Tom Sherwood threw out his arms and yawned loudly. "I'm sleepy," he mumbled. "Guess I'll turn in, if you fellows are going to sit up much longer."
"Good idea, Tom," commented Ralph, looking up from the letter he was writing. "You've been making a holy show of yourself for the last half hour, and I've been expecting every minute to see you dislocate your jaw."
"It's being out in this air all day and doing such a lot of manual labor," said Tom, as he staggered to his feet.
"Oh, say, I hope you're not doing too much! You know, Tom, you're not used to farm work." Ralph laid down his pen and blotted the letter with much deliberation. His pale face, from which the freckles had faded noticeably during a week of indoor confinement, wore an expression of deep concern. "And it's not easy, I can tell you!"
Arthur Cameron chuckled. Though he said nothing, the expression on his face was one of such utter disbelief that even Tom noticed it and turned on him, frowning.
"Well, what are you looking at me like that for?" he demanded, without being able to hide a grin. "Haven't I been exercising? Haven't I? What have you got to say about it? Didn't I spade up that old melon-patch and plant sixteen rows of carrots in it, this afternoon?"
"I never said you didn't, old scout," said Arthur.
"I know you've been working like a cart-horse, Tom," interposed Ralph, who had hobbled around the fields for the first time that day, directing the labors of his friends. "You and Art have done wonders all week, and I'll never be able to thank you enough for all the help you've given me. It's simply great to have such pals as you two! And mother'll be delighted to know that everything's going so swell. I had a letter from Doctor Kane to-day—-guess I told you? He said the operation was very successful and she's doing finely."
"Mighty glad to know it!" Tom declared warmly. "Did he say when she could come home?"
"In a few days. But you fellows can't leave then! No, sir-ee! We're going to have some fun after all this work is over, and mother and I will want you to stay and loaf for a while. I can show you where to get some dandy photos of nesting birds, and I know where a pair of red foxes have a kennel every spring. You can take pictures of the vixen and her cubs, if you go about it carefully at the right time of day."
Arthur's eyes shone with pleasant anticipation. He was delighted with the prospect of getting some good photographs to show the boys in Pioneer Camp. But Tom, though he also looked forward eagerly to the reunion of the troop at camp, shook his head with regret at the thought of leaving the farm. Ralph had told him more about the dispute over the boundary, and about his father's dreams of finding iron ore on the land; Tom was interested, for Ralph's sake, in having the land surveyed and examined.
"Why don't you go to bed now, too?" asked Tom, when they had finished talking about animal photography. "You need the rest, I know, Ralph."
"I'm going, in a few minutes, just as soon as I finish this letter.Trot along, boys!"
"Well, good night," grunted Arthur, as he disappeared into his room.
"Good night."
"Don't be too long at it, Ralph."
"No, I won't. Good night, old top."
His gaze followed Tom as his sleepy guest slouched out of the room, and when he heard Tom's heavy footsteps on the creaking stairs, he took up his pen once more. Propping his head with his other hand, and shading his eyes from the lamplight, he wrote on. In a few minutes the springs of Tom's bed creaked violently as he dropped down on it, and soon the sound of his heavy breathing in the room above showed that he was dead to the world.
Ralph's eyelids began to droop drowsily. In vain he struggled to keep them open. He put his head down on the table, with a sigh, and before he realized it he was asleep.
The next thing he knew was that he found himself sitting up, wide awake. He had a distinct impression that he had been roused by the sound of a human voice. How long he had slept he could not tell. The lamp had gone out and the room was in inky darkness. As he sat listening, all at once he heard a sound of some one moving about the room.
"Wonder if we forgot to lock the kitchen door?" was his first thought. Then he spoke aloud: "Who's there?"
No answer.
"Who is it?" Ralph demanded, in a louder tone. "What are you doing?What do you want?"
Still no answer. Only an impressive and uncanny silence.
Reaching out for his walking stick, which lay on the table beside him, Ralph got up from the chair without noise or further ado, and took a few steps forward. As he did so, a burly form crashed against him in the darkness, knocking him down. Unhurt, though considerably startled, Ralph sprawled upon the carpet and stared quickly up at the window, by which the intruder would have to pass in order to reach the doorway leading into the kitchen. At the same moment, he raised his voice and called out:
"Tom! Arthur! Come down here! Oh, Tom!"
"Curse you!" muttered a harsh voice. "Shut up, or I'll——-"
"Tom!" yelled Ralph, defiantly. He would have risen at once and grappled with the intruder, only, with a weak ankle, he did not care to run the risk of a nasty blow or a bad fall. He yelled lustily instead, and in a minute he heard Tom spring out of bed and come tearing down the stairs.
But his mysterious assailant lost not a moment in making a getaway; he did not even wait to slip out by the rear door, through which he must have entered. Springing to the window, he smashed it with a kick, and was in the act of crawling through and dropping to the ground outside, when Tom flung himself upon him and dragged him back into the room. Fear of cutting himself on the broken glass evidently made the scoundrel yield more readily than he would otherwise have done. As it was, he put up a game fight, notwithstanding that Ralph, forgetting his ankle, joined in the fray.
The three rolled over and over in a confused heap. Tom felt a stinging blow on the side of his head, which made scores of stars dance before him in the darkness, but he never relaxed his grip on the man's collar. Ralph, too, was pounded and battered and choked by a powerful hand at his throat. Suddenly there was an audible rip, something gave way in Tom's hands, and the man, hurling the two lads from him with a frantic lunge, got to his feet and dashed out through the kitchen. Before Ralph and Tom could recover themselves, they heard him running down the road, just outside the window, at full speed.
"Great Scott! he's gone! he got away from us!" ejaculated Tom, in disgust. "Where are you, Ralph? Where's a light, a match?"
"Here I am!" Ralph answered, scrambling to his feet. "What on earth has Art been doing all this time? Didn't he hear the rumpus?"
