“Looks as if it might have been a case of bluff, doesn’t it, Hugh?” Billy said, when another half hour had crept past. Sounds from downtown were dying out as people went home, believing that there would not be any excitement, after all.
“It’s a little too early to settle that question, I’m afraid, Billy,” replied the assistant scout master. “If they meant to do anything, you wouldn’t expect them to start in until as late as this, anyway. We’ll try to hold out till midnight, and then if nothing starts, why I suppose we’ll have to go home and take chances.”
“Whee, an hour and a half yet, that means!” said Billy with a big sigh, as the church clock rang the half hour. He was hardly able to drag one fat leg after the other such was his utter weariness, but being the possessor of a stubborn spirit, Billy would not confess that he felt anything but “chipper.”
“Something may happen before then to change our plans,” Hugh told him. “If we managed to make a capture, I think you’d brighten up.”
“Just try me,” replied Billy, endeavoring to look as though he were not half dead for sleep; for Billy’s two great weaknesses were a love for lying in bed mornings, and a dislike to leaving the dinner table so long as anything to eat remained in sight.
“When the Chief came around just a little while back to see how we were getting on, he said he did not expect to have any trouble to-night,” Hugh continued. “That fierce proclamation from the mayor seems to have convinced him that the evildoers will all take to hiding. But we know different. Fellows like Lige Corbley and their crowd think very little of the mayor’s backbone. You see, about every one of them has a father or uncle who can exercise his ‘pull’ with the authorities, and they rely on that to get them off in case of trouble.”
“That sounds true to me, Hugh,” Billy observed; “but then, the city was never so much worked up as now, and the people won’t stand for any of that funny business. If the mayor is back of us, then the Chief had better look out or he’ll lose the number of his mess. Seems to me he’s on to that fact, too, which accounts for the way he acts toward us scouts. We represent thirty-eight families, and some of the most influential in town. Guess he begins to think he’s fooling with a buzz-saw when he tries to go against the sentiment of the best citizens.”
“Watch that fellow over there, Billy,” said Hugh, putting out his hand and holding his companion still under the shadow of a willow tree.
“It’s a boy, isn’t it? He seems to be looking around as if he wanted to find out whether this section was being patrolled and where the guards hold out, eh, Hugh?”
“Do you notice that he’s got his cap drawn away down over his face? But it seems to me that his walk is familiar,” Hugh responded. “If you asked me who he is, I’d give a guess and say Andy Wallis!”
“The Chief’s own nephew!” ejaculated Billy.
“Yes, and as he doesn’t live in this part of town at all, the question is: what brings him here?” remarked Hugh in a whisper, all the while watching the actions of the shadowy figure across the street.
The boy may have suspected that he was seen, for suddenly starting to whistle, as though he did not have a care in the wide world, he walked off at a more rapid pace and vanished around the near-by corner, where he would enter upon the next patrol’s post.
“Do you think he was spying out the land, Hugh?” Billy inquired eagerly.
“That’s hard to say,” came the answer; “but one thing is sure, he wouldn’t be in this neighborhood unless he had some scheme in his head. I’m inclined to think he is acting as a sort of decoy to draw some of us away while others get in their work.”
“Gee! that sounds interesting,” remarked “Billy the Wolf,” as his chums often called him, no doubt because he was so often heard practicing the long-drawn howl of the Wolf Patrol.
The two scouts continued to pace their beat industriously. Billy had managed to overcome that dreadful feeling of drowsiness, for a time at least. Of course it was bound to come back again later on with increased energy; but the growing possibility of something stirring happening was keeping him on edge now.
Perhaps ten minutes later, or it may have been no more than eight, around the corner came a flying figure that quickly resolved itself into a boy wearing the well-known khaki suit of a scout.
It was no other than Arthur Cameron, whose beat adjoined that of Hugh and Billy and with whom they had exchanged passwords many times since going on duty.
Arthur was plainly wild with fresh excitement, and Billy’s heart began to beat fast with anticipations of coming news.
“What ails you, Arthur?” demanded the assistant scout master, as the other came close up, panting for breath.
“They’re there, and doing it for keeps!” gasped Arthur.
