' bread box as we could, made it heavy with dirt and turned it in upside down. Just joke, Mr. Newton."
And as "just a joke" it did not seem so very reprehensible, for a good joke that does no harm is not out of place in a scout camp. Mr. Newton had a private conversation with Henry Henry about his joke, but Chick-chick never told the boys what he said. The scout master also had a private conversation with Matt Burton and this also was kept a secret, but though it may have done Matt good it did not improve his attitude toward "Brick" Mason.
In most things Glen found the succeeding days marked by such happiness as he had never before enjoyed. He was a boy among boys. No one asked about his past. Scouts are taught to live in the present. It is not what they have been, but what they are and are aiming to be that carries weight. He found his word accepted as truth and so he made strong efforts to make it true. He did not spend his days in perfect harmony. The old disposition to have everything his own way still existed and many an angry word flared upand many times he was near the fighting line, but this had been so much a part of his every day living for so many years that it troubled him but little. Even with Matt Burton he had not come to blows, though Matt continued to assign to him disagreeable tasks, so markedly indeed, that Mr. Newton announced that he would make all assignments himself, henceforth. The treasure hunt proceeded with more or less zest but neither real nor fancied treasure was discovered. Nevertheless it supplied a new interest each day, and Glen enthusiastically did his share in keeping the interest alive. Every part of every day was in vivid contrast to the dull monotonous life he had been living. And yet he was not satisfied, there remained an eager longing for something, he knew not what; a great unsatisfied craving.
Glen was always a sound sleeper. He dreamed of the camp one night. The tussle with Matt Burton had really come, at last. He seemed to do very well at first but Matt had seized a pickax (the very one used in unearthing the bread box) and was beating him about the head with it. Fortunately he awoke before he was badly damaged. Spencer was reaching over from his cot and tapping his face with his cane.
"Get up, Brick! Get up! Brick is a good namefor you, my hard-baked friend. Get up! This tent will be in the next county in five minutes. Get up! You would sleep on, and come to no harm if we were carried twenty miles, but being slightly crippled, I'd be sure to struggle and get hurt. Get up!"
The wind was blowing furiously and the tent almost capsized. Glen was out of bed in a flash, wide awake. He knew where to get a heavy hammer and made short work of driving home the stakes and securing the flapping canvas.
"Not very clever of you to plant your tent stakes so the first strong wind would blow them out of the ground," said Spencer.
"The wind didn't blow them out, and the strain of the ropes didn't pull them out. I fixed those stakes just before I went to bed. Who do you suppose yanked them up?"
"I never was good at riddles," replied Spencer. "Maybe it was Mr. Newton."
"Yes," said Glen, "or Apple! Just like 'em. Try another guess."
"No, I'm afraid I would say something that might excite you. Go to sleep. Every one has troubles, but it's no good weeping about 'em. 'Laugh and the world laughs with you.'"
"I haven't any troubles and I can afford tolaugh," said Glen. "The day's beginning to break but I think I'll take a Sunday morning snooze."
And over in the county into which Will Spencer had predicted they would be blown a man was just awaking from his snooze. He had slept all night in an automobile, as he frequently did. The automobile was no ordinary car. It had a driver's seat in front and a closed car behind. Bright colored letters announced to the world that J. Jervice supplied the public with a full line of novelties, including rugs, curtains, rare laces and Jervice's Live Stock Condition Powders.
Mr. J. Jervice yawned and stretched, and rubbed his eyes.
"I think I'll get on to Buffalo Center to-day," he soliloquized. "The boss didn't say to come until to-morrow an' the rest o' the gang won't be there until night, anyway. That'll give me a chance to do a nice little business at that Boy Scout Camp I hear they've got there. It's Sunday but I reckon I can sell a few things. Ought to get rid of some flags and knives and a little tinware."
It was nice that Glen could feel that he had no troubles, but perhaps he did not know of the intentions of Mr. Jervice.