"You bet I did!" exclaimed Arthur, coming into the room. "I heard your yells, and I ran downstairs after Tom, but—-but I stumbled into the parlor, thinking the fight was in there. Then I heard one of these dining-room chairs being knocked over, and I rushed in——-"
"You were just a minute too late!"
Ralph groped for a matchbox on the mantel-shelf, struck a light, and applied it to the wick of the lamp. When the room was again visible, he told his friends what had happened.
"I don't know why he broke into this house; there's no money here," added Ralph, "unless——-" He stopped short with a gasp, and, going over to a wall cupboard, opened one of the drawers. "Gone!" he cried. "The money I got for those last pelts! It's gone, before I had time to put it in the bank! The thief has taken it!"
"Who could it be?" asked Arthur, after a brief, sympathetic silence.
"I can't guess. Tim Meadows, the man who helped me with the plowing last fall, was too honest to—-no, it couldn't be Tim! Perhaps—- what's that you've got in your hand, Tom?"
With a start, Tom looked down. Clutched in his right hand was a fragment of a man's coat collar and the shreds of a green and yellow striped tie.
"It's a clew!" said he, with the air of a professional sleuth.
On one of the fine courts back of the big summer hotel at Oakvale an exciting game of tennis was drawing to a close. The players were two patrol leaders of a troop of Boy Scouts who were awaiting the arrival of "Chief" Denmead, their Scout Master, before going over to Pioneer Lake for the opening of camp. Walter Osborne, of the Hawk patrol, and Donald Miller, leader of the Foxes were very evenly matched. The latter was conceded to play the steadiest, surest all-around game, though Walter frequently surpassed him in single shots or astonishing rallies.
That the set had been a hotly contested one was shown by the score in games being 9 to 8 in favor of Miller. If he could make the next game, the set would be his, and with it the championship of the troop. He was counting on the fact that Walter was apt to go to pieces at a critical moment; this helped to keep the playing fairly even.
Perched on a barrel, overlooking the court, George Rawson, the Assistant Scout Master, was scoring; while several other scouts had various points of vantage and were watching the game with eager interest.
In the middle of a rally, Don hit the ball a low, smashing stroke, intending to place it in the far corner of the court. Instead, it grazed the net and dropped dead on the serving line, before Walter could return it.
"Vantage out!" called Rawson.
Walter laughed a trifle "sore-ly" as he returned the balls for his opponent's next serve. He hated to lose, but he was a lad who could take defeat gracefully if he had to, and this last play only served to put him on his mettle.
Don's first ball was a cut, but Walter returned it easily, and a new rally commenced. The captain of the Foxes played a net game, trusting to his height and reach to stop every ball that came over, while Walter preferred to, stand well back on the court where he could place them better.
Back and forth flew the ball with such swiftness that Rawson had all he could do to keep track of it. All at once, Walter lunged forward to return a particularly difficult shot which Don had placed close to the net. Biff! he just caught it and gave it a swift cut which sent it whizzing past Don's extended racket to the base line, where it raised a little spurt of dust.
Amid a murmur of applause from the young spectators, Rawson decided in an instant.
"Out!" he called. "Game and set."
Before the cheers had died away, Walter walked up to the net and shook hands with the victor.
"If you play like that when you're rusty, as you said you were, Don," he said pluckily, "I'd hate to be up against you when you're in practice!"
"Oh, no, you wouldn't, old scout!" was Don's hearty response. "Why, I remember times when you put it all over me! I'm afraid of that famous serve of yours still!"
"Whoop-ee!" yelled Cooper Fennimore, a scout in Don's patrol, springing up and waving his cap around his head. "That's some playing, I tell you! For a chap that hasn't had a racket in his paw for three months, that's going some!"
"Talk about speed!" put in another Fox. "Gee! I'm glad I wasn't in Walter's place!"
The boy to whom these remarks were addressed, Blake Merton, a Hawk and one of young Osborne's staunchest friends, flushed.
"If you had been in Walter's place, you would have lasted about two minutes!" he retorted. His naturally quick temper—-usually kept in control—-often flared up and led him to say things which he afterward regretted.
"Huh!" exclaimed the Fox, scornfully. "You seem to think Walter Osborne can win all the time! Don did start in rusty, but he soon warmed up—-just a little!"
"Let's play a set, Coop, you and I," suggested Blake Merton, turning his back upon Don's elated follower. "Do you feel like it?"
"Sure thing, Blake! But I guess you won't have any trouble in putting me down and out."
"Cut out the modesty!" laughed Blake. "It was all I could do to beat you yesterday, and you know it."
So another court was soon occupied, with Dick Bellamy scoring. Dick belonged to the Otter patrol, and as Alec Sands, who formerly captained the Otters, was not going to be in camp that summer, Dick was Tom Sherwood's only rival for the leadership. Already the Otters had held informal discussions of Dick's and Tom's qualifications, but it was still uncertain which of the two would be elected. Each was popular and had a good record in woodcraft, athletics, and scout games. Another question was: Who would be chosen for leader of the Wolf patrol, in the absence of Hugh Hardin and his chum, Billy Worth, that summer?
"Rough or smooth?" called Blake, tossing his racket in the air.
"Rough," answered Cooper.
"Smooth it is," the other declared, with a grin. "I'll take serve."
Blake had a peculiar and difficult cut on which he prided himself in serving. It was seldom that anyone could touch it until after he had played with Blake for some time, and Cooper was no exception to the rule.
"Fifteen love," announced Dick from the barrel.
They crossed the court, and Blake tried the cut once more. This time Cooper was ready for it and sent it back with a swift underhand drive, and a rally began right at the start. The game promised to be a good one and it drew many interested watchers, though most of the boys had followed Rawson and the two patrol leaders over to the hotel.
Cooper won the first game, and the second was in progress, when the attention of some of their companions was drawn to a horse and buggy driven by two boys, appearing on the brow of the hill and coming along the road which skirted the tennis courts. The occupants of the buggy were Tom Sherwood and Art Cameron, and as they drew near they were hailed with shouts of delight.