“Where do you mean, and what are they doing?” asked Hugh quickly; while doubtless Billy was saying to himself something like, “Oh, joy! joy! now we’ll get it!”
“Over in the mayor’s front yard, playing hob with everything!” Arthur burst out.
This thrilling news awakened Hugh to the fact that after all the bold Corbley crowd meant to defy the mayor. They had “taken the bull by the horns,” and to make the lesson all the more impressive, had selected the front yard of His Honor as the scene of their vandalism.
Now Hugh had dimly suspected that something along these lines might happen, and for that reason had chosen to be close to the scene. He knew the place of the mayor very well, as he had seen it year in and out while passing to school and back.
The owner took considerable pride in the well-kept lawn and the shrubs he had planted, some of them coming from foreign lands. In fact, it was one of the show places in town, and strangers were usually piloted around that way to see how lovely one of the local homes could appear.
Reckless of consequences, indeed, must the young rascals have been, thus to bring matters straight home to the head of the community. Hugh was satisfied that they were really playing into the hands of the good women who had long endeavored to arouse the sluggish mayor, but in vain. If the wanton destruction wrought by these vicious boys was brought home to him, His Honor would have no other course to pursue than to push the war until he had broken up the unruly gang and made people understand that he was going to stand back of the Town Improvement League.
So Hugh was in no particular hurry to get around there and bring the operations of the vandals to a stop. It would be a pity to burst in upon them too soon, when they were doing the finest thing possible to end this reign of lawlessness that had gripped the pretty city in its throes.
Besides, it was necessary that they summon others of the scouts to help them in the round-up. Half a dozen, at least, should be on hand in order to make a sure thing of it.
Hugh had all this sort of thing already figured out in his mind, so that when the emergency came along he did not have to do any thinking. The motto of the scouts, “Be Prepared,” he had taken to heart long ago and never let an opportunity pass for laying his plans in case certain things came to pass.
Just on the other side of the beat that he and Billy the Wolf were covering, he knew could be found Alec and Bud Morgan, two of the most dependable of the troop. Counting the side partner of Arthur, who was no other than Monkey Stallings, there would thus be six of them in all, which Hugh determined ought to be enough to carry out his plans.
Advancing part way toward the next meeting point, Hugh gave the Wolf cry in a subdued fashion. If Bud should hear this he would know that he and his partner were needed in the quarter from whence the cry sprang.
Twice more did Hugh sound the call to action. Then he heard the swiftly moving patter of feet and the two scouts came hurrying into view, looking eager and fit for business.
“What’s up?” asked Alec, as he and Bud Morgan joined the others.
“The gang is at work, doing all the damage they can to the mayor’s front lawn. We want to try and round them up in a hurry,” Hugh explained.
“How many are there of them?” asked Bud, not that he cared what the answer might be for fear of consequences, but only for general information and interest.
“I forgot to ask Arthur about that,” declared Hugh, turning to the scout in question and adding, “How about it?”
“We saw three of them at work,” replied the other, just as Monkey joined him, “and there may have been yet another keeping watch on the street so as to let them know if the cops were coming.”
“Did they see you running away?” asked the scout leader.
“We tried to keep from showing ourselves, but even if they did, chances are they think we were heading for downtown to tell the police,” Arthur replied.
“Well, what we want to do is to get into the Simmons place, next door to the mayor’s, and climb through the hedge. Then we’ll try to lay our plans so as to close in around one particular chap and gobble him,” Hugh explained in a low voice.
“But what if he shows fight? Do we lick him into subjection?” asked Bud, acting as though ready to roll up his sleeves and pitch in.
“Don’t hit him any more than you can help,” warned Hugh. “It might reflect on us as scouts if we gave him a black eye. People would say we were only the same old brand of fighters under a new name. But hold on tight, and if you can only get him down, sit on him. That ought to be enough to tell you what to do.”
“Leave it to us, Hugh,” said Bud Morgan with a chuckle. “We’ll do our level best to convince the chap he ought to stop over awhile with us, and find out if the water is still as warm as it was last month.”