CHAPTER IXGLEN ENLISTS
Sunday morning in camp. The fierce wind of the night had been succeeded by a restful quiet; the sun shone bright in an atmosphere cooled and freshened by the storm. Glen Mason both felt and saw a difference throughout all the camp on this quiet morning; no one expected noise or bustle; no one projected expeditions or sports; the peaceful rest of a holy day marked the camp in its earliest hours.
Black Bob had cooked his eggs and bacon according to a special formula which he announced as "extra for Sunday," and thereby did he make his contribution to the hallowing of the day. After breakfast was the regular time for announcement of the "order of the day" by the scoutmaster, and for any special remarks, any complaints, any petitions or suggestions.
"We are going to have a good day to-day, boys," said Mr. Newton. "We have had a mighty fine week with our swimming and fishing and hikes, and some of us, too, have found some 'treasure,'if not exactly what we were searching for. This morning, after camp duties, every boy will find a quiet spot apart from any disturbance and write a letter home. Tell the folks how you feel, what you eat, what you do, how you sleep. Tell them about the treasure hunt, tell them about last night's storm. I hope the boy who got something special out of our 'near cyclone' last night will tell his mother about it."
"Who was it?" came a chorus of voices.
"Don't bother about that," replied Mr. Newton. "Perhaps there was more than one."
"I'm not 'shamed of it," piped up Chick-chick. "I'm it. Got Mr. Newton out o' bed, I did, I was s' scared. Always have been scared 'bout wind—born that way. But Mr. Newton says, 'D'ye know who walketh upon the wings of the wind?' An' I said, 'Death'; an' he said, 'God! It's in the hundred an' fourth Psalm.' S' then he said, 'You c'n stay in my tent till the blow is over,' an' I said, 'No. I'll go back to me tent like Christian. With God on the wings I'm safe.' An' as I went back saw Brick Mason outside his tent swingin' hammer, an' I says, 'Ain't ye scared, Brick?' an' he says, 'No. I ain't scared. I'm mad.' An' that's all is to it, 'cept'n 'bout the feller I saw when I first went out."
"Now that's fine, boys," said Mr. Newton. "There's a double victory in that. Don't slight your letters. Make them long and newsy. Remember there will be Sunday School around the long table at ten o'clock. This afternoon a man is coming from town who has been all around the world and has seen the battles of great nations as a war correspondent. He will speak at three o'clock. By special request we will hold our camp-fire to-night at the summit of Buffalo Mound. Every scout will carry an armful of firewood and his blankets, as a part of the plan is to spend the night in a bivouac on mother earth. Now to your letters."
Glen sat looking out of his tent, just out of the glare of the sun. Writing letters home was no novelty to him. At the school you were supposed to do it at least once a month, and for a good letter you got ten merits, but no boy ever wrote what he thought because your letters were all read by the house officer. If he should write a letter home to-day some reform school officer would be inquiring at the camp for him day after to-morrow. But he would write some kind of a letter—it would look queer if he did not, with all the other boys writing. He would write just exactly what he thought, too, for once, and the merefact that the letter was never to be mailed need make no difference.
For once (he wrote) I am being treated about right. There is just one chap here doesn't treat me right and his time's coming. But I don't hate him as bad as it seems like I would, and I don't want to get in bad with the scoutmaster so I don't know as I'll do much. The Scoutmaster's a Christian and I've got more use for Christians than I ever had before. Mr. Newton sure treats me fine. Apple's a Christian, he says I ought to be, too, and he's surely a peach. Mr. Gates is a Christian and nobody ever treated me better. The old Supe is a Christian and I guess he would have treated me right if I'd let him. Jolly Bill treats me fine, too, and I don't know why he isn't one but it makes you feel as if him being such a good fellow certainly ought to be. He says laugh and the world laughs with you but it wouldn't have done much good to tell Chick-chick that last night and it wouldn't have made him brave enough to go back to his tent and fight it out. Chick-chick talked right up this morning. He's never said anything about being one before but he's always acted like one—kind of on the square. That's the kind I'm going to be; I mean I would be if ever I got to be one, but I suppose I'd have to go back to the school and I don't know about that. But I'd like to feel like Apple and him, so sure-like and so safe. I think you'd better try to get me a job and maybe I can work under another name. Everybody has to work and I'm going to hold up my end. I wouldn't like to be like that J. Jervice man with his tricks—the man that tried to sell me. I'd tell you all about him but it would take a long time and this letter ain't ever going to be sent, anyway. I'm going to do better than send a letter. Just as soon as it's safe I'm coming to see you and I'm going to fix it so I can earn a living for you and you won't have to work any more. So that's all for this time anyway.