"Oh, you farmer!"
"Hayseed, where've you been planted?"
"Welcome to our city!"
"Come over here and get next to this game."
They did so, after tying Keno to a post and giving him his noonday rations which they had brought with them from the farm. The story of the championship match that had just been played was related to them in full detail; they in turn stated the errand on which they had come.
"You know we've been staying at Ralph Kenyon's farm, having a great time," Tom, explained. "Well, last night, after Art and I had gone to bed, some mean cuss, a thief, got into the house, attacked Ralph—-who's one of the best fellows on earth, boys—-and stole some money Ralph had been saving. In the tussle we managed to grab a piece of his coat and his tie, and we've come over to put them in the hands of the Oakvale constable, to see if he can identify them."
"Good for you, Tom! Tell us about the fight!"
"Oh, it wasn't much of a fight," Tom evaded. "But first I want to know how many of you fellows would like to make up some surveying parties—-four in each crew—-and offer your services to the B.N. and C. Railroad to help survey Ralph's land. We can do it, you know, as assistants to the railroad's regular surveyors, and perhaps we can show them that it would be better to buy part of Ralph's property for their loop line than to buy any of his neighbor's, old Silas Perkins. And, if we can do this, why, it'll be the greatest thing ever for Ralph, because he's a good sort, and he wants to go to college, and he'll——-"
Tom paused for breath. Enthusiasm for his friend and interest in Ralph's ambition to get an education had carried him beyond the limit of his usual brief remarks. Such a long speech was a surprise to himself as well as to his auditors. They listened attentively, and not a few among them caught the spirit of the plan.
"D'you think the Chief'll let us do it?" asked one. "You know, we're due in camp by the first of next week."
"Oh, I think he will. You know he has already promised to give us a course in geology this summer, and a lesson in surveying this section. Then he's always willing to give us a chance to put what we've learned into practical use."
"We'll ask him when he gets here at two o'clock."
So the matter remained open; and Blake and Cooper, who had stopped playing, resumed their interrupted game. The others watched them, forgetting more serious affairs.—-All but Tom, who felt restive and impatient to enlist the services of the constable, and to carry out his other idea. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was after half-past one. In about half an hour the train would arrive, bringing the Chief and perhaps a few more scouts. He decided to stroll over to the station and meet them and submit his plan for Denmead's approval.
With Tom Sherwood to think was to act. He left his friends at the hotel, and telling Rawson where he was going, set out in the direction of the station. His way took him first along Main Street and thence down one of the narrower side streets or lanes which branched off on each side.
Oakvale was scarcely more than a large village, but it boasted many shops, two drugstores, a public school, a post office, and four saloons. As Tom passed one of these haunts he saw a group of men standing on the corner. They were gathered around a rough-looking specimen of humanity who stood with one leg thrown across the top of a low hydrant haranguing his boon companions.
"An' Perkins says ter me, 'Now, jist yeou hold yer hosses an' keep yer shirt on, Bill,' says he. 'We don't want no foolin' with thet kid.' Waal, I didn't like ther way he spoke, and so I got kind-er huffy, and he says, 'Here! take yer pay, and git aout! Beat it!' And here I am!"
"Fired again, eh, Bill?" said one of the loungers.
There was a loud guffaw, and another man dealt Bill a resounding slap on the back. Whereupon the sidewalk meeting adjourned. As they passed between the swinging doors of the saloon, Tom touched the last man on the arm.
"Can you tell me where the constable's office is, sir?" he inquired politely.
"I'm Constable Thompson," replied the man, displaying his badge, for he realized that a Boy Scout would require some proof of the statement. "What d'you want, sonny?"
Very briefly and to the point, Tom stated his case against the unknown thief who had broken into Ralph's farmhouse during the previous night. Then he showed Thompson the clews. The constable examined them carefully, and seemed to recognize them. While he was doing so, the man called Bill appeared in the doorway and beckoned for him to come inside.
"Ain't you off'n the water wagon, Thomp?" he asked, with a repulsive chortle. "Come on! What's the mat———?" He broke off abruptly as his eyes fell upon the torn remnants in the constable's hands. "What—-what you got there?" he mumbled, turning pale. "Got a bargain in——-?"
"No," replied Thompson curtly. "Straight goods, Bill Terrill. And it won't be a bargain for—-a burglar, unless I'm mistaken. So long! I've got to hustle or I may miss my guess and my man."
So saying, he nodded to Tom to follow him and strode away, leavingBill Terrill on the threshold of discovery.
Terrill's words about "no foolin' with that kid," coupled with his startled look when he beheld the fragments of clothing, had started a train of reasoning in the constable's mind. All he said to Tom, however, was: "Come with me, boy. I'm not hankering for Bill's company just now, though I may be keen to see him later. Come along."
Turning another corner, he led Tom across a vacant lot to a small, unkempt, dingy old house at the end of the path. In the yard of this dwelling a woman was hanging clothes on a line and a number of mongrel hens were taking dust baths under some lilac bushes. The breeze wafted the fragrance of these blossoms to Tom's nostrils as he and Thompson approached them.
"Hello, Mrs. Terrill!" said Thompson. "Busy day for you, eh? Why don't you make Bill help you with the wash?"
"Bill's got enough to do washin' his innerds—-with liquor!" gruffly retorted the woman, who seemed to be greatly vexed, even angry, at the mention of her husband's name. "And just as if I haven't put up with him time and time again about it! I won't do it no more! And him daring to complain about my cookin' and my not mendin' his clothes! Why, this mornin' he come home late, with his coat all torn and his——-"
"What?" almost shouted Thompson. "What did you say, there m'am?"
—-"I said his coat was all torn," repeated Mrs. Terrill, pleased to find a listener who appeared to be sympathetic. "You know how 'ternal careless he is, Mr. Thompson, and how much trouble he gives me."
"I do, I do indeed." The constable slowly drew out of his pocket the clews Tom had given him. "Could this be a piece out o' Bill's coat?" he asked in an offhand manner calculated to avert suspicion.