“Then come right along, and keep low down,” directed Hugh, starting toward the gate of the place adjoining that of the mayor.
The other five boys trailed after him like Indians, every fellow bending down and walking as silently as the conditions permitted. Hugh opened the gate and they passed through. Across the lawn they started, heading for the fine big hedge that stood on the line between the properties.
You would have thought that Hugh had been there before, spying out the land, or that some sense of intuition led him to find the one place in all that hedge where it was thin and the barrier weak, for he struck it almost the first thing. Well, possibly hehadnoticed this fact that afternoon when walking past the home of the mayor. It often pays to take note as you go, and scouts find that out in their everyday experiences.
Reaching the hedge, Hugh looked through one of the small openings where the foliage was unusually thin. He could see the fine lawn of the adjoining place, with its choice shrubs and bordering trees.
Immediately he discovered moving forms. They looked shadowy in the deceptive moonlight, but Hugh felt sure they were just boys, going about trying to do all manner of things that would tell the owner that they snapped their fingers with contempt at the order he had taken the trouble to issue, which was staring down at passing citizens from every fence and blank wall in town.
Yes, there were three of them in sight. Just what they were doing, Hugh could not say; but he plainly heard the sound of cutting, and thought that they might be damaging some of those highly prized foreign shrubs for which the mayor had paid fancy prices.
Like a general surveying the field of battle, Hugh took in the details, and in a few seconds he had planned his campaign. Napoleon could not have done it better, so the other scouts thought, after they had heard what he whispered to them.
At a certain moment, when the backs of the intruders happened to be turned, they were one and all to crawl through the hedge. Every scout was expected to keep his eyes fixed upon the moving figures beyond, and should one of them seem to act as though suspicious of the presence of the newcomers, Hugh would give the shrill call of the katydid. Upon hearing this each was to remain perfectly motionless until the tiny cry of the cricket announced that it was safe to be advancing again.
Twice did this occur while they were making the passage of the hedge; but owing to the extreme care taken by the scouts, those they were trying to surprise did not appear to have taken alarm, as would certainly have been the case had they suspected that enemies were near.
From that time on, Hugh figured upon creeping along in the dense shadow of the hedge until he could lead his followers to a certain spot where he had hastily calculated that one of the three vandals was heading.
It was evident that the scouts had profited by what experience they had had in creeping up on an imaginary enemy, for they conducted the operation splendidly. The fellow who was slashing away at the foliage of the bushes, chuckling while he worked as though vastly enjoying himself, had not the slightest suspicion of hovering danger until Hugh gave the Wolf call and six figures quickly surrounded him.
There were cries of alarm from the other two roughs, who melted into the shrubbery, doubtless under the impression that the whole scout troop was on the field, ready to encompass their capture. So the unlucky one was left to the tender mercies of the half-dozen scouts.
He saw that his case was desperate and immediately tried to dash through the encircling line. This action had been anticipated, however, and instantly two of the most active scouts pounced upon him, Monkey Stallings actually fastening upon his back as though he were the Old Man of the Sea whom Sindbad could not get rid of when once he had him on his shoulders.
For a brief time there was something of a mix-up, and even the quick percussion of blows could be heard. No one ever admitted who was responsible for them, although Bud Morgan carried not only a blackened eye for a week, but skinned knuckles into the bargain.
It soon ended in the trespasser being made a prisoner, and his hands tied behind his back with a thong that had been carried along for this very purpose. When they came to look at him, now that his cap was knocked off, it was found that their captive was a fellow by the name of Betts Smith, known among the boys of the town as “Whistling Smith.” The reason for giving him that name was rather a queer one. It seems that he stuttered dreadfully at times, and in order to be able to stop when once started, he was in the habit of taking in a quick breath and then uttering a sharp whistle or two, after which, singular to say, he could go on speaking as rationally as any one.
The scouts took him out on the street and then offered him a choice between being ducked or handed over to the police to be locked up. Perhaps he hardly believed that they meant to carry out either threat, or his infirmity may have taken such a grip on him that he could not utter a word in reply. Whatever the cause, he was silent.