His letter had not been written as easily as itreads, and all the other boys had finished and were making a clamor for envelopes and stamps, a disturbance in which Glen did not join since his letter was never to be mailed.
He would have tried to escape the afternoon talk, but Will Spencer claimed him.
"Push my old billy-cart right up alongside that speaker," he demanded. "If he's done half they say he has I want to hear him."
So Glen was not only present but in a prominent place where he was bound to hear all that the speaker had to say. And a very interesting narrative it was, though we have no space in this story for anything but the few very last words.
"And so it came about," said the war correspondent, "that after seeing all sorts of soldiers in all manner of warfare, it fell to my lot to see this one brave man holding up his banner against great hordes of invaders in a crowded inland city of China, and he was single-handed. And I was obliged to admit that he was the bravest soldier I had seen; and since the appeal came to me so directly I volunteered. And thus it happened that one who had been a reporter of scenes of carnage turned to write the message of the Cross. And now I am going about enlisting recruits for the army of righteousness and right glad I amthat so many of you are in that army, and right glad I shall be to talk with any of you who need help."
Many of the boys came to say a word to the speaker as they dispersed. Glen stood there, next to Spencer's cart. He would not have said a word had he been threatened with torture, but he was greatly concerned and both his hand and heart throbbed with the hope that some one would respond to the eloquent plea that had stirred him so deeply. When the boys all had gone the response came from the least expected place. It was from Jolly Bill who had lain in his cart in thrilled interest.
"I've half a mind to do it, Glen," he whispered.
"Oh, you must, Bill. It's just the one thing you need," urged Glen, as earnestly as though he were himself an exhorter.
"How is it?" asked Spencer, turning to the speaker. "You would hardly care to enlist half a man, would you?"
"No," said the war correspondent. "We don't care to do things by halves, but we're mighty glad to enlist a whole man like you. Whatever accident you have suffered hasn't cut you off from being a man after God's own heart. Shake hands on that."
"I've been finding it pretty empty to 'Laugh and the world laughs with you,'" admitted Spencer. "It's a hollow laugh a great deal of the time. It doesn't ring true. I want a peace that will help me to have cheer regardless of whether the world laughs with me or at me. I've known it for a long time but this last week especially I've felt the need of the kind of religion Mr. Newton practices."
"It's the same kind that Apple has," ventured Glen.
"It is for you, too," said the war correspondent. "It is for every one who will have it."
"You see, though, you don't know me," said Glen. "I've been a pretty hard case."
"Tell us about it," came the invitation.
His mouth once opened Glen's story came rapidly, and in the glow of confession he held nothing back, but his hearers were neither alienated nor offended.
"There's only one thing about a boy like you," said the speaker. "It isn't how bad you have been. You can't have been so bad but Jesus has cleared your debt. The one thing is, are you through with it all, are you willing to turn away from yourself and enlist under the banner of the cross?"
Glen's face worked with emotion such as he had not felt in many years.
"I don't know what to do," he said, huskily. "I'm all up in the air. I'd like to be a man like what you told about and like these people that have been good to me lately. I'd do it even if I wouldn't like some of the things I'd have to swallow. But I don't understand what I'd have to do. I've never done anything of the kind."
"You're a good deal like the soldier enlisting, son. He doesn't understand anything. All he knows is that he wants to enlist himself. And that's all you need to know. Your commander will see to the rest. You won't learn everything in a day. You'll make mistakes; you'll break rules; you'll have to be disciplined. But that is all in the bargain. The only question is will you enlist?"
