A FOURTEEN-MILE HIKE
SCHOOL let out Thursday, June 22, and it had seemed to us as if the day never would come. Not that we don't like school because we do—sometimes; but when the sap drips from the maples and bees buzz around the pussywillows on the river bank and all the trees take on a different look, as if there was going to be something doing right away, then the time has come for us to get out our marbles and tops and to fix up the cave for the summer.
Pretty soon the buds begin to throw off their overcoats, and Bob's Hill grows green again in the warm sunshine; the woods are bright with wild flowers, and the songs of birds and smell of spring fill the air.
Then the mountains and hills tease us away from our books, when we look out of the window. Theriver, all swelled up with joy and melting snows, shouts for us to come on, every time we cross the bridge. On Saturdays the brook at Peck's Falls, grown big and noisy, roars out a welcome and tries to say how glad it is to have us back at the cave again.
Say, how can a boy sit quiet in school when all those things are going on?
Last day finally came. It always does, no matter how slowly the time seems to pass. The very next morning the Ravens met to do the final stunts that would make us First Class Scouts.
For more than a week we had thought of little except the fourteen-mile hike. It took several meetings before we could decide where to go. Our first idea was to tramp up into the mountains somewhere, but that scared our folks and we had to give it up.
"It isn't as if you were all going together," said Pa. "In that case, if one should get hurt the others could take care of him and go for help. If one of you alone should break your leg on the mountain we might never be able to find you. Ithink you'd better stick to civilization and the beaten paths. You are not mollie-coddles and probably would come out all right, anyhow. At the same time, I should sleep better nights if I knew that my boy wasn't off on the mountain somewhere, alone."
That left us only two directions to go, north and south, because on the east and west there are mountains and the valley between is narrow. South near Cheshire Harbor it narrows down so much that there is room only for a wagon road, the river, and the railroad, side by side, but there is another road part way up the hill on the east.
On that account we decided that all should not go on the hike the same day, but to go four at a time, each taking a different road. There are two roads leading north to North Adams, one on each side of the river, and two leading south. One goes through Maple Grove and Cheshire Harbor to Cheshire, where a lot of swell folks from New York spend their summer vacations. The other, as I have said, is part way up the east hill and goes through a place, called Pumpkin Hook. It's a queer name but we didn't name it.
The plan that we finally decided on was for each to follow one road one day for seven miles; then go up into the hills somewhere to make camp for the night, and the next day to go back again by the other road. In that way we should stand a chance of meeting two Scouts some time during the trip, one on the morning of the second day, when we would be crossing over to take the other road, and one when the first boys on their way home would pass the second boys on the way out.
We drew cuts to see who should be the first four to go. Skinny, Harry, Wallie, and Bill won the first chance. They were to start the next morning at seven o'clock sharp from the bridge, two going north and two south. Hank, Benny, Chuck, and myself were to wait until seven o'clock, the second day, and then start. When we all had come back, we planned to meet Mr. Norton and tell him about where we had been and what we had seen and done.
Benny and I live nearest to the bridge. My house is only a stone's throw north of it; Benny's is a little north of mine and on the other side ofPark Street. That made it easy for us to get to the bridge first, but pretty soon the others began to come.
"Has anybody seen Skinny?" I asked, looking at Mr. Norton.
Skinny's house is near Mr. Norton's, and we had thought that maybe they would come together.
"I stopped in as I passed," said he. "Mrs. Miller told me that he had started."
Just then we heard a caw, sounding from over toward Plunkett's woods somewhere. It didn't take us long to answer. Then we watched down the railroad track, where it curves into town between the wooded hillside and the river.
We didn't have long to wait. In a few minutes we saw Skinny put his head out between the trees which line a high bank, fifteen or twenty feet above the track. He looked carefully in every direction; waved one arm, when he saw that we were watching, and then dodged back again out of sight.
"He's surrounding something," said Bill, giving a caw so loud it must have almost scared the crows up in the Bellows Pipe.
"There are only four minutes left before leaving time."
Mr. Norton was looking at his watch. He had hardly spoken, when, with a whoop and yell, Skinny slid down the embankment and was running like mad up the track toward us, waving his hatchet in one hand and swinging a rope around his head with the other.
"One minute to spare," said Mr. Norton, smiling as he put his watch back into his pocket. "That's the way to do it. Be prompt. If you say that you'll be somewhere at a certain time, be there."
"Say, Skinny," said Bill, winking at me and giving the Scout salute, "did you get 'em surrounded?"
Skinny wouldn't answer, or even look at him except to return the salute. He pulled out his own watch, held it a moment; then pounded on the bridge with his hatchet.
"The meetin' will come to order?" said he.
As he spoke, the bell on the woolen mill began to ring and we knew that it was seven o'clock and time to start.
Quite a little crowd had gathered by that time and there was a cheer when the boys started, Skinny and Harry marching south on Center Street, side by side, and Bill and Wallie, north on Park Street.
Pretty soon their ways branched off. They turned and waved to us; then were gone. Once after that we heard some crows cawing in the distance, and a little later I heard Bill yell from somewhere down the river. I knew that he was doing his best, but I hardly could hear him.