"That's it!" exclaimed Bill's long-suffering wife. "What of it?" she added quickly. "Anything wrong? I guess he must've got into a fight, his face was so battered, but I hope——-"
"Hold on, Mrs. Terrill! Enough said!" interposed the constable, who felt sorry for the way he had led her into a trap. "I made a bet about these rags, and now I'm going to put it up to Bill. Do you know where I can find him?"
"No, I don't, but I guessyouknow," the woman replied sharply."What's your bet?"
"I'll tell you bye and bye, if I win," said Thompson, with a forced laugh, as he and Tom walked away. "Now, boy, you heard what she said," he continued, when they were out of earshot. "You witnessed when she identified these rags. I reckon Bill Terrill's our man."
As quickly as possible they returned to the corner, where Thompson dived into the saloon, only to reappear after a few minutes—-alone.
"Friend William has skipped out," he declared grimly. "His pals are in there, but our naughty little bird has flown! Never mind; I'll get him. He's either skulking around town somewhere or he's made tracks to the station, hoping to get the 2.10 to New York. You said you were on your way to the station, didn't you? I'll go there first with you."
Sure enough, when the train pulled in at the station, there was Bill Terrill waiting to board it! He had not counted on such quick work on the constable's part, and was not aware of the assistance his own wife had unwittingly rendered, so he had merely tried to get away before he was "spotted" among the crowd of idle men and boys gathered on the station platform. When he felt Thompson's heavy hand on his shoulder, he started, tried to dodge him and escape, and, failing to do that, broke into a torrent of vile oaths and half-drunken protests as he was escorted away to the village jail.
Meanwhile, having told Thompson where he and Ralph and Art could be found if wanted later, Tom saw the Scout Master and four boys making their way over to the side of the platform, where a bus was waiting to take them to the hotel. He was just in time to join them, and soon he was telling his story to Denmead.
"That's a good idea of yours, Tom," said the Chief, when Tom had finished. "I'll find out how many of the boys know anything about surveying, and then I'll go and see Mr. Brett, one of the railroad officials, and learn what can be done. I'd like to help your friend Ralph Kenyon. I was sorry to hear that he met with an accident lately. It's a shame he killed those splendid eagles! Professor Whalen showed them to me. Why, I'd have been only too glad to pay the lad well for the privilege of studying the birds in their wild state. He ought to have protected them, as a Scout would do, not killed them! But Dr. Kane told me it was his suggestion to Ralph."
"Yes, sir; so I understand," Tom answered. "Ralph isn't a scout, you know, sir; and he needed the reward the professor offered—-needed it in a hurry—-so he earned it honestly, even though he'd have chosen not to shoot the birds. He said he was mighty sorry afterward."
"I'm glad to know that. I thought he'd regret it. Well, we won't cry over spilled blood now; it's much too late. By the way, how's he getting along?"
"Great, sir; he was able to walk around a little, without his cane, when Arthur and I left him this morning."
"Are you going back to the farmhouse until we start for camp?" inquired Denmead.
"If you've no objections, sir."
"None at all, my boy, as long as you can help your friend. You must ask him to visit us in camp when he has time."
"I will, I will!" exclaimed Tom. "I know he'd enjoy it."
"And if this surveying scheme of yours—-or was it Ralph's?"
"Both, sir. At least, we talked it over together."
"If it can be carried out, and if the railroad will buy part ofRalph's farm, he will be able to go to the School of Mines?"
"Yes, sir, that's what he wants to do. You don't think, then, that there's any chance of finding iron ore on the property?"
"How should I know? Stranger things than that have happened, Tom."
Talking thus, they reached the hotel. Denmead was immediately surrounded by his troop of scouts, to whom he introduced the new recruits, and presently they all fell to discussing plans for the summer.
As the afternoon waned, Tom made ready to drive back to the farmhouse, declaring that he knew the way perfectly, and even if he didn't, old Keno wouldn't make any mistakes. Arthur decided to stay with the others at the hotel, but Tom did not mind this at all, being quite willing to return alone. The Scout Master promised to send word just as soon as he had interviewed Mr. Brett, or his secretary.
"If, for any reason, we should decide to go direct from here to Pioneer Camp, and should not go up around Silver Lake and thence to Ralph's farm, to call for you, Tom," he added, "I will send Joe to the farm, and he will guide you to camp through the backwoods north of Pioneer Lake. That will be an interesting experience for you, and Joe is good company. Take good care of yourself, my boy, until we all meet again at camp."
"Certainly. Good-bye, all!" Tom sprang into the buggy and gathered up the reins. "Good-bye!" he called out again as Keno turned and trotted up the road at a brisk rate.
They watched him until horse and buggy were silhouetted against the sky on the brow of the hill; and, when he vanished down the further side in a hollow, they separated into little groups and went their ways in search of amusement.
Tom made the long drive homeward without further adventures. It was after sundown when he arrived at the farm and found Ralph, who was really an excellent cook, preparing supper. Broiled chicken, sweet potatoes, asparagus and radishes grown under glass, custard pudding—-it was a feast for these healthy, famished youths, and they did ample justice to it; so ample, in fact, that each had to let out his belt one notch! And what a good talk they had over the events of the day! Tom was as interested in hearing all about what Ralph had done and seen as Ralph was in Tom's more varied account.
The fact that Bill Terrill was the thief did not greatly surprise Ralph. However, he feared that very little, if any, of his money would be recovered, when he learned that Bill and his cronies had been drinking together. In this, we may add, Ralph was happily disappointed, for a few days later he received from Constable Thompson a crumpled ten-dollar bill,—-the remains of the stolen hoard!
The news that Scout Master Denmead would personally take up the matter of the survey was a great satisfaction to Ralph. It was more than that, it was a source of the most rosy-hued hopes and dreams in which he had indulged himself for many a long day. Almost the last thing Tom said to him before dropping off to sleep was:
"The Chief'll persuade 'em to do it, I know he will. He can do anything. He's great!"