And Glen enlisted!
The war correspondent was compelled to leave, but before doing so he gave Glen much assurance on many subjects.
"About your school," he said. "I hesitate to advise you. I know your Superintendent and will telephone to him to-morrow. Stay with Mr. Newton until you hear from him."
The scoutmaster walked with his guest throughthe woods to his car. They had scarcely left before the camp had a visitor in the person of Mr. J. Jervice. The boys crowded around him with great interest, for although obliged to leave his car he had brought with him many diverting trifles, for Mr. J. Jervice had no objection to Sunday trade if conducted on a cash basis.
Glen was still talking to Will Spencer. He was too much occupied with his recent great experience to be easily diverted, and did not even see his old friend Jervice. But Mr. J. Jervice having nothing of the kind to occupy his attention was quick both to see and to speak. Matt Burton was one of those who heard him speak.
"The reform school boy!" he cried.
"You say he has run away from the reform school?"
"He said so himself," asserted Mr. J. Jervice, "and don't forget that I am the one who gets the reward."
"You may take him along with you back to where he came. The cheek of the fellow! Come on, scouts, let's run him out. The scoutmaster isn't here but I'm a patrol leader and I know what to do. Let's run him out."
"Who's that you're going to run out?" asked Glen, coming up, attracted by the loud talking.
"I'm going to run you out, you cheat of a runaway from the reform school. You are a common thief, for all we know. You may be any kind—"
Alas for Glen's discipline. Alas for his good resolves. Had he been right in thinking that the service of Jesus was not for such as he? He flew at Matt with the velocity and ferocity of a tiger. His strength was that of a man, for he had worked hard at all kinds of manual labor. Two or three quick, stinging blows and his passion came to a terrified end as he saw Matt fall to the ground, white and unconscious.
CHAPTER XJ. JERVICE AND HIS GANG
Mr. Newton, returning to the camp he had left in such quiet peace, found one boy white-faced and sober endeavoring to restore another who lay prostrate on the ground, while some of the excited scouts were earnestly trying to recall their first aid suggestions and others stood in anxious contemplation. A pailful of cold water was being carried to the scene by Chick-chick, but the victim of the fight was mercifully spared its revivifying shock, for just as Mr. Newton came up he opened his eyes and murmured, "Where am I?"
"All scouts are excused excepting Glen and Matt," announced Mr. Newton, taking in the situation the more readily because of his previous knowledge of Burton's baiting tendencies. "If there is to be any fighting in this camp it will have to be done under my personal supervision and according to my rules."
As the scouts strolled off to the timber Matt sat up and looked around him.
"He's an escaped reform school boy, Mr. Newton," he began at once.
"And I suppose you told him so?" asked Mr. Newton.
"I know I'm everything that's bad," said Glen, bitterly. "I told you it was no good for me to enlist."
"Do you want to back out?" asked the scoutmaster keenly.
"I don't want to but I suppose I'll have to."
"It rests with you. Your past record has nothing to do with it and would have nothing if it were black as night. Do you want to back out?"
"No, sir. And I'm sorry I got mad and hit Matt."
"That speech shows that you have enlisted, boy. Matt," said the scoutmaster, turning to the boy who was much bewildered by the conversation as he had been by the blow, "you hear Glen's apology. Now it's your turn."
"But what I said is true," insisted Matt.
"And Glen admits it and has told me all about it. None the less you owe him an apology for throwing it in his face, just as much as he owed you one for putting his fist in your face."
"I don't apologize to anybody," said Matt, with an ugly frown. "I can go home if you like."
"It shall be as Glen says," decided Mr. Newton.
"I don't have anything against you, Matt," said Glen, in as gentle a tone as ever he used in his life. "I started in to be a Christian this afternoon, and part of it is being decent like Apple and Mr. Newton."
"I've nothing to do with a reform school boy," said Matt, and he rose unsteadily to his feet and walked moodily away.