It wasn't easy to wait until the next day, with the other boys gone and knowing that we should have to do it, too, in the morning.
Pa said that maybe the time would pass more quickly if I'd hoe in the garden a spell, but it didn't seem to make any difference. My mind was following the boys, especially Skinny, on his long walk over a hilly road to Pumpkin Hook.
"Scout's law says that we must be useful and help others," he had told us, "and, bet your life, I am going to do things."
"Maybe," said he, after a minute, "I can rescue some fair damsel in distress, like the knights usedto do, even if there ain't any dragons now-a-days. The road goes too far from the river for me to save anybody from drowning; unless I come back by the river road."
In the evening Benny and I sat out on the woodpile, talking about it. We wondered where the boys were making their camps, if anything would happen to them and if Skinny had rescued anybody yet.
That night I dreamed that I was on the way. I met a little, old woman, going to market, and carried her basket for her.
"Noble boy," said she. "Because of your kind act I'll change shoes with you. Mine hurt my feet."
I didn't like to do it very well because her shoes were old and shabby, but Scout law says to be courteous. So I thanked her as well as I could and put them on.
And, say, they were magic shoes. I got to North Adams in about three jumps and liked it so well that I went on to Boston. I was just going to sleep on Boston Common when a bigpoliceman grabbed me by one shoulder and gave me a shake.
"Quit!" I said. "A Scout's honor is to be trusted."
"John! John!" came a voice. "It's time to be up and away."
I opened my eyes and there was Pa, laughing down at me.
"You're a pretty Scout," said he. "It's after six o'clock and you have to start at seven."
Ma hated to see me go, knowing that I'd be out all night, but Pa didn't care, or pretended that he didn't.
"He's all right," he said. "What's going to hurt him, I'd like to know?"
Before seven o'clock the four of us were at the bridge and, say, we looked fine in our uniforms. Each one carried a little pan to cook in, some bacon and other things to eat, and a blanket strapped on his back. We also carried "first aid to injured" things, to be ready if we should find somebody getting hurt.
When the bells rang for seven o'clock we started.This time it was Benny and I who went north on Park Street, and Hank and Chuck, south.
"You watch my smoke," whispered Hank to me, when we were ready to start. "I've got a new invention and I'm going to try it on somebody."
When we were passing Benny's house Mrs. Wade came out and waved to us.
"Benny Wade," she shouted, "if you are not home by nine o'clock to-night, your mother will have a fit."
I knew from the look on Benny's face how hard it was for him to be cheerful, when he wanted to stay out all night, like the rest of us.
"All right, Ma," said he. "Don't worry. I'll come back, if I live."
"If you live!" I heard her yell; but Benny was turning the corner to take the east road and in another second was out of sight.
At first I hardly could believe that I really was on the way. I took Mr. Norton's message out of my pocket and looked at it, to make sure, several times. He had given each of us a message to some one at the end of the line and told us to bring backa receipt or an answer. Mine was to a man in North Adams.
The Bob's Hill boys are used to walking. That didn't bother me any. But somehow this was different from any other walk that I ever had taken. I suppose it was because it was so important and because I was all alone.
I walked along at pretty good speed until I had almost reached the Gingham Grounds. Then I slowed down and kept my eyes open for the Gang, hoping that I should see Jim Donavan somewhere. Jim was their captain and one of our best friends, but some of the others had it in for us.
I had begun to think that I was going to get through all right, without any trouble, when I saw one of them coming toward me. He was one of the best fighters in the Gang, too, and he had a dog with him. Jim was nowhere in sight.
Isn't it queer what things will come into your head when you are scared? Pa says that I can't remember twenty-five cents' worth of groceries from our house to the store; but that is something else.
I was scared, all right, and wanted to run, because fighting always is scary until after you get started. Then, all of a sudden, I thought of something that Pa had once read to me about General Grant. Grant was marching up a hill once, expecting to find the enemy on the other side and wanting to run all the time, only he was too proud. Then when he reached the top, where he could see down into the enemy's camp, he found that they had been more scared than he was and not so proud, for they had run away.
"So," said he, or something like it, "no matter how frightened you are, or how much you want to run, remember that the other fellow probably is just as badly scared as you are."
When I thought of that I braced up and walked along fast, pretending that I was in a hurry and didn't see him, but keeping one eye on him, just the same, and the other on a stone which lay in the road, near where the dog stood whining. The boy was patting his head and trying to coax him along.
He pretended that he didn't see me, too, until I was passing. Then he spoke.
"Hello, you village guy," said he.
"Hello, yourself," I said, stopping and edging toward the stone.
"Where do you think you are going?"
"North Adams."
"What for?"
"Oh, just for fun."
"Huh!" said he. "Ain't the trains runnin'?"
"I've got something that's better than trains. It's legs."
"What's the uniform for?"
"Anything the matter?" I asked, after I had told him that I was a Boy Scout, for I could see that he was feeling badly about something.
"It's my dog," he told me, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes. "Somebody broke his leg with a stone and I've got to kill him. He's all I have."