And that night Ralph dreamed that his farm, all of it which was not bought by the railroad, was converted into a great mine in which scores of men were at work.
* * * * * * *
Two days later a party of four men drove into the farmyard, with axes, tape, level and other implements for surveying. They began operations at once and did not cease until close of day, when, declining Ralph's invitation to spend the night, they returned to Oakvale. On the following day they came back, with another squad. Of this squad Blake Merton was lineman and George Rawson rodman. The second squad began working from the eastern boundary of the Kenyon farm, and Tom spent part of the day with them. Ralph could not walk far, as yet, though with every day his ankle was getting stronger.
Each night so long as the work of the survey lasted, Rawson,—-who with Blake had accepted Ralph's invitation to stay at the farm,—-spent an hour or two with the three boys, going over with them the methods of surveying and explaining the local geological formations.
Meanwhile, at Pioneer Camp, Lieutenant Denmead was giving similar daily instruction to the troop, with frequent brief trips for practical demonstration. He had not thought it best to ask that more of the scouts might assist in the railroad survey, fearing that they would hinder the trained workers. But Rawson and the boys were to give the rest a detailed report of their work on their return to camp.
While these important operations were in full swing, Dr. Kane brought Mrs. Kenyon home, completely cured and inexpressibly glad and grateful. Her return, although hailed with rejoicing by Ralph, upset the decidedly masculine housekeeping arrangements which he and his friends had established during her absence.
Mrs. Kenyon could find no fault with the neat and clean condition of the house, nor with the way the dishes were washed and placed in order on the shelves. She was, however, considerably surprised, not to say startled, at the culinary efforts of her son and his guests, and she declared she could not understand "how anyone can sleep in those beds, the rough-and-tumble way they're made!" But after making them properly, she realized that there were now not enough beds to go round. Hence Ralph and Blake for two nights slept in the hayloft in the barn.
The railroad surveyors returned to Oakvale in due time, having fully established the previous survey which Ralph's father had caused to be made. There could be no further dispute now over the boundary lines, and "Old Man Perkins' claim hadn't a leg to stand on," as Tom Walsh expressed it, when the report was read to him. Nothing remained now but to await the decision of the railroad officials as to whose property they would buy.
The three lads, Ralph and Tom and Blake, had gained some valuable experience in their work with the surveying squad. Toward the end, Ralph had been able to go about with the others everywhere except on the stony slopes of the hills, where the walking was difficult. His work on the garden patches completed, he had a brief interval of welcome leisure to spend with his helpful guests.
"Well, boys, I guess we'll start for camp to-morrow, if Joe turns up to guide us," Rawson said the evening after the survey was completed. "Why don't you come with us, Ralph? I'm sure your mother can spare you for a few days, and we'd all be delighted to have you make us a visit at camp."
"Yes, you bet we would!" added Blake. "You'll come, Ralph, won't you?" Tom asked in his quiet, cordial way.
"What do you say, mother?" said Ralph.. "Can you—-I mean, won't you be glad to be rid of me for a few days and have Aunt Sarah make you a visit here?"
"Not glad to be rid of you, son," returned Mrs. Kenyon, smiling fondly. "But I wish you would go! It would be real fun for you. Your aunt is coming surely, so. I shan't be lonely at all. Go along, like a good boy."
"All right, I will. Thanks for inviting me, Mr. Rawson."
Thus it was arranged that Ralph should accompany them on a hike through the backwoods that extended for many miles between his farm and Pioneer Lake, southward. Earlier than usual he rose next morning and attended thoroughly to the chores; then, after a hearty breakfast, the four hikers bade Mrs. Kenyon good-bye and set out for a place in the woods where Joe was to meet them. This place was at the lower extremity of a small lake called Placid, which was cupped in the hills about two miles from the farm.
"We'll play we're prospectors and look for signs of iron deposits on your land, as we go along," said Rawson.
They went steadily on for over an hour, pausing only to test inviting rocks with their hammers and to allow Tom to take some photos of birds and plants. Unfortunately the foxes' den appeared to be deserted that spring, and Ralph felt a pang of regret at the thought that perhaps the foxes that usually took up their abode there had fallen victims to his traps. "I hope I won't have to set any more traps for the wild creatures of the woods and streams," he said to himself. "I see now it's much better sport to get snapshots of them."
Presently the glitter of the little lake among the trees attracted them, and they pushed on through the thickets down to the shore.
"Wonder if it's too cold for a swim?" said Tom, eagerly.
"A quick plunge won't do us any harm," assented Rawson. "Shall we try it, boys?".
All were heartily in favor of the idea. In a few minutes they had stripped off their clothes and waded into the water.
"Don't go far out!" cautioned the young Scout Master. "The water's none too warm at this time of year, and anyone of us might get a cramp suddenly without a moment's warning."
While the boys amused themselves by racing close to the shore, he swam ahead of them, but no further out. Rounding a wooded point that jutted out into the lake, he found, to his surprise, that he was facing Loon Island. He had no idea that he had come so far. The boys were not in sight, but their shouts and laughter assured him that they were all right, obeying his instructions; so he struck out toward the little island. A few vigorous strokes brought him to the shore—-he could almost have waded across from the point—-and he climbed upon a rock and sat in the warm sunshine. How delicious it felt on his body! What fun to stretch his muscles in the exercise which he liked best of all—-swimming!
"Nothing to equal the first dip of the season!" said the young man, half aloud. "I feel like a schoolboy in a pond!"
All at once his quick ear caught the faint splash of a paddle close at hand, and he sat motionless on the rock, and waited. The sound grew more distinct, and presently a canoe, manned by a solitary individual, came into sight around the shore of the island. Rawson uttered an exclamation of surprise, for the man was "Injun Joe."