"You're bound to have a lot of that, Glen," said Mr. Newton. "It's part of your discipline. And one of the things you will find hardest to learn will be to take your medicine and take it quietly."
Glen knew that. His new resolves had not changed his old impulses. If any one flung a taunt at him his impulse would be to fling back a blow. His determination would have to be just a little quicker than his impulse. Meantime he found lots of pleasure in the companionship of Apple and Chick-chick and several others. There was a new bond of fellowship between them, a bond which Glen would have found it quite impossible to state in words but which was none the less genuine and fixed. This bond was to mean muchin the next few days for they were to be days of peril and adventure for Glen.
Glen's adventures grew out of his being discovered at camp by Mr. J. Jervice. Mr. Jervice had withdrawn behind some bushes when he saw the conflict beginning between Matt and Glen. Strange to say, any form of conflict was repugnant to the body of J. Jervice although the soul of him rejoiced in it. Let him be safely out of the way and he exulted in scenes of violence, but most cautiously he avoided any close proximity. He believed in playing safe.
When Jervice noted the vigor that Glen was able to put into his swinging blows and then saw Matt stretched out on the ground, he felt very certain that business called him in another direction. No telling upon whom that wild boy might next turn his fury. So he withdrew deeper into the bushes, and as he caught a view of Mr. Newton hurrying up he decided on still more active measures, and scampered away as fast as his pack and the undergrowth would let him.
Jervice was decidedly peeved with Glen. This escaped reform school boy, who should be just the same to him as ten dollars in the bank, had made for him nothing but trouble. J. J. seldomcherished grudges—it was poor business, being bad for one's judgment. But if ever he held a grudge it was against the person who hurt his pocket-book and as Jervice now figured it Glen had worsted him at least twenty dollars' worth. The items were: First, ten dollars which he should have secured as a reward; second, five dollars which he had been obliged to pay as license fee; third, five dollars he had expected to make on his sales at Camp Buffalo.
Twenty dollars is no slight loss to any one, and although J. Jervice did not toil as hard for his money as most people he loved it much better. He made his money in various ways, some of them not nearly so honest as peddling. He had some friends who were engaged in a rather peculiar business. They went to any place where they understood money had been gathered together, and quietly took it away. They generally notified Mr. Jervice where they would be, and he then came along with his car, loaded the plunder behind a secret partition and carried it away at his leisure.
The business of J. Jervice in this particular locality, however, was somewhat of a variation from the usual procedure. Some friends of Mr. Jervice's friends had done business in this neighborhoodbefore. They had met with misfortune and now suffered confinement at the hands of certain stern authorities who would not even allow them to go out long enough to settle up the loose ends of their affairs. Not having a J. Jervice in their service they had cached certain products of their toil in a cave the secret of which had been disclosed to them by a dissolute Indian. Shut up as they were their only recourse had been to commission the capable man who happened to lead the Jervice gang to recover for them the property for which they had risked their liberty.
This, therefore, had brought to Buffalo Center, first of all, a hard, desperate man, who was the leader of the gang, then J. Jervice with his autocar, and, shortly to follow, various other whose characters were more widely known than commended.
Incidentally the leader had found that the little bank at Buffalo Center had its safe loaded with the sum of ten thousand dollars, which had been placed therein for the convenience of a certain wheat buyer in making some deals. This being rather in the line of work in which he had been most successful the leader had decided to relieve this congestion of cash and had so notified Mr. Jervice as soon as they met.
Mr. J. Jervice was thinking these things over as he went back to his car. He had stopped running now that he was well clear of the camp. He was walking slowly as one who is studying some great problem. It was not the problem of transportation. This was his especial job and he knew what to do about it. But this boy—this boy who owed him twenty dollars! He began to see how he could get his money's worth. A plan formed in his mind for using him.
That night the friends of Mr. Jervice arrived in the neighborhood and gathered without undue ostentation at his camping-place.
They fell into a very solemn conference and they said many things with which we are not greatly concerned. But Mr. Jervice made some remarks which were more than interesting, and showed that though slight in frame and deficient in courage he was a mighty plotter.