"A Scout should be kind to animals," I said to myself. "A Scout is a friend to all." "A Scout should be useful."
Then I answered myself back.
"What's the use? This ain't any damsel-in-distress business, like Skinny is going to do. Besides, if I hurry maybe I'll get a chance to signal to Benny from the turn in the road on ahead."
"Come on and help me kill him," said he.
Just then the dog gave such a pitiful whine that I couldn't stand it, Benny or no Benny. So I took out my bandage.
"I think I can fix his leg, if you'll help me," I told him. "Get me a couple of sticks."
I told him what I wanted, and when he had brought them and I had whittled them into shape to use as splints, I fitted the broken bones in place and bandaged the leg, just as Mr. Norton had taught us, while the boy held the dog. The dog yelped a little, but seemed to know that I was doing it to help him.
"It will soon grow together," I said, when I had finished, "and then it will be almost as good as new."
It made me feel kind of queer and happy to see how glad he was. The dog licked my hand, too,and seemed to be trying to say something. I wish dogs could talk.
"How did you come to know so much?" he asked. "Is your father a doctor?"
Then I told him all about the Scouts and our hike and what Mr. Norton had said about wanting the Gang to join.
"Bully!" said he. "We'll do it. The others went up on the mountain this morning after berries. I'd have gone, too, only for the dog. But I'll tell them when they get home to-night."
"Say," I called out, after I had started on. "You know Benny Wade, don't you?"
"The kid what always goes around with youse?"
I nodded.
"Yes, I know him when I see him. Why?"
"He'll come through here this evening some time, on his way back from North Adams. Let him look at the dog and see if he is all right. He knows as much about those things as I do. Bill Wilson ought to be along some time during the day on his way back. He started yesterday. Say, you ought to see Bill do up a leg."
Nothing happened after that, although I kept close watch of the river, hoping that I might find somebody drowning. Some boys were in swimming at one place, but they were not drowning nor anywhere near it.
I could have reached North Adams easily long before noon, if I had wanted to, but I had all day to do it in, so loafed along, expecting to meet Bill every minute. I rested in the shade whenever I felt like it. But although I did a lot of cawing every few minutes and kept a sharp look-out, I didn't see Bill, and I didn't hear him, which I couldn't understand, unless he had taken the east road home to keep away from the Gingham Grounds.
At noon I went down by the river, cut a pole, and fished a little, although I didn't catch anything. I didn't build a fire and cook because I had a good lunch in my pack. It seemed sort of lonesome, being there so far away and knowing I couldn't go home when night came.
After a long rest I walked on until I came to a bridge, and then, feeling sure Benny must be inNorth Adams by that time, I crossed over to the east road, where I knew some folks, and went up into the hills to where Hoosac Tunnel begins. It was fun to see the trains dart in and out of that great hole which reaches four miles through the mountain, and I sat there a long time watching.
Four o'clock came before I found my man in North Adams and delivered the message. By that time I was tired enough to go into camp for the night. He smiled when he saw me coming in my Scout uniform.
"This letter," said he, when he had read it, "says for me to buy you a life size ice cream soda? Do you want it?"
There isn't anything in Scout law, is there, which says a Scout mustn't eat ice cream soda? And the tireder and hotter you are the better it tastes, doesn't it? I guess yes. Only I wished that Benny was there, eating one with me.
That night I camped on the bank of a brook, part way up the mountain and a mile or more beyond the city. The water was clear as crystal and seemed kind of company, for it gurgled as itpoured over the stones, making music that was great.
I hardly could wait to build a fire and fry my bacon, I was so hungry. But what is the use of carrying bacon and a pan seven miles, unless you fry the stuff after you get there? I tell you it tasted good and so did the wild strawberries that I picked afterward for dessert.
But when it began to grow dark and lights shone out down in the city and in the sky above, and queer sounds came from the mountain and woods back of me, I'd have given fifteen cents to have been at home, or at any rate, to have had somebody with me.
After a while I heard a voice say:
"A Scout should smile and look pleasant."
"Who—who—is that talking?" I asked.
"It's your friend, the brook," came back the answer, in a sweet, gurgly voice. "I'm a Scout, too. Hear me sing."
"So am I," came the deep voice of the mountain back of me. "A Scout should be brave. Sleep, my brother. I'll watch over you."
"So are we Scouts," came in whisperings from every side, through the darkness, and I knew that the trees were talking to me. "We'll take care of you."
Then I grew brave all in a minute and started up to go to them. As I did so, the darkness fled, leaving me there lying on the ground in broad daylight, while the brook sang its loudest and all the trees waved good-morning. Would you believe it? I had slept all night long and dreamed that about the brook and the mountain.
On the way home, I came in sight of the houses of the village before ten o'clock, tired but happy because I had done the last test and now could be a First Class Scout.
Benny met me outside the village, and he looked scared when he saw that I was alone.
"Have you seen Bill Wilson?" he shouted, as soon as he could make me hear.
"I missed him somewhere," I called. "He must have come back by the east road. Why? What's the matter?"