Accordingly, the boys took it upon themselves to pronounce sentence. Then while Hugh went to leave word for the rest of the troop to close up and protect the mayor’s place against a return of the raiders, his followers decided not to wait for him but to hustle the prisoner at once toward the river bank.
Hugh was surprised to find them gone on his return. He had expected that nothing would be done toward punishing the captured boy until they had all gathered for the purpose. Of course he could give a good guess as to which direction the others had taken, and with more or less apprehension he hurried after them.
As he drew near the river, he could hear the boys talking. They seemed to be trying to impress the wretched victim with a sense of the punishment that was about to be dealt out to him. Whistling Smith tried in vain to say something. He grew thicker and thicker in his utterance, owing to excitement and alarm; but it could be fairly well understood that he was pleading with them not to throw him into the river, which was deep at that point, with a rapid current.
“He says he doesn’t know how to swim, fellows,” Bud Morgan was heard to call out; “but that’s all a cooked-up story. Of course, every boy knows how to swim. Overboard with him, clothes and all. He’s got to learn that this town’s going to be a clean town after this. We’ll begin by giving him a bath. Souse him in!”
There followed a tremendous splash, and Hugh sprinted for all he was worth lest he arrive too late. Even as he came up, he heard Arthur Cameron cry out:
“Look at him go under, will you? Say, perhaps he spoke the truth when he said he couldn’t swim a stroke! Do you think he can be drowning out there? Bud, why don’t you jump in and grab hold of him? There, he’s gone down again!”
Some one sprang past, shedding shoes and coat as he ran. Then there was another splash, as Hugh Hardin leaped headlong into the moonlit river and struck wildly out for the struggling figure of the late prisoner, already fighting for his life.
Bud Morgan had started for the water, overcome with remorse and fear, but Hugh far outstripped him in the race, reaching the imperiled lad before Bud left the bank.
Just before the scout master arrived, and ere he could place his eager hand on Whistling Smith, the latter went down again. This was the third disappearance, and he was so terrified that there was great danger lest it be the last. He had kept his mouth open most of the time, and must have swallowed great quantities of water during his frantic struggles.
Hugh had anticipated just such a happening. He had kept a close watch upon the other as he approached, and in this the light of the full moon proved of great value, enabling him to see what was going on.
Quickly gauging the conditions, he dove and stretched out both hands, seeking to clutch the garments of the helpless boy. Had he misjudged distances even by the fraction of a foot, he might have missed connection, and in that case the consequences would have been very serious.
Fortunately, however, Hugh had kept his head and did not make a failure of his effort to locate the object of his search. As soon as he came in contact with the boy, he seized him and arose to the surface, battling with all his energies to overcome the dreadful suction of the current of the river.
Just then Hugh had but one thought, and this was to get Smith’s head above the water as quickly as he could. Every second that the other remained under added to the possibilities of his drowning, for he might be so far gone when they got him ashore that all their skill would fail to restore him.
The boy had ceased to struggle. While this may have seemed a serious thing, at least it aided Hugh in his effort to save the other. He did not have to contend with a frantic creature, ready to clutch him about the neck and drag him down in an effort to climb out of the depths.
Scouts fortunately are early in their career instructed in such important things as saving a comrade who may be in peril of drowning. One of the chief benefits of the annual camping-out experience is that it enables every member of the troop not only to learn how to swim and dive and take care of himself in the water, but also to know how to rescue a comrade who has been seized with a cramp, and even resuscitate him after he has been brought safely to the shore.
Had Whistling Smith tried to clutch Hugh, the scout master would have kept him at arm’s length, even though rough measures were required in order to bring this about. Sometimes it even becomes necessary to stun the drowning one so that he can be handled safely, for once he throws his arms around the neck of the would-be rescuer, the chances are that both will perish.
When Hugh came to the surface with his helpless burden, he found Bud swimming aimlessly around, calling his name piteously. The scout seemed to be dreadfully broken up by the sudden terrible catastrophe that had stared them all in the face. Not finding Hugh there when he arrived at the spot, he had jumped to the conclusion that the other must have been seized by the drowning boy and dragged under.
“Oh, Hugh! I thought you were gone!” he managed to gasp, as he suddenly discovered his chum right alongside. “Did he pull you down with him?”