"About that window you wanted me to get through," he said. "I can't get through that place."
"Yes, you can," insisted a big man who seemed to be the leader. "What's more, you're the only runt in the gang, an' you'll have to do it. Us big men can't train down to a hundred an' fifty pounds to get through that window."
"Well, it ain't right for me to do it," objected Mr. Jervice. "It ain't safe for me to be 'round the place, I tell you. I ain't very strong an' I might break my neck."
"You'd never do it more'n once, Jervice, so don't let that worry you. You got to do this 'cause nobody else can't git through."
"But I've got a better scheme."
"Spit it out, an' don't waste no time talkin' nonsense, neither."
"I've found a boy. He's strong an' active an' fairly big, but he ain't so big he couldn't git through. He'd be just the one for it."
"What do we want with boys? How would we be squaring him?"
"He's the kind that wouldn't need much squaring. A little piece o' money 'd keep him quiet. He's jest run off f'm the reform school."
"You're dead sure about him?"
"I know how to make sure," said Mr. Jervice. "A reform school runaway is just what we want."
In which conclusion Mr. Jervice showed that he was not as clever as supposed.
CHAPTER XIGLEN FOLLOWS A FALSE TRAIL
Morning mail was a great institution in camp. Two scouts, specially detailed, brought it from the Buffalo Center post-office, in a U. S. mail pouch. Mr. Newton opened and distributed it, and happy were the fellows who received letters with which they could retreat to some corner and feast themselves not only once, but sometimes twice and thrice, while pleased smiles circled their countenances.
Because Glen expected none he was all the more surprised when a letter was handed to him. It was a mysterious letter, indeed. The envelope was mysterious, if a dirty and crumpled condition spelled mystery. The writing and spelling were mysterious—most mysterious. Finally the contents of the letter enjoined mystery.
"Say nuffin to noboddy burn this at once," it cautioned. "This is important. Your forchoon is maid and you git part of a big tressure if you do exackly as told. Don't say a word to noboddybut cum at ten o'clock to the blazed oke wich is just south of your camp if you tell anyboddy or bring anyboddy you wont get to no nuffin about it."
Glen's first impulse was to show the document to Jolly Bill. As Bill was busy in conversation with Mr. Newton he had time to think it over. It was something about the treasure, quite evidently. Very likely it was a trick. Some one was trying to get a laugh on him. Very well. Glen was not at all displeased. He would let them do their worst. It showed that they had taken him in among them and were treating him exactly as one of themselves. He was gratified. He would go along and see it through. If they could make him bite, all right.
There was no difficulty in locating the blazed oak which stood close to the camp. Glen had no watch, but he went early enough to be quite sure of being there by ten o'clock. Then he waited and waited. He was about to give it up as a hoax, when a man slipped quietly out of the woods and advanced toward him. Glen fell into a position of defense as he saw that it was his old enemy, Jervice.
"Now, don't go actin' up," begged Mr. Jervice. "I ain't goin' to do nothin' only tell you howto git into a good thing. I'm the man as wrote that letter."
"You are!" exclaimed Glen. "What doyouknow about the treasure?"
"I know all about it," Jervice assured him confidentially. "I'm the only feller that can help you git a slice. They's jest one question—are you willin' to go in an' will you keep mum. I don't tell nothin' till you tell me."
"Am I willing? Are you crazy? You bet I'm willing. Try me."
"Well, listen here then. I thought you'd be the feller. Who can I get as is good an' strong an' yet not much over boys' size, thinks I. Then I thinks of you. 'That reform school boy,' I says to myself. 'He's the very feller. Likely he's done this kind of a job before.'"
"I've never had anything to do with treasure before, and I don't know what you mean," said Glen. "Hurry up and tell about it. I want to be back at camp for the swim at eleven o'clock."
"Come over to my car," invited the artful Jervice. "It ain't very far an' we won't be in no danger of being interrupted."