He already was hurrying home so fast that Ihardly could catch up with him. As he ran he shouted back over his shoulder something that set my heart to beating and made me forget how tired I was.
"Bill hasn't come back."
"BILL HASN'T COME BACK"
ALL it meant to say that Bill hadn't come back did not come over me until I found myself hurrying after Benny down Park Street. Bill had left home on the morning of the second day before, intending to camp out one night and come back the next day. Two nights had passed and he was still away. What had become of him?
I hurried along faster and faster, thinking of all the things that might have happened. Mr. Norton and Bill's folks reached the house almost as soon as I did. I don't know how they found out that I had come back.
Bill's folks were nearly crazy about him. The first night out, they expected him to be away, of course, and so did not worry much. When dinner time came the next day and he hadn't showed up, they began to wonder what was keeping him, for theother boys who had started at the same time were home.
When night came again and he still was away, they began to grow very anxious and sent for Mr. Norton.
"I can't understand it," said he. "I supposed that he had come home long ago, and have been too busy to find out. The other three are back, I understand."
"Yes, they came back in time for dinner."
"I am surprised that William is still out, but do not feel alarmed, Mrs. Wilson. Something has detained him, but it cannot be anything serious. Both roads to North Adams are well traveled and the farmhouses are near together. As likely as not he stopped to help somebody out of a difficulty and it has taken longer than he expected. One of our laws, you know, says that a Scout's duty is to be useful and to do somebody a good turn every day. I'll run over and talk with Wallace. They started together and may have met when they crossed over from one road to the other."
Mr. Norton was more anxious than he pretended.Wallie said that he hadn't seen him and hadn't heard him, which was worse, for Bill usually could be heard a long way off. Wallie said that he had called to him every few rods when crossing over to the west road beyond North Adams but hadn't heard a thing. It would have been easy for them to miss each other, unless they happened to take the same crossroad.
"I might get track of him in North Adams," said Mr. Norton, after a little. "You see, I gave him a message to deliver to a friend of mine there. He surely will know something about him, but he hasn't a telephone and I think is out of town to-day, anyhow. Maybe I'd better drive up. The boy probably will get back before I do, but it will make me feel better to be doing something."
By that time everybody was getting scared. I mean all our folks were. Mrs. Wade was sure that Benny never would come home again, although it wasn't quite nine o'clock, the time when he said he would come.
Mrs. Wade is all right most of the time, only she can think of more trouble for Benny to getinto than he could find in a week, if he looked for it. Mothers are often that way. I guess it is because they like us so well.
"He said he would come back, if he lived. Those were his last words. And he hasn't come."
She told that to Ma, over and over again.
"He'll come back all right," said Ma, "and so will John, when the time comes."
But she was worried about me, just the same, all on account of Bill. Of course, I didn't know about it at the time. I found out afterward.
No one ever made better time driving the six miles to North Adams than Mr. Norton did that night. Just outside the village he met Benny, coming on a run, and stopped long enough to ask him if he had seen Bill.
"No," said he. "I missed him. The Gang held me up at the Gingham Ground and almost made me late. I told Ma that I would be home by nine o'clock if I lived. I'm 'most dead, but guess I can hold out until I get there. She'll behaving a fit pretty soon if I don't hurry. What time is it, anyhow?"
Mr. Norton whipped up his horse before Benny finished.
"William hasn't come back!" he shouted over his shoulder, just as Benny called to me in almost the same place. Then he tore down the road toward the Gingham Ground.
It was after midnight when he came back. There was a light burning in our house and he stopped.
"He has not been there!" was all that he could say, when Pa met him at the door.
"Hasn't been there!"
"No, I found Jenks, to whom I had sent the message, and he said that he had seen nothing of him, although he had been expecting him. You see, I told him that the boy was coming. The message has not been delivered."
"Mr. Smith," he went on, after a moment, "I can't face Mrs. Wilson with that news. You go to her, while I get the marshal started and see if something cannot be done. I tell you somethinghas happened. I am convinced of that. Young Wilson would have delivered that message if he possibly could have reached the place, and it would have taken a great deal to stop him. There isn't a yellow streak in that boy anywhere."
"Did you make any inquiries?"
"Yes, I stopped at every house along the road where there was a light burning. Not a person had seen him, although several had seen your boy on the way out. At North Adams I notified the police, but I don't know what they can do."
"I'll go to Mrs. Wilson right away," Pa told him. "This certainly is bad business, but we can't do much until morning. As soon as it is daylight we'll send out a search party. There are only two roads, unless he went up through the Notch, which is not at all probable. It ought not to be a difficult matter to get some trace of him."
"I'll tell you where he is," he went on, after thinking a minute. "He met my John and went back to camp all night with him. They will come home together to-morrow; you see if they don't. John is a pretty safe boy. He's full of pranks,like the others, but he is more cautious. He'll come home all right and bring Bill with him."
Mr. Norton shook his head.
"I sincerely hope so," he said, "but it is not at all probable. Mr. Smith, I never will forgive myself if anything has happened to that boy."