“No, but I had to go down after him,” said the other tersely. “Give me a hand here, Bud, so as to keep his head above water. He’s pretty near gone, I tell you.”
“You better believe I will,” cried the other, his teeth chattering as he spoke. It was not the chill of the water that caused this, but a dreadful fear lest Whistling Smith might never recover, and that blame would be attached to him for having thrown the other into the river for a ducking.
Bud was as eager as any one could be to do all in his power. Indeed, he shouldered more than his share in towing the helpless boy to the shore; and the two scouts were soon wading in the now shallow water toward the spot where their comrades eagerly awaited their coming, ready to lend what aid they could.
In solemn fashion then was Whistling Smith lifted to the bank and laid on the green grass. The cold moon looked down, and showed them that his face was ghastly white.
“Oh, Hugh, you don’t think he’s dead, do you?” asked Arthur Cameron in an awed tone; while poor repentant Bud could not muster up enough courage to utter a single sound. He simply stood there, with his knees secretly knocking together, and prayed ever so fervently deep down in his heart that nothing so terrible should come of this attempt to cure the vandal of his evil ways.
Hugh forgot that he was soaked to the skin. He realized that something must be done immediately to bring back the breath of life to the almost drowned boy, who, if left there to himself, would doubtless never come to his senses again.
“Turn him over on his face, boys,” he said first of all, as he prepared for the task that was before him.
The other scouts, knowing the whole process, extended Smith’s arms as far above his head as possible. Meanwhile Hugh immediately knelt astride the body, a knee on either side, in such a position that he could easily press downward on the short ribs.
Smith had been under the water such a brief time that Hugh did not have any great fear of the result. Still, until there were signs of restored breathing he did not intend to take any chances, and he went about his task as though the other had been at the bottom of the river for several minutes.
Pressing heavily downward upon the boy’s back between the short ribs, Hugh thus forced the breath from his lungs. Then by relieving the pressure, there was more or less of an intake of air. This movement he repeated again and again, taking care not to work too fast, about once every four seconds being the proper thing.
All this while, what water Smith had drawn into his lungs was oozing from his mouth, on account of the position in which he had been placed in the beginning.
Bud Morgan sat there rubbing one of the boy’s legs furiously, as though under the impression that he could thus induce a certain amount of animal heat by friction, and in a small way help things along. Alec was working on the other leg, while the balance of the scouts hung around, ready to carry out with alacrity any order given by Hugh.
After all, it did not prove to be a bad case, thanks to the promptness of the rescuers. In a short time Arthur declared that he had heard what sounded like a sigh coming from Smith. Hugh himself noticed a slight muscular movement, though he did not in the slightest degree relax his labors; if anything, he increased the force with which he kept that artificial respiration going.
In ten minutes more the boy began to wriggle, and presently they were able to turn him over on his back. As he stared up at them, Bud found himself trembling like a leaf to find that after all a tragedy had been averted.
“Are you feeling better, Smith?” asked Hugh.
“W—w—where am I? W—w—what happened?” gasped the other, as the first touch of color began to creep into his white cheeks.
“You were in the river,” said Bud quickly, as though ready to shoulder all the blame. “We thought you were only fooling when you said you couldn’t swim a stroke. It was your brother that used to be a regular fish in the water. We got you mixed, you see, and thought you were just trying to pull the wool over our eyes. But I guess you’d have drowned if it hadn’t been for Hugh here. He dragged you out after you went under the third time.”
“With your help, Bud,” interposed Hugh modestly.
“I don’t deserve a bit of credit,” said the other scout moodily. “I was a fool to do what I did. Smith, I hope you can forgive me. We wanted to punish you for littering up the mayor’s lawn the way you helped to do. That was a shame, but two wrongs don’t make a right. Perhaps you were led into it by that scheming Lige Corbley. There’s some excuse for you, Smith, but none for me. I’m a scout, and I ought to have known better. Will you shake hands and forgive me for throwing you into the river?”
Whistling Smith was more or less dazed. He looked hard at Bud, as though trying to connect matters in his mind. Then he slowly raised his hand, for he was still very weak.