"How's that boy you hit?" asked the peddler as they journeyed. "That was a awful crack you give him."
"He's all right and able to be about," Glen assured him. "I'm sorry I hit him."
Neither Glen nor Jervice knew that Matt was not only able to be about but was at that moment within ten feet of them, being, in fact, just that distance above their heads in a tree which seemed to him to offer such facilities as wild bees might desire in choosing a home. He kept very quiet in his "honey tree" and looked down on them with contempt for both.
"Up to some tricks," he muttered to himself.
The J. Jervice autowagon was not so very far away, but the two were well out of range of Matt's vision before they reached it.
"Now, to begin with," said J. Jervice. "Are you one o' them scouts or ain't you?"
"I am," replied Glen. "I'm a tenderfoot."
"Tenderfoot, eh! Reckon you ain't so tender. Well, why don't ye wear one o' them uniforms, so's to make ye look like one?"
"I haven't any uniform, yet. Perhaps I could borrow one. What's that got to do with a treasure hunt?"
"It's got a whole lot to do with it. People knows that boys wearing them uniforms is straight, an' we want you to look straight as a string."
"I'm going to get one as soon as I can," Glen assured him. "I want to look straight—that is part of the oath, 'physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.'"
"I don't know nothink about no oaths like that," objected Mr. Jervice, in a dubious tone which indicated that he might know more about other varieties. "We don't care about yer being so straight—jest so ye look straight."
"Well, hurry up and tell about the treasure," urged Glen. "Remember I want to be back by eleven o'clock. You're awfully slow."
"I'm comin' to that. Remember this now—you mustn't never tell nobody nothink about it."
"What do you mean—never tell anybody?" asked Glen. "I guess we know as much about it as you do."
"Youknow about it!" Mr. Jervice seemed incredulous. "What do you know about it?"
"Well, we know what Mr. Spencer told us the other night," insisted Glen.
"What was that?" asked Mr. Jervice cautiously. "Sit down here an' tell me about it."
Glen sat down on the back step of the car and told the story of the lost treasure as he remembered it.
"So that's the treasure story, is it?" came adeep voice from the side of the car. There stepped into view a man whom Glen had not seen before. He was evidently associated with Mr. Jervice, but he did not in the least resemble him, for instead of being a cringy weakling, he was big and strong and hard.
"That's the story as Mr. Spencer told it to us," replied Glen.
"Say, that's mighty interesting to me," said the man. "Happened right around this neighborhood, too? I'll bet them Indians put that treasure in a cave an' hain't never done nothing about it since 'cause they couldn't sell bullion without giving themselves away."
"I suppose they'd find it hard to sell," said Glen.
"You bet they'd find it hard to sell. They'd just been obliged to leave it in the cave. Bet it's the same cave we're lookin' for. You know any caves around here, boy?"
"No, sir," replied Glen. "I haven't seen a cave in this country."
"You know something about the country?"
"A little bit," Glen cautiously admitted. "I've only been here a few days."
"Get that chart, Jervice, an' we'll see what he reckernises," ordered the leader.
Mr. J. Jervice offered some protest and the two held a whispered conversation of which Glen was evidently the subject.
"Oh, shut up," exclaimed the big man, at last. "I can take care of the kid all right. You git the chart."
Mr. Jervice thereupon dived into the car and soon returned with a rough map which he opened out before the leader.
"Lookahere, boy, look at this," commanded the man. "This remind ye of any place around your camp?"
Glen looked at the chart and saw many things which had become familiar to his eyes in the last few days. There was an elevation that was undoubtedly Buffalo Mound, certain wavy lines that depicted a stream down its west side could scarcely mean anything but Buffalo Creek. A big star was quite conspicuous midway along the course of the stream and Glen was curiously examining words which he made out to be "Deep Springs" and "Twin Elms" when Mr. Jervice put his thumb over the spot.
"Never mind 'bout readin' that too close," objected Mr. Jervice, "what we want to know is did you ever see a place like that?"
"I think I have," admitted Glen.