"You are not to blame at all," Pa told him. "Depend upon it, if anything has happened, and we don't know that there has, the boy himself is to blame. He is a fine lad, but is a little reckless and thoughtless at times. Cheer up. It might be a lot worse. Now, if the boys had gone up into the mountains as they talked of doing at first, there would be real cause for worry."
That was why Benny waited for me outside the village the next day, and why Mr. Norton and Mr. and Mrs. Wilson met me at the house and why Skinny and the other boys came in a few minutes afterward.
Mrs. Wilson knew by my face that I had not seen anything of Bill and burst out crying.
"There couldn't have anything happened to him, Mrs. Wilson," I told her, sort of choking upin my throat, myself, because she was feeling so bad. "I mean anything much. Maybe a tramp locked him up somewhere when he was asleep, or some gipsies stole him. I saw some gipsies up above North Adams and they were going west to beat the band. But he'll get away from them. I'll bet on Bill every time."
When I spoke of gipsies to make Mrs. Wilson feel better it seemed to scare her worse than ever.
"Nonsense!" said Pa. "Gipsies don't go around stealing thirteen-year-old boys, who can make as much noise as Bill can."
"Well, I saw some, anyhow," I told him.
Just then Skinny jumped out in front of the rest of us, with his eyes shining and his cheeks redder than I ever had seen them before, and stood there with his arms folded, like a bandit, or a Scout, I don't know which.
"Fellers," said he, "Scouts, I mean. We got Bill into this scrape and we will get him out again. This is a job for us, not for the police. If anybody can find Bill, bet your life we can. We know the call of the Ravens. We know the signs andwe know Bill better than his own folks know him. We'll track him. We'll follow him to the ends of the earth. Will you go with me?"
We sprang up with a cheer, forgetting how tired we were, those of us who had just come home from the long walk.
"Everybody scatter and look for signs."
"Wait a minute, boys," said Ma. "It's almost dinner time. You must not start without something to eat. There is no telling when you will get back. Let me give you a bite in the kitchen first."
That was just like Ma. We saw in a minute it was the thing to do and hurried in for a quick lunch.
"The boy is right," we heard Pa saying. "They'll find him, depend upon it. I never knew those boys to get into a scrape yet that they couldn't pull out of. But it won't hurt if the rest of us look around a little, too."
"Who saw him last?" asked Skinny, after we had started.
"I did," said Wallie. "We walked togetheruntil I turned off to take the east road. He kept straight on toward the Gingham Ground and I heard him yell some time afterward."
"You don't suppose that the Gang got after him, do you, and locked him up or something?"
"I'll bet that's what they did," said Benny. "That is just what happened. They got after me, too. I was scared half to death and didn't want to go through the Grounds, but it was getting late and I knew that Ma would be worried, so I braced up and started through on a run. In a minute two of them ran out and grabbed me by the collar."
"'It's one of them village kids,' said one of them. 'Let's call the Gang and duck him. He needs it to cool off.'
"Then he whistled and a lot of the others came and they hustled me down to the river. Gee, I was mad and I was scared. Then, just as I had about given up, another boy came chasing after us.
"'Is this Benny Wade?' said he.
"'It's all that is left of me,' I told him.
"With that he jumped in and took hold of me.
"'Youse ain't a goin' to duck this kid,' said he,'unless you duck me along with him. His partner came through here this morning and fixed my dog's broken leg and he told me to watch out for Benny Wade and have him look at the bandage, to see if it was all right. Now, kid, you come along with me and look at my dog.'
"'Duck 'em both,' said some one.
"I guess maybe they would have done it, too, if Jim Donavan hadn't come along just in time."
"Maybe it was Bill who fixed up the dog," said Hank.
"No, I did it," I told them.
We had been walking along while Benny was talking. What he said surprised us some and would have made us mad at any other time. Benny had been so worried about Bill that he hadn't said anything about himself before, and neither had any of us.
"The first thing to do," said Skinny, "is to go to Jim's house and start from there. If Bill went through the Gingham Ground I'll bet that some of the Gang saw him."
The place which we call the Gingham Ground isa settlement near some big gingham mills. There are two long rows of brick tenement houses with a street between. We knew that Skinny was right, because Bill would have had to walk down that street between the rows of houses, and some one would have been sure to see him. He might have stopped at Jim's, or, anyhow, would have called to him when he passed.
It didn't take us long to get there, and as we came near we could see the Gang getting together. You see, they thought we were after them on account of what they had done to Benny.
We didn't pay much attention to them but went straight to Jim's house and found him eating dinner. He was surprised to see us and was glad.
"Wait until I call the Gang," said he, after we had told him about Bill.
In a few minutes they had all come up, as friendly as could be when they found out that we were not looking for a fight.
Not one of them had seen Bill. They all knew him and they felt sure that if he had gone through in daylight some of them would have seen him.
"I'll tell you what we'd better do," said Jim, finally. "I don't believe that he came this way, but, to make sure, the Gang will work north from here and ask at every house. You go back and look between here and the village. If he left there and didn't get as far as this, then he must have turned off somewhere."