Bareheaded and stripped to the waist, his thick blue-black hair tousled in the breeze, his lean, muscular, lithe torso gleaming like bronze in the sunlight, Joe paddled with a strong, swift stroke which sent the light craft dancing over the water. As he approached the rock on which George was seated he moderated his speed, and swerved toward a strip of beach. For a moment he hesitated, holding the canoe still by extending the paddle flat out on the water; then he headed straight for a safe landing between two boulders.
Five minutes passed—-ten. Still George waited, watching a little spiral of smoke curl up into the air. Then the canoe came into sight again, bobbing gently away from the island. Now it was empty.
"Hello! He's not in it!" Rawson exclaimed, shading his eyes with one hand. "The canoe has floated away with his clothes! He'll have to swim for it!"
In another moment he saw Joe scramble up on one of the boulders, fling off his remaining clothes, and dive into the water in pursuit of the flighty craft. Reaching it, the Indian did not climb aboard, but swam back to shore, pushing it in front of him. Then Rawson stepped down from his rock and slipped along the bank until he emerged from the undergrowth just where Joe was landing.
"Mighty careless of you, Joe," he said, laughing.
Startled, Joe looked around to see whence came the familiar voice. His eyes met Rawson's, and he grinned with pleasure, as soon as he had recovered from the surprise of seeing the unexpected apparition of a naked white man in those wilds. Red man and white man, children of the wild, in a state of nature, shook hands in friendly greeting. Then Rawson explained how they had been waiting for Joe to appear on the scene.
"What have you got there, Joe?" he finally asked, pointing to a brisk little fire and a pile of flat stones heating therein.
"Got heap plenty fine fish," answered Joe. "We have dinner here on island, what?"
"All right. Lend me this old canoe, and I'll go and get the boys and bring them over, while you are cooking the fish."
This was done; and when all had dressed and piled into the canoe, a jolly and hungry party gathered on the island. Joe showed them how to broil the fish on the hot stones; they brought out their sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, and milk, and all "fell to" with a keen appetite. Joe remembered seeing Ralph at the market in Oakvale, and he grunted approvingly when informed that Ralph was to be a visitor at camp.
They paddled across the lake and began the journey through the woods on the southern shore. But they had not gone far when they were overtaken by a thunderstorm, which drove them to the shelter of a cave at the base of a cliff forming one side of a broad ravine. The rain fell in torrents, mingled with hail, the thunder rolled and reverberated among the hills, and the skies were riven by vivid flashes of lightning. Within the cave, however, they were snug and dry.
"We're safe here," said Rawson, "and we'll camp here for the night."
After a long march through magnificent forests, along winding streams, up and down the sides of steep hills, the boys and their leader and the guide reached Pioneer Camp late the following afternoon.
A rousing welcome awaited them, and almost the first news they heard was that Tom Sherwood had been elected leader of the Otter patrol, during Alec Sands' absence.
Tired as he was, Tom received this information with due appreciation of the honor. He was glad to hear also that the troop was getting up a baseball game for the morrow, to be played by two teams chosen from all four patrols. In this way he hoped to be able to tell just who were the best players in his patrol and who needed coaching for future games.
As Pioneer Camp was nearer Oakvale than his farm, Ralph knew he could learn the decision of the railroad officials sooner than if he had stayed at home. He had sent word to the village postmaster, asking him to forward all letters to Pioneer Camp until further notice, and meanwhile he waited in feverish suspense. So much depended on the surveyors' report!
The second evening of Ralph's visit to Pioneer Camp was given over to verbal "examinations" on the subject of geological surveying. To create real fun in the competition, Lieutenant Denmead conducted the test like an old-fashioned spelling school. The various patrols were lined up in open opposition, and the boys were increasingly interested as one by one they missed some question and retired from the ranks in laughing confusion.
Finally the light of the campfire revealed only four up-standing contestants: Tom Sherwood and Sam Winter of the Otter patrol, Bud Morgan of the Wolves, and Blake Merton of the Hawks.
"They can't faze Blake," whispered Walter Osborne, hugging himself joyfully, as once again Blake gave a calm and sure rejoinder to the Scout Master's query.
"No wonder!" replied Don Miller. "He has had all this practical work over at Ralph Kenyon's!"
"What's the matter with Bud Morgan?" asked Arthur Cameron. "He makes me proud to be a Wolf! He has always been loony over surveying, you know."
Just at that moment Sam Winter joined the boys who were looking on at the finish.
"Welcome to the company of the honorably defeated, Sammy," called Dick Bellamy softly. "And here comes Tom!" he added. "Now it lies between Bud and Blake.—-hush! What is the Chief saying?"
"As a final test, I will ask each of these boys to write a list naming the twenty mineral specimens that Mr. Rawson has collected in the last two days," announced Lieutenant Denmead. "The list that is most nearly correct will give the troop championship for the course of study to its writer."
Profound silence fell upon the eager group around the campfire as Rawson brought out his box of specimens, with paper and pencils for the boys.
At the end of ten minutes the lists were claimed and soon afterRawson handed to the Scout Master the successful paper.
Bud Morgan had won the competition,—-and the Wolves howled in glee!
Not to be outdone, the Hawks, led by Walter Osborne and Blake Merton, lifted their voices in a shrill "Kree-kree-eee," which rose piercingly above the Wolves' "How-ooo-ooo!" Then the Otters and the Foxes added their characteristic cries to the din, and away off in the shadows where the contagion of the noise penetrated, Indian Joe gave vent to a warwhoop of delight.
"Much noise—-sound good!" he muttered to himself. "Don't know what all about. Never mind. Boys glad. See 'em go!"
The whole troop, glad indeed to have a legitimate excuse for lusty activity after the mental exercises of the evening, had jumped to their feeten masse, and, headed by the howling Wolves, were parading joyously around the campfire.
Bud Morgan was borne on the shoulders of the leaders, and there was nothing to suggest the student of rocks and rivers and undulating hills in his happy abandon to the situation.
In fact, the majority of the boys had already forgotten the contests in the temporary excitement and the uproar.