"Don't you know ye have?" insisted the big man in a harsh voice. "Ain't that the place where yer camp is?"
"It looks something like it," said Glen. "It's open country, open to everybody. Why don't you go and see?"
"There's reasons, boy. Some on 'em you wouldn't understand. We don't mind telling you some of the trouble. Did ye know that all o' that treasure was claimed by the heirs?"
"Whose heirs?" asked Glen.
"Heirs of the freighters as the Indians took it away from. Did you know that a lot o' that bullion had been got out and was held in the bank here at Buffalo Center?"
"Mr. Spencer said nothing about it," replied Glen.
"Because he don't know nothink 'bout it," said J. Jervice. "We know because we represent the heirs. Now if you want to help us, your share will be a hundred dollars; but, remember, you say nothink to nobuddy."
"I won't say anything," Glen promised, rashly.
"If you do you'll be in as bad as anybuddy, so yer better not. If yer goin' to help, fust thing is to go back to camp an' git one o' them suits like they call scout suits."
"I reckon I can borrow one," said Glen.
"Then ye'll go down to Buffalo Center an' look out for the Bank. Walk right in as if ye owned it, jest like a reg'lar boy scout might do."
"I can do that," agreed Glen. "But what's that got to do with it?"
"It's got a plenty. When nobuddy ain't lookin' much you take a good look at a little winder that's clear in the back. You'll see it ain't got no bars over it like the other winders. It's jest 'bout big enough to let a boy through."
"Well?" asked Glen, beginning to feel that it wasn't well at all, and that this plan Mr. Jervice was unfolding had to do with a very different treasure than he had supposed.
"Jest imagine you've been dropped through that winder an' landed on the floor. You've got to go f'm there to the front an' unbolt the door. We can handle the lock all right but they got old fashioned bolts inside. So just wait aroun' an' figure how you'd git acrost the room without knockin' nothink over, an' look particular at the fastenings on that front door so you'll—"
"Stop right there," interrupted Glen. "I won't do anything of the kind."
"What's the matter of you, backin' outthaterway?" exclaimed Mr. Jervice. "Ain't I explained to you that the bank's got our bullion."
"I'm not that green," retorted Glen. "You want to rob the bank. I'm through with you."
"Hold on, boy!" The strong hand of the big leader closed over his shoulder. "Not yet you ain't. We can't let you go off thinkin' that way about us."
Glen wriggled around until he could look into the face of the man who held him. His spirits dropped. It was no weak, trifling face such as J. Jervice exhibited. A hard, rough look—a cruel, remorseless look—a mean, ugly look—all these things he read in that face.
"Mebbe ye'll know me when ye see me agen," said the man.
Glen made no reply.
"I ain't figurin' on you seein' much more o' me, though, nor any of us. D'ye know what I'm goin' to do with you?"
"Send me back to the reform school?" guessed Glen, wishing from the bottom of his heart that he might get off so easily.
The man laughed as if at an excellent joke.
"You're funny, boy—positive funny, you are. Sendin' you to the penitentiary would be easy along o' what I'm goin' to do to you."
"I've never hurt you," cried Glen. "Let me go."
"It ain't safe, boy. They's jest one way you c'n make it safe. Come in along of us an' do what we do. You wouldn't be a reform school runaway if you hadn't never been up to nothink. This'll be easy for you."
It was a temptation that would have tried boys of firmer principle than Glen. This man might do something awful to him if he resisted. He was on the point of yielding—and then came the vision of Matt Burton, white and unconscious, and the recollection of his agony as he thought that he had murdered Matt and lost his first chance to walk straight. Was it better to choose one evil than another?
"Do what you want to," he said bravely, to the big man. "I'm going to be a true scout, if you—if you kill me for it."
There was murder in the man's appearance, evidently enough, for J. Jervice eagerly protested. "You don't want to do no murder, now. Murder means hangin'!"
"Shut up!" commanded the leader. "Look what ye got us into. What can we do with him?"
"We'll have to hide him till we git away," said Jervice.