We went back, stopping at every house we came to, on each side of the road. We couldn't find a person who remembered having seen him or any one like him. You see, if he passed at all, it must have been soon after seven o'clock in the morning. The men had gone to work in the mills and the women were busy in the back parts of the houses.
Then we started back again, not knowing what to do next. There was one house, larger than the others, which we had not visited, because it stood high above the road on a hillside and could be reached only by a long driveway. It was about halfway between the Gingham Ground and our house in the village. We couldn't think of anything else to do, so we went up there.
"I don't remember seeing any one," said thelady who met us at the door. "Of course, there are boys passing at all hours of the day. I might have seen him."
We looked at Skinny in despair.
"This one," said he, "was probably making a noise. Maybe he was cawing like a crow."
"I saw him, Mama," shouted a little girl, who had come up and stood listening. "I saw a boy go past, making an awful racket, and it sounded something like a crow."
"Was he carrying anything?" I asked.
"Yes, he had a rolled-up blanket on his back. I remember thinking he looked funny and wondering what he was going to do with it. Oh, yes, he had on a uniform, too."
"It was Bill, all right," said Skinny. "We've struck the trail at last."
We went down to the road and talked it over.
"He passed here," said Skinny, "on time and going north, and he didn't pass through the Gingham Ground. We feel sure of that much. He must have turned off somewhere in the next half-mile."
"We know something else," I told him. "He couldn't have turned east, because the river is in the way and there isn't any bridge."
We made up our minds to separate, one party to work north from where we were standing; one to work south from the Gingham Ground, and the others to work in between, to see if we could find where he had left the road.
"Look for a sign," said Skinny, "and look on the west side. There isn't much chance for finding footprints."
Hank was the one who found it. We heard him yell and went to him on a run.
He came out to the roadside and waited for us, waving his hat in the air, he was so excited; then, when we had come up, took us back from the road through a sort of lane, which pretty soon turned south and wound off through the woods.
Just at the turn stood a big stone, out of sight from the road. That is why we had not seen it before. On the stone was something which set us all yelling.
It was a circle and in the circle was the pictureof a crow and there was an arrow. It was the Scout sign for "I took this path." The crow meant that whoever drew the sign belonged to Raven Patrol. We knew then that it was Bill.
"We've got him," shouted Skinny. "He went through this way so as not to meet the Gang."
It did look like that, but although we examined every inch of the way between there and the Gingham Ground, we couldn't find another sign of any kind. And we couldn't understand why he had not delivered the message to Mr. Jenks and come back home.
Sorrowfully we made our way out to the sign again and sat down to rest and talk about what to do next.
"Guess what!" said Benny, after a little. "That arrow doesn't point toward the Gingham Ground at all. It points straight back from the road. Let's go that way and see."
There didn't seem to be much use in doing it, but we had to do something.
"Come on," said Skinny, springing up. "Heis somewhere; that's a cinch, and we know that he was all right when he drew that sign."
We hurried along and soon struck a little path, up which we ran as fast as we could, for it was growing late.
"Look for another sign," warned Skinny. "Scouts and Injuns always mark the paths they take."
"Hurrah, here it is!" he shouted, a little farther on.
When we had come up, he pointed to a stone, which had been placed in the middle of the path, with a smaller stone on top of it. It was the Indian sign for "This is the trail."
We couldn't understand it, for it was leading away from North Adams.
We hurried on, calling every now and then, but not a sound could we hear, except the birds and squirrels, and not another sign or track could we find.
All that time we were going uphill and away from North Adams. At last, we came out of the woods on top of the hill, where we could see upand down the valley, and Greylock over beyond. Feeling too disappointed to speak we threw ourselves down on the grass.
Suddenly Skinny gave a yell and we thought for a moment that he had gone crazy.
"Look! Look! Look there!" he shouted, pointing back at the mountain.
We looked; then, when the full meaning of what we saw came to us, grew as excited as he was, threw our hats in the air, and danced around and cheered ourselves hoarse.
From the very top of Greylock, two columns of smoke were going almost straight up, for there happened to be no wind to speak of. If it was Bill, and we felt sure that it was, those two columns of smoke meant:
"I have lost the camp. Help."
SMOKE SIGNALS ON THE MOUNTAIN
BEFORE Bill started on his trip he made up his mind that he would walk farther and do a bigger stunt than any of us. When Bill Wilson is for anything, he is for it. There is no halfway doings with him. He didn't take to the Scout business very well at first because he didn't know much about it and thought that Indians or bandits would be better. But as soon as he had joined he cared more than anybody.
Trying to do more than the other Scouts did was what got him into trouble. He started for North Adams, the same as Wallie, Benny, and myself, and he took with him a message for Mr. Jenks, as I have said. But a seven-mile walk and back again the next day was not good enough for Bill. He made up his mind that he would deliver the message first and then go on as far as Williamstown and stay all night there.
Williamstown is five or six miles west of North Adams. There is a big college there, called Williams College. I guess it was the name that made Bill think of going there.
Our valley runs north and south until it gets to North Adams and then turns west. Hoosac River turns with it. After flowing north all the time, which everybody knows is no way for a river to flow, it turns west, and so finally reaches the Hudson. Then, of course, its waters flow south in the Hudson and at last reach the Atlantic Ocean at New York.