Lieutenant Denmead, after exchanging a word and a good-humored smile with his assistant, hurried to his cabin, and returned a moment later with a small volume in his hand. Then, at his signal, Mr. Rawson lifted the camp bugle, which he had secured hastily, and blew the assembly call.
At that, the boys, quite ready to quiet down again after their outburst of overflowing spirits, dropped into line with the promptness of long practice and awaited their Scout Master's word.
"Be seated, Scouts of Pioneer Camp," he directed, returning their salute and seating himself on his favorite log. "In the few minutes remaining before 'taps,' I wish to emphasize the meaning of the business and the fun of the evening. I am gratified by the interest you have shown in our field work and in these tests, but I am satisfied that we can add to the introductory knowledge that we have gained a more practical and helpful course.
"This is what I propose: First, I will give you two weeks of 'summer school' training in geology and surveying under the tutelage of a young man who is a thoroughly trained geological surveyor. He was recommended to me by my friend Mr. Brett of the B.N. and C. Railroad. The young man, Ransom Thayer, is willing to come to us on one condition. He has been technically trained, and he insists upon strict attention to the matter in hand and strict school discipline in return for his services. He has arranged a schedule of hours both for camp study and recitation and for practice in surveying, and has left ample time, also, for recreation, such as swimming and ball-playing.
"His proposition appealed to me as being both generous and just, and I had confidence enough in the Scouts of Pioneer Camp to accept it on the spot!"
A spontaneous cheer burst from the boys at this point.
"Well, tell me, do you like the idea?" urged the Scout Master smilingly.
"Now, boys, tell him!" cried Walter Osborne, springing to his feet and facing the troop.
"Let her out! Now!"
"Rah! Rah! Rah!" yelled the scouts, jumping to their feet."Rah! Rah! Rah!Lieutenant Denmead!"
"Kree-kree-eee!" shrilled the Hawks. "How-ooo-ooo!Yap-yap-yap!Skee-eee-eee!" barked and squealed the others.
As the Scout Master raised his hand, silence fell upon the company again.
"The plan for the two weeks of study is only preliminary," the lieutenant continued. "Following that, we will organize the patrols into four squads of geological surveyors. Each squad will be given two days to make an accurate geological survey of a section previously selected and surveyed by Mr. Thayer. The scouts will note its dimensions, the quality of its soil, the height of its hills, the extent of its valleys, the growth of its vegetation, its stratified zones, its mineral deposits,—-in a word, whatever points Mr. Thayer shall designate to you in his course of study under the head of the 'geological survey,' is to be included in an accurate report, neatly recorded and finally submitted to Mr. Thayer for his marking.
"And last of all a system of 'points' will be established for the course, by which the patrols may be credited for certain accomplishments in the line of this particular training, in addition to the points won by the neatness and accuracy of the reports. The patrol winning the highest final rating will be given the title: Official Geological Surveyors to the Troop!"
As the Scout Master made this elaborate announcement in his most grandiloquent manner, the boys responded laughingly, clapping their hands appreciatively, but uttering no word.
"That is all for to-night, boys," resumed Lieutenant Denmead after a moment, "but it will give you food for thought and a subject for your dreams! Details will be posted soon, and, meanwhile, let your enthusiasm grow.
"This little book in my hand will have to keep its story to itself for to-night, as the hour is late; but to-morrow I will read to you a brief account of a national hero who found a knowledge of surveying a great help to him in his military capacity. Good night, boys."
"Good night, sir!" came the hearty response.
"Well, how does it strike you, Spike,—-this idea of a summer school?" inquired Cooper Fennimore the next morning as the Foxes came back from their early dip in the lake.
"Um,—-well," replied Spike slowly, rubbing his chin as he had seen old men do when in deep thought, "how does it strike you?"
"Ex-actly right, now that I've thought it all over," responded Cooper. "At first I was enthusiastic because the Lieutenant was and because the rest took it up like wild-fire.
"Then, last night after the camp was quiet, I began to think it looked like all work and no play; like a pretty strenuous vacation after months of hard study, you know!" Cooper looked at spike and gravely winked.
"Oh, yes, you old fraud!" jeered spike, poking his chum in the ribs."We all know that you are almost worn out with mental application!"
"But, finally," continued Cooper, doubling up slightly at the friendly nudge but giving no further attention to the interruption, "finally, I concluded that if my health could stand the strain, I would like nothing better than this nice stiff little course in ground work."
"'Ground work,' eh? Look here, Cooper, it is too early in the day to attempt a pun."
"Pun? Not at all," Cooper retorted. "Don't you know my presentambition?To-day—-whatever my aspiration may be to-morrow—-to-dayI mean to fit myself for architecture and landscape gardening.And when in the misty future you see the name of Architect CooperFennimore, Adviser in Extra-ordinary to the President——-"
Cooper darted into the Fox-Otter cabin as Spike dashed at him again, and continued:
"———thenyou will remember when you studied the ground work of his profession with him!"
Their conversation was resumed a little later, when, rubbed down, clothed, and neatly brushed, the two boys responded to the mess call.
"But say, Cooper," said Spike, "were you in earnest about liking the summer school scheme and wanting to be a landscape artist?"
"I surely was, were, and am," replied Cooper, as the boys slipped into their places. "I've been watching my uncle-in-law build a house and lay out his grounds, and if I couldn't hit on a better plan than his, I'd——-"
"Dig a hole, crawl in, and pull the hole after you?" prompted Spike as Cooper paused for a comparison.
"Just about," agreed the other; and then both boys found their nearest ambitions fully met by the camp cook's incomparable bacon and eggs.
After breakfast the news was quickly circulated that no further plans were to be divulged until afternoon and that the boys were free to continue their baseball practice.
Soon by twos and three and fours, with balls, bats, and gloves, the scouts drifted over to the diamond.
"I'm mighty glad that you are in for all this study course that's coming, Ralph," said Torn Sherwood as they sauntered along.
"So am I," responded Ralph promptly. "It is more than kind of Lieutenant Denmead to ask me to remain for it. I shan't feel so green when I go to the School of Mines, you know, either, for this Mr. Thayer is a graduate and I can learn a lot from him. Then it means so much to be with you fellows! It has been a lonely place on the farm sometimes!"
"I can believe that," agreed Arthur Cameron, who had joined the boys and overheard their conversation. "Just the few days I was out there showed me what it might be."
"Come on, fellows!" urged Dick Bellamy, swinging two bats in large circles as though they were Indian clubs. "We're going to beat our best records to-day, you know!"
All this interested Ralph Kenyon immensely and for a few weeks his concern for his own personal affairs was merged with the pleasures and the novelty of the life in camp. Often he wished that he had more time to spend with these boys, who welcomed him to their fellowship, although he was not even a tenderfoot, with hearty good will and friendliness. Whatever Ralph did, work or play, he did with all his heart. He entered into the games and recreations "for all he was worth," and won the regard of his companions.
His ability as a ballplayer was no less of a surprise to them than it was to himself, for he had not played ball since his junior year in high school. His pitching proved to be clever and varied, his delivery of the horsehide sphere being as good as Tom Sherwood's—-which is no faint praise.
Early that same afternoon the boys learned that the schedule promised by the Scout Master was posted on the wall of his cabin, and that Assistant Rawson had been dispatched to Oakvale for the supplies listed in Ransom Thayer's outline for study and practice.
"The notice says that Mr. Thayer will begin work, with us at nine o'clock sharp next Monday morning," announced Don Miller of the Foxes.
He had already seen the bulletin and made some inquiries of LieutenantDenmead, in order to coach his patrol more intelligently.
"Are there any 'points' for knowledge of trees and plants?" askedShorty McNeil.
"I didn't read everything carefully, Shorty," replied Don, "but I do remember the word 'vegetation.' Maybe that will cover your specialty."
"I hope so," was the earnest rejoinder. "I can't do anything with the mathematical end of this stunt, I tell you right now. But leaves, and flowers, and different kinds of bark!—-they are as easy to read as print! And I would like to bring in a point or two for our patrol."
At this moment Walter Osborne approached, walking rapidly from the direction of headquarters.
"Hullo, Don," he called. "Have you seen the schedule? Great, isn't it? Brings in about all our scoutcraft up to date!"
Walter hurried on, scarcely waiting to hear Don's reply in his eagerness to overtake Blake Merton.
"I say, Blake," he began enthusiastically on reaching the fellow-hawk, "do you know that this geological survey is going to give us fine training in signaling? I hadn't realized it before, but maybe you have, because of your experience over at Ralph's."
"Yes, I was interested in the simple system the railroad men used,"Blake responded. "It is an eye and hand language worth learning."
"Well, I confess that I know nothing about it. And I didn't pick up much from the work we had here while you were away. With all credit to the Lieutenant, he does not know the practical side of geological surveying, and while he interested us all, he did not give us the real stuff that we shall get with Mr. Thayer."
"True for you," responded Blake. "All the fellows felt that way after the tests last night, I guess. Those questions showed them how few facts they had really learned. It was not hard for Bud and me, because we have both had experience before now."
Meanwhile Bud Morgan himself was in the midst of a group of eagerWolves.
"You must coach us, Bud," Arthur Cameron said. "We shall miss Hugh and Billy in this, but you must see that they hear a good report of us when it is over."
"That's right," agreed the other boys.
"Let's make Bud Morgan our patrol leader until Hugh comes back," cried little Jack Durham, the recruit of last season.
"All in favor?" yelled Arthur. "Hands up!"
Hands and voices rose together and a united "How-ooo-ooo!" rent the air.
"All right, fellows, I'll do my best," said Bud Morgan as the noise stopped. "I'll try to act in Hugh's place, just as Tom Sherwood is doing for Alec, if you will all stand by!"
"We will," promised the boys.
"Then listen! Mr. Thayer is going to put us through a big course in a little time. We shan't like all the work, perhaps, but we shall each like something,—-for it touches so many things. There are the long tramps in the fresh air, the measuring of distances, the analyzing of the soil, the naming of the trees and plants, the locating of mineral deposits, and the working out of problems."
Bud paused for breath, holding one hand poised with fingers outspread, just as he had been counting them off as so many points to note.
"Now, then," he continued, "it's up to us to listen and learn,—-and to beat the other fellows to it!"
"How-ooo-ooo!" came an approving chorus.
At that moment a distant squealing told that the Otters were waxing enthusiastic, also. Down by the pier at the lakeside, Tom Sherwood had gathered his patrol,—-to which Ralph Kenyon had been added for the period of his visit.
Tom had just been explaining some facts that he had learned while with the surveyors on Ralph's farm, and even Buck Winter had shown a responsive interest.
Dick Bellamy, as usual, was keenly alive to the prospects in store, foreseeing plenty of fun as well as work.
"I'll tell you one thing, fellows," he began.
"And that's not two," interrupted Sam Winter impudently.
"Somebody, please put the lid on that youngster a minute," continued Dick, looking at Sam in well-assumed indignation. "As I was saying,—-or about to say,—-I have often wished that I knew more about the queer formations along the banks of rivers where I have gone on fishing trips. My father has always had a good deal to say about 'erosion,' and 'glacial periods' and 'stratification' and 'natural boundaries,' and I shall feel mighty proud to go back home knowing a few of 'them things,' as Injun Joe would say."
This was an unusually serious speech from the imaginative and sometimes irrepressible Dick, and the boys were correspondingly moved by it.
"Oh, if it is likethat," acknowledged Sam Winter, in a different tone of voice than he had previously used, "we——-"
"We will all want to do our best," finished his brother. "I have often wondered about the same things on my tramps after photographs of animals. I've come across lots of queer formations and odd rocks and natural caves and things."
As Buck ended his remarks a little lamely, Bud Morgan hastened to say, "You fellows have the idea now,—-and mark my word: the Otters are going to win out!"