“I reckon it’s all right, Bud,” he said. “I was a fool myself to be led into that silly game. Perhaps I only got what I deserved. In the future, I mean to cut loose from that crowd. They’re too swift for me. This is going to be a big lesson, let me tell you. I don’t know what my mother’d have said if I was arrested and locked up. If you fellows are willing to call it an even thing, I am.”
Every one of the scouts quickly declared that they stood ready to wipe all scores off the slate. Others besides Bud felt a sensation as of remorse; and they were glad beyond words that things had come out as favorably as they had. If Whistling Smith had never been resuscitated, what misery would have been their portion through the remainder of their lives.
“It wouldn’t have happened if we’d only waited for Hugh to get here,” admitted Arthur frankly. “Chances are he’d have believed what you said and only soused you in shallow water. We took big risks in doing what we did. You’ve had a lesson, Smith, you say, but think of us scouts not knowing better!”
“Yes,” added Alec, also repentant now, “and come to think of it, I ought to be kicked for not remembering that it wasn’t Whistling Smith but his brother Bob who could swim like a duck. Slipped my mind in all the excitement. Never again for me will such a thing as this happen.”
“I think we all have good reason to be thankful it was no worse,” declared Hugh; “but get up and exercise some, Smith. We want you to warm up before you start on a run for home. Get to bed as soon as you can, and be sure to have a blanket on. The weather is so warm I don’t think you’ll be apt to suffer from your ducking.”
They rubbed him vigorously until he declared that he felt as warm as toast, after which he was started for home on the trot.
“Any use of our going back on duty again, Hugh?” asked Billy, stifling a yawn.
“I don’t think so,” was the reply. “Lige and his crowd have done all the damage they wanted to probably, and there’ll be nothing to bother us for the rest of the night. We’re all tired and two of us wet through, so we’ll strike the home trail now.”
“How about the rest of the fellows who are still on duty? Going to leave them to stand guard the whole night through?” asked Billy.
“Well, that would be a hard joke on them,” Alec declared. “Send me with any message, Hugh. You and Bud had better make a break for home, and get out of your wet clothes in a hurry.”
“All right then, Alec,” the other told him. “Take the order that they’re to give up work for to-night and get away home. And perhaps you’d better not say anything about what happened here in too big a hurry. We’ll speak of it at the next meeting. I think there’s a lesson in it for every scout. I know I feel that I’ve had one myself.”
“Huh! think of me, will you?” declared Bud with a sigh. “Even when Arthur yelled out that Smith was drowning, I was so scared that for just five seconds I couldn’t move hand or foot. That might have been long enough for him to disappear the last time. But you shot past me and into the river like a flash. You haven’t a single thing to be sorry for, Hugh. And let me tell you, for one, I’ll never stop thanking my lucky stars that you got here just when you did. I’d be feeling some different from what I am right now if you’d delayed a minute longer.”
Alec ran off to carry the scout master’s order to the rest of the troop that would relieve them from vidette duty, while the balance of the boys started for their various homes, satisfied with the outcome of the series of adventures.
“Well, things seem to be moving right along, Hugh,” Billy Worth remarked several days later, as he and the assistant scout master stood on the main street in front of the window where there was a fine display of sporting goods that always attracted the attention of every passing boy.
“Yes, it’s wonderful what a change has come over the whole town,” the other scout remarked. “It seems as though the scouts must have given everybody the fever, because it’s going on all around. Even the Italian district has been stirred, for the mayor has offered a splendid prize to the family that has the neatest dooryard on the first of the month. Such a scrubbing and raking and gathering of rubbish never was seen before. Poor old Barney Heath says he’s earned his salary three times over, and that if this thing gets to be a settled habit he must be paid by the load and not by the month under contract. He’ll soon be going to the poorhouse, he vows. But it looks glorious to me, Billy.”
“My folks say we deserve a heap of credit for taking the bull by the horns,” Billy observed, with a grin of pride on his freckled face. “But the women all think it was the way that gang carried on in the mayor’s front yard that gave him all the backbone he’s shown since. Nothing like bringing things home to a man if you want to stir him up.”
“Touch his pocket and you’ll get a response, my father says,” Hugh replied. “I wish I’d been there when he came out of his house that fine Sunday morning and discovered what a mess they’d made of his place! But somehow nobody seems to have been able to get any trace of those who did it. They made sure to leave nothing behind to tell who they were, and have been lying low ever since. I’m rather thinking they’re a bit frightened themselves at their boldness.”
“Huh! I don’t believe anything could scare that Lige Corbley,” grunted Billy; “and speaking of him, there he comes along the street right now with his little lame brother, Benjy. Say, what a queer mixture that boy is, Hugh! Watch him helping Benjy along just as carefully as you would do it yourself! I never could make out what that Lige was made of.”
“And that’s the very reason I told you once that I didn’t think he could be all bad,” said the other in a low tone, for the object of their conversation was now approaching them. “Any fellow who could act like that toward a poor little chap with a twisted leg must have a decent streak in him. And if ever Lige is going to change his ways, you mark my words it’s bound to come about through that same brotherly affection he feels for Benjy. It may never happen, and then again how do we know? Stranger things than that have come to pass.”
A crowd of boys coming along the street stopped to gape in at the window of the sporting goods store, making comments about the football and hockey paraphernalia displayed there in tempting fashion.
Several men and women were also looking in at the gorgeous window of the adjoining jewelry establishment, so that for the time being there was quite a gathering at that one spot.
Lige Corbley, leaving his crippled brother to feast his eyes with the sights in both windows, which he did not often have a chance to survey, passed into the store that displayed fishing tackle and all manner of men’s goods evidently bent on making some small purchase.
In doing this he came in contact with the two scouts, and their eyes met. Lige stared Hugh straight in the face, and what seemed to be a smile of defiance came across his dark countenance. It was as though he had heard what had happened to Whistling Smith, and had been assured that his identity was known to the scouts who had appeared on the scene while he and his pals were defying the mayor by wrecking his well-kept lawn and shrubbery.
Billy turned and looked at his chum after Lige had gone into the store.
“What do you think of that now, Hugh?” he asked. “Did you ever see a fellow throw down the gauntlet like he did? Dares us to accuse him, and wants to know how we could prove it! For three cents I’d like to ask you to take the challenge up. We could give him a heap of trouble, I reckon. And everybody believes that it was his gang that made the ruin at the mayor’s place, even if nothing’s been done about it.”
Hugh, however, shook his head in the negative.
“Things are going along too well right now, Billy, to change them,” he said. “We might be able to prove what we claimed, and then again, how do we know? All we’ve got to go on is the word of Whistling Smith, and he would have to turn informer. Better let it drop and wait to see how things turn out. Lige and his crowd builded better than they knew when they paid that visit to the mayor’s place. It was the beginning of the end.”
Billy did not seem to be wholly convinced, for he shook his head and frowned as he stood there on the outskirts of the crowd.
“Well, if you knew Lige as well as I do, Hugh, you’d understand that such a little thing as that isn’t going to faze him any. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he’s getting up some other prank right now and means to spring it on the town some dark night. The snake is scotched, not killed. The more you stir up a fellow like him the worse you make things.”
“Wait and see, Billy; don’t be in so much of a hurry,” the other scout replied. “When I worked side by side with Lige putting out that fire in his aunt’s house, I saw him at his best. And when he shook hands with me and as much as admitted that scoutscouldbe halfway decent, I saw something in his eyes that’s been haunting me ever since. And I say once more, lots of queer things have happened in this world and will again. One of them may be seeing that same Lige Corbley in the khaki uniform of a scout some fine day.”
At that, Billy snorted his disbelief. He lacked the faith in human nature that Hugh seemed to possess. Perhaps this came from his not being able to read beneath the surface, while his chum made it a practice to look deeper than the outward appearance of things.
Whatever Billy may have been about to remark was lost, because just at that minute there was a sudden commotion inside the jewelry establishment. Loud cries arose and through the door a man came springing as though in a great hurry to get away.