After Bill had left Wallie the first morning of his trip, he walked along lively, knowing that he had a long way to go to Williamstown, and he did a lot of cawing on the road, just as Skinny thought. Nothing happened to him at all until he found himself almost to the Gingham Ground. Then he saw five or six members of the Gang playing ball near where he would pass.
That made him stop. Bill is brave, all right, but what is the good of being brave when they are six to your one, and the whole six have it in for you?
That is what Bill thought, anyhow, and he started to leave the road and try to work around out of sight through the woods and fields. Then he thought of something to do, which scared him at first, but the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to do it.
Hoosac Valley, as I have said, swings off toward the west at North Adams. That brings Williamstown on the opposite side of Greylock from where we live.
We found that out once when we went up on the mountain and came near getting lost, which you know if you have read about the doings of the Band. Almost straight down in front of us, on the east, was our village, with Bob's Hill back of it, looking flat and not like a hill at all. We could tell that it was Bob's Hill because we could see the twin stones, standing there like tiny thimbles on a table. Looking north, we could see North Adams; looking south, Cheshire, and on the west side of the mountain and a little north, was Williamstown.
Bill thought of that when he was wonderinghow he could pass the Gingham Ground without the Gang's seeing him.
"What's the use of going that way at all?" he said to himself. "What's the matter with going straight back over the hills, climbing Greylock, and then, after seeing exactly where Williamstown is, making a bee line for it? I can deliver the message on the way back."
Say, that would be a great stunt! We are going to do it some time, when we get bigger and our folks get over being scared.
He wanted to prove to us that he had done it; so made signs at different places on the way, beginning where he turned off the road. We struck the trail at the second sign.
Bill can beat us all climbing and he went along fast, having a lot of fun all by himself. There is a path which leads up on Greylock from the Gingham Ground; he followed that.
Before he had gone far he found a couple of bottles, which some one had thrown away, and he hung those around his neck with a string. He took them both so that one would balance theother. You see, he knew that there was no water on Greylock. It has to be carried there from some spring part way up. The day was hot, and he was thirsty, already.
When the sun grew hotter he took it easy along, picking berries and lying around in the shade. He didn't get to the spring, where he was going to fill his bottles, until almost noon. After that there was a hard climb to get to the top, as steep as Bob's Hill, maybe steeper in places.
He stopped at the spring to rest and eat his lunch; also to fix some signs.
At last he stood on the very top of Greylock, which, as you probably know, is the highest mountain in the State of Massachusetts, and it has all kinds of mountains. Our geography says that it is 3,505 feet high. Those last five feet seemed a mile to Bill, and they would to you, if you were climbing the mountain on a hot day, with a pack on your back and two bottles of water hanging from your neck.
I guess there never had been so much cawing on the top of Greylock as when Bill stood there,after his hard climb, looking down on the hills, which did not seem like hills, he was so much higher.
The air was so clear that Williamstown seemed close. So, after resting a few minutes and drawing the sign on a flat rock to show which way he had gone, he started down the west side of the mountain on a run, whooping and yelling like an Indian at every jump.
Then, just as he was thinking how easy it was and what fun he would have bragging to us boys about what he had done, he caught his foot in a root or something, fell headlong, rolled down until he struck a tree; then lay still.
How long he had lain there, when he finally came to life again, he couldn't tell. At first he didn't know where he was or what had happened. Then he remembered and tried to get on his feet and go on.
With a cry of pain, he sank back again. He had sprained his ankle and hardly could move it without yelling.
When Robinson Crusoe was shipwrecked on anisland he wrote on a piece of paper the good things and the bad things that had happened to him. To start with, he wrote on one side, "I am shipwrecked on an island," or something like that, and on the other, "but I am alive."
Bill did the same, only he didn't write it. He thought it.
"I've busted my ankle," he said to himself, "but I didn't break my bottles or spill my water.
"I can't walk a step, but I can yell to beat the band.
"I can't get to Williamstown and I can't get home, but I have something to eat in my pack and plenty of matches in my pocket.
"Nobody knows where I am, but——"
That last "but" was to much for Bill. He couldn't find anything to go with it, for he began to think of what Pa had told us, that if a person should get hurt on the mountain he might die there and not be found for weeks or years. His ankle was aching fearfully, too.
He tried yelling for a while and Bill is the best yeller that I ever saw or heard.
"Help! Help!" he cried. "HELP!"
He might as well have saved his breath for all the good it did.
Then he lay still for a long time, trying to think what to do. That was what Mr. Norton had told us.
"If anything happens," said he, "don't lose your heads. Think it over calmly. Decide what is best to do and then do it."
"I'm a Scout," said Bill to himself, "and, bet your life, I ain't a going to stay here and die on no mountain."
He took off his shoe and stocking and bathed his ankle in water from one of the bottles—not much water because he couldn't spare it, and he took a little sip himself. Then he thought of his "first aid to the injured" package.
"What's the matter with bandaging myself?" said he. "It will be good practice."