He pushed through the crowd, jostling several people as he went. At the same moment Mr. Garrison, the clerk in the store, was seen in the doorway, white of face and evidently so excited that he almost strangled.
All he could say, in a weak sort of voice, was the one word:
“Thief!”
The stranger pushed his way through those gathered in front of the window, not being at all gentle in his manner of handling any who interfered with his progress. It happened that the cripple Benjy was directly in his path, so that he came near knocking the little fellow down; and then, as though discovering how helpless the boy was, he threw his arms around him, apparently to keep him from falling.
Before any one could interfere, the thief, who must have had all his plans arranged beforehand, jumped into a buggy that was standing in front of the store, plucked the whip from its socket, and laying it on the back of the astonished animal between the shafts went whirling down the road in a cloud of dust.
Several people hurried around to police headquarters to inform the force that their services were needed and that neighboring towns should be notified of the daring robbery, that the man might be apprehended should he appear.
Others gathered about the door of the jewelry store, all tremendously interested and asking many questions as to what had happened.
The proprietor came hurrying out, for he had been in a rear room at the time of the raid. The dazed clerk was getting his senses back by degrees, though there were evidences that he did not as yet grasp the full meaning of the matter. He appeared to be laboring under the impression that there were a number implicated in the robbery, and that the man who fled had perhaps managed to pass some of his plunder to others standing near by. This was the habit with such clever rascals, he had read.
“What’s that boy got in his hand?” the clerk cried suddenly, pointing straight toward little Benjy Corbley, who was holding something and staring at it with a look of wonder on his thin face. “Why, don’t you see, sir, what I said is the truth? That’s one of the gold watches that were taken. The thief must have confederates in this crowd. If you search every one here you may find other things!”
It was a most ridiculous accusation. The man would possibly never have dreamed of making it, only that he had just experienced a terrible shock and was hardly yet in his right senses.
He jumped down from the stoop and snatched the article out of the hand of Benjy, who of course made no resistance.
“Where did you get this gold watch, you young imp?” demanded the clerk harshly, as he took hold of the cripple’s jacket and tried to frighten him with a savage look.
Benjy tried to answer but apparently his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, for he could not make any intelligent sound.
“I saw him pull it out of his pocket!” announced another boy standing near.
“Turn your pockets inside out at once,” commanded the clerk, who, it can very easily be seen, was a small-minded man, only anxious just then to turn the attention of his employer from his own lack of due caution to some other cause of blame.
Mechanically, the crippled boy started to do as he was told, but nothing developed through the process. He disclosed a top, several marbles, a broken-bladed knife, some string, a few buttons and a five cent piece, but no more precious watches or jewelry of any kind seemed forthcoming, greatly to the disappointment of the hopeful clerk.
Just then Lige Corbley, who had been the first one to run for the police, strange to say, came hurrying back, followed by the Chief himself, while a couple more officers were seen hastily buckling on their belts as they ran toward the spot.
“Hello! what’s the matter with you, Benjy?” they heard Lige say, as he pushed his way through the gathering crowd, using his elbows without any regard for other people’s ribs.
The appearance of his older brother seemed to make a change in the stunned condition of the cripple. He immediately began to cry, which caused Lige to glare around like an aroused lion, evidently searching for the guilty culprit who had hurt the smaller lad while he was away.
“Who hit you, Benjy? Just point him out to me, won’t you?” he asked, as he threw a protecting hand across the shoulders of his brother. And at that moment even the presence of the big Chief would possibly not have prevented Lige from trying to visit summary vengeance on the wretch who could stoop to strike a cripple, had Benjy but raised a hand and pointed an accusing finger.
The clerk faced Lige just then. He still held the gold watch in his hand and was in a humor to accuse any one of being an accomplice who dared put in a good word for Benjy.
“Here’s what he had in his pocket, if you want to know,” he snarled, as he dangled the glittering object before Lige’s eyes. “That thief handed it to him as he made off, to keep for him. It’s an old trick, and might have been successful if I hadn’t happened to know all about it. Your brother, small as he is, must be an accomplice in this robbery. And who knows but what you’re in the game, too, Lige Corbley? Your reputation isn’t any too good in this town, let me tell you!”