When he had finished and had rested a few minutes, he found that his ankle did not hurt him quite so much and that he could move around a little, if he didn't bear any weight on it.
He thought at first that he would crawl on his hands and knees to Williamstown, or until he came to some house, but when he tried he found that he couldn't do it.
"I'll tell you what I can do," he said at last, because he liked to hear somebody talking, even if it was only himself. "Maybe I can crawl back to the top of Greylock. Nobody ever would find me here and folks sometimes go up there."
The Boy Scouts of Raven Patrol think that it took grit to crawl up the steep and rough mountainside, with his ankle hurting at every move so badly that it made him feel faint.
It wasn't far to the top, but Bill thought he never would get there, he had to stop so many times to rest and wait for the pain to go away. An hour or more passed before he finally crawled out into the clearing, with nothing but the blue sky above him.
It was then getting late in the afternoon. Skinny was at Pumpkin Hook by that time, probably surrounding the enemy. Wallie was somewhere inNorth Adams or beyond. I was hoeing the garden at the very foot of Greylock, little thinking that Bill was in so much trouble on top.
The summit of Greylock is almost level and is not very large. On the east side Bill saw a lot of brush which somebody had cut and piled up, probably to make a big fire; then for some reason had not lighted it.
He crawled over to that after the sun went down, built a little fire, and cooked a small piece of bacon for his supper, which he ate with a piece of bread and butter. It tasted good, but it made him thirsty and he didn't dare drink much water.
Then, being tired out and more comfortable, he said his prayer and repeated all of the Scout laws, from being loyal to being reverent, wondering what good it was doing him to have two dollars in the bank down in the village, and went to sleep.
When he awoke it was broad daylight. Benny and I were just starting on our hikes, down in Park Street, but he couldn't see us, Bob's Hill being in the way. By standing upon his one good foot,he could see the village down below, and thought he could make out the very house he lived in. He was as hungry as a bear and his ankle seemed a little better, although it was still swollen so much that he couldn't get his shoe on and he couldn't step on the foot.
He had plenty of food for breakfast, but he didn't know how many meals he would need before he could get away; so he ate only a little and waited, hoping every minute that somebody would come up on the mountain and find him.
When the day at last dragged around and the sun was going down again in Hudson River, Bill knew that he would have to spend another night on the mountain and he felt pretty bad.
There were only a few mouthfuls of food left. One bottle of water was all gone and the other nearly so. He knew that by that time his folks would feel sure that something had happened and would begin to look for him. That was some comfort.
Far down below, lights shone out from the houses, one by one. Down there was his home.One of those lights was shining out of his window, shining for him, while his mother sat and waited—waited for her boy who never would come back again.
He sobbed aloud and stretched out his hands into the darkness.
"Mother, mother," he whispered, "I wish I hadn't come."
When he awoke in the morning he was frightened to find that the little food which he had saved for his breakfast was gone. Some animal had stolen it in the night.
His ankle was still badly swollen but it did not pain him so much except when he tried to stand on it.
He was hungry and looked around for something that he could eat. A little below the edge of the mountain stood a birch tree. He dragged himself down to it and cut off long strips of the bark. This he chewed for his breakfast, washing it down with a few sips of water, which seemed hardly to wet his parched throat.
"I'll crawl down to the spring, if I can, and diethere," he thought. "Maybe they will find me sometime."
Then, as he was starting, something came to him.
Smoke signals! Perhaps one of the Scouts would see them and know what they meant.
He was too weak and lame to spell out a message, like we did on Bob's Hill. Instead, he built two fires, throwing on grass and leaves to make a thick smoke. There was no wind and the smoke went straight up. That was one of the signals, which Mr. Norton had taught us. It meant:
"I have lost the camp. Help."
He hadn't lost any camp, of course, but he didn't know what else to send. He hoped it would let us know where he was and that something had happened.
All day long he tended his fires, his ankle aching horribly because he had to move around so much. Between times he sat on the mountain, looking down at Bob's Hill and Plunkett's woods and the village beyond, chewing birch bark and moistening his lips with the few drops of warm water that were left.
Late that afternoon he gave up and made up his mind that he would crawl down to the spring before dark and die there, he was so thirsty. He turned to look down at his home, perhaps for the last time, and to see Bob's Hill once more.
There were Plunkett's woods, and there, the twin stones, like thimbles, they were so far away. And there—what was that?
From the ground close to one of the stones, the one where we build our fires, a great column of smoke went up and he saw some things moving around it, like flies or ants, they looked so small. Then the column of smoke broke into long and short puffs. It was a signal.
Slowly he spelled the words:
"I-S, Is; I-T, it; Y-O-U, you; B-I-L-L, Bill?"
Jumping to his feet, although he almost screamed with pain, Bill grabbed his blanket and held it down over one of the fires, which was still sending out a big smoke; then pulled it off. Again and again he sent up the puffs of smoke. His blanket was blazing; his hands were burned to a blister; he was almost strangled with the smoke; but Billkept on, until he had spelled out something which could be seen from the top of Bob's Hill, far below: