“Perhaps we are,” Terry replied, slowly. “Are you beginning to think that Gates had the eagles stolen to keep alive bad feeling and to make us think he was right all along?”
“That is just what I think!” said Jim. “Just a sort of a petty revenge. Now all we have to do is to prove it!”
“Guess what I just found?” smiled Cadet Jim Mercer, joining a group at the piano in the recreation room.
Douglas was playing the piano and Don, Terry, Vench and Hudson were standing around listening. Jim had been at Inslee Hall visiting a friend and had just popped into the recreation room. It was in the evening just before study period.
“The pot at the end of the rainbow!” laughed Vench. “Lot of people been hunting for that a long time!”
“I wouldn’t be likely to find that at night, would I?” retorted Jim. He unbuttoned the overcoat and dipped his hand into his jacket pocket. “This is what I found.”
He produced a long, thin instrument of steel, at the sight of which the assembled boys cried out. It was nothing less than a steel saw, slightly rusty from exposure to the weather. One end of it had been broken off.
“Ah, ha!” cried the senior captain, examining it closely. “A steel saw! That thing was used to saw off the base of our eagles!”
“No doubt about it!” murmured Douglas.
“And that isn’t all,” Jim went on, turning it over. “See the name on the other side of it?”
Stamped into the steel was the name “Henry Rose.” They looked puzzled, and Jim went on to explain.
“Henry Rose is the name of the maker of the steel saw. All we have to do is to find out which hardware store in this town, or in an adjacent town, sells Henry Rose saws. That ought not to be hard.”
“No,” agreed Terry. “Where did you find it, Jimmie boy?”
“In the grass at the end of the campus. I took a short cut across from Inslee and my foot struck something in the grass. I wouldn’t have paid any attention to it, only it flew across the grass with a zipping sort of a sound and it aroused my curiosity. So I picked it up, and when I saw what it was I knew it must have been part of the game.”
“Shall we show it to the colonel?” asked Don.
“Not right away,” advised Hudson. “Tomorrow is Saturday and we have half day off. Suppose we fellows go down to Portville and do a little snooping on our own account. We may be able to scare up a clue or two.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Jim nodded. “There is only one hardware store in town, so we shouldn’t have any trouble.”
On the following afternoon the six cadets entered the hardware store of John J. Potts. Mr. Potts himself, a little, energetic man, bustled up to them, rubbing his hands.
“Hello, boys,” inquired Mr. Potts. “What can I do for you today? I have nothing in the way of swords or bayonets, but perhaps you’ll want something more useful, a can opener, for instance.”
Having delivered himself tactfully of his feeling toward war and the implements of war, Mr. Potts laughed and the cadets smiled pleasantly. Mr. Potts was harmless and they knew it. Jim showed him the broken blade and the others watched him closely.
“Do you keep Henry Rose steel saws?” Jim asked.
Mr. Potts took the saw, examined it, and nodded. “Yes, I do. Nice blade, just the right play and solidity to it, retails for—”
“Never mind that,” Jim cut him short, sensing Mr. Potts’ desire to talk at length. “Have you sold any lately?”
“I sold three of them to Peter Cozoza last week,” replied the Storekeeper, promptly.
“When was it?” Vench asked, eagerly.
“Last Monday,” Mr. Potts supplied. The cadets exchanged glances.
“Who is Peter Cozoza?” Hudson put in.
“He is a laborer, lives over on Meadow Street, out by the swamps.”
“He didn’t say why he wanted them, I suppose?” Don inquired.
“Oh, no,” protested Mr. Potts. “And of course I didn’t ask him. I’m not in the habit of asking people what they buy things for, you know!”
“I know it!” returned Hudson, gravely. “You wouldn’t do anything like that, Mr. Potts!”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Potts agreed, eyeing him suspiciously. “I never ask no questions. What do you boys want to know what Peter bought the blades for?”
“We want to hire him to do a job for us,” Jim said, gravely. “Colonel Morrell is thinking of building a new school and he wants Peter to saw up the lumber for him!”
“For lands sake! You don’t saw up lumber with a steel metal-cutting blade. Look here, are you boys poking fun at me?”
The boys looked from one to the other in silence and then Douglas shook his head. “It is horribly bad manners to poke at anyone, Mr. Potts. We wouldn’t think of it. Well, thanks for your information. So long.”
The cadets walked out of the local hardware store, leaving Mr. Potts in an uncertain frame of mind. He shook his head and went back to work, addressing his clerk briefly.
“Them cadets must be crazy. Such looney talk I never heard!”
On the way out to the unkempt street that had been named Meadow Street Don chuckled.
“Mr. Potts never asks questions, gentlemen! But he was just dying to know what we had in mind!”
“I’ll say,” laughed Hudson. “And if we had told him it would have spread all over town like wildfire.”
There were only four or five houses on Meadow Street and they had no trouble in finding the one owned by the laborer Peter Cozoza. The man was not home and his small, undersized wife stared in awe at the six erect cadets who so completely blocked up her back door. She was somewhat charmed because they took off their military hats while they talked to her and they spoke gently and courteously, something with which Mrs. Cozoza was none too familiar. She told them, in answer to their inquiry, that her husband was not at home.
“Not at home, Mrs. Cozoza?” Jim replied, blankly. Douglas addressed the little woman next.
“Was he at home last Wednesday night?”
Don grasped his arm warningly. “I’m not altogether sure we ought to ask her that, Doug,” he cautioned. “Might get her in trouble with the husband. You know how these people are.”
But the little woman answered frankly enough. “No, mister, he go out last Wednesday night, I not know where. Since then he go down in the swamp a lot. You see, his boots muddy.”
She pointed to a pair of muddy rubber boots that stood beside the stove. Jim quickly snapped up the lead offered.
“Down in the swamps?” he asked. “Which way? That way?”
He pointed at random toward the black swamp that crept up close to the house, but Mrs. Cozoza shook her head. “No, down the path, there.” She pointed to a path that showed faintly through the trees.
“Oh, I see,” smiled Jim. “Well, that is all, thank you.”
They left the woman standing in the doorway, frankly puzzled, and looked at the path that led into the swamp. Hudson looked at his watch.
“We’ve got time to follow the path a little way, at least,” he announced. “The fact that the man goes into the swamp may not have any bearing on the thing at all, and then again, it may. I suppose you all think it worth looking into?”
They all agreed on that point and took the path into the swamp. When they had entered the dark, rank woods they were compelled to spread out in single file and keep to the path, which in some places was little more than a mere ribbon. A false step would have meant a wet and muddy foot. Thick bushes grew close to the path and brushed against their coats as they made their way into the damp swamp.
“This is a first class swamp, by golly,” commented Vench. “That guy must have something good in here to make him want to dive into a place like this very often.”
After they had followed the path for at least a quarter of a mile, they came to a kind of island in the midst of the swamp mud. The ground here was a little harder than the rest, although it did not take a very determined kick to drive a heel down into soft black soil. They spread out on this island and beyond a clump of bushes they came upon a ramshackle hut.
“Hooray, there is the castle before us!” cried Terry.
“A hobo’s castle, by the looks of it,” Don said, as they approached it. “Hope there’s nobody here now.”
The hut was not large and appeared to be about the size of a one-car garage. A door, which was closed, faced them, and one window was in the place, a glassless window that stared at them like a vacant eye. Hudson thrust his head cautiously in this opening.
“Only empty space greets us,” he said.
“Nothing in there at all?” Douglas asked.
Vench went around and opened the door. “Looks like a couple of bags of potatoes in one corner,” he called.
They thronged in the narrow door and Don poked one shoe against the bags in the corner. Then, as a look of understanding passed over his face, he turned swiftly to the others.
“Here are the eagles!” he cried.
“I thought as much,” whooped Hudson, tearing at the mouth of the bag nearest him. “Sure enough, here they are.”
They swiftly tore the sacking away and the brass eagles were disclosed, swathed in straw. A thorough examination showed that they had not been damaged.
“So here is where they were taken,” murmured Vench, looking around the hut.
“Yes, and who would ever think of looking for them out here?” put in Douglas. “If it hadn’t been for Jim’s chance discovery we would never have thought to look here.”
“Things worked out in great shape all around,” Jim said. “Well, now that we have the big birds, what—”
“Look!” cried Don, suddenly. “Here come some men!”
Looking out of the window of the hut the cadets saw three men coming down the swamp pathway toward the hut. They were apparently laborers. Two of them were big men, the third was short but sufficiently heavy to be formidable. A single look convinced the boys that the men were coming toward them for no good purpose.
“I’ll bet those characters mean to take our eagles away from us,” Vench said in a low voice.
Hudson clenched his fists. “If they do, they’ll be up against one of the finest fights of their lives,” he promised, his jaw set determinedly. “We’re not going to give up the eagles now that we have them in our hands.”
“That’s right,” Don backed him up. “We’ll put up a fight. Suppose we spring a surprise on them?”
“How do you mean, spring it?” Terry asked.
“Suppose only three of us go out and start walking away with the eagles? Then, if they mean to fight, they’ll charge three of us, and the others can charge them from the rear. What do you say to that?”
“It’s a good idea,” Hudson said, briskly. “Don, Terry and I will go first, while Doug, Vench and Jim wait, ready to turn the tide if they should attack us. Are we all ready? Let’s go.”
Carrying the eagles between them Don, Hudson and Terry left the hut in the swamp and began to cross the open space before the shack. The three cadets in reserve watched them from their post and waited. When the three men saw the cadets coming they halted.
“Hey, where you go?” the short man called out, scowling sullenly.
“We’re going back to school with these eagles,” Hudson replied, his heart beating a trifle more rapidly than usual. “Then we’re going to see to it that the fellows who stole the eagles go to jail for it!”
A frightened look passed between the men and the short man whispered something to his companions. One of the taller men growled loudly.
“They’re only chucking a bluff. I’m for beatin’ them up and pitchin’ the eagles into the swamp. That’s to teach them soldier boys to mind their own business!”
“I guess it is pretty much our business when you come and steal our ornaments off of the front steps!” growled Terry, his cheeks showing a red that did not appear there very often. “You big overgrown bullies get out of the way or we’ll put you in the mud instead of the eagles!”
The big man pushed up his sleeves and advanced threateningly. “Let’s spread a little o’ this nice black mud on these kids,” he invited. “It’ll take some of the freshness out of them.”
Seeing that they meant business, the cadets dropped the eagles and waited on the defensive.
Hudson deliberately picked out the biggest man and drove at him, avoiding his grasping hands and planting a light tap on his chest. Terry was exchanging lively blows with the other big man and the little man ran at Don. He did not seem to be as determined about it as the other two did, and Don, noting the fact, decided to finish him off rapidly. He ducked under the outflung arm of the short man, allowed him to flop half across his back, and then, with a well-timed heave, sent him flying over his back, to land heavily in the mud. Before he could get up Don leaped on him and a vigorous threshing battle ensued.
The two big men were more than a match for Terry and Hudson and they were out to deliberately break bones and hurt as viciously as possible. Under any other circumstances the reserve cadets would have held in for a time, but realizing the character of the men who were opposing their friends the three cadets rushed out of the hut and threw themselves on the men. Vench made a flying tackle at the man who was trying to crush Terry in his arms and Douglas and Jim rushed Hudson’s foe. Before this onrush the men went down in the mud.
“The whole confounded school is here!” yelled the leader as he went down.
“Speaking of dipping us in the mud,” panted Hudson. “Try it yourself!” And he deliberately pushed the head of the man so that his nose burrowed into the soft soil.
Realizing that they were in a bad position the two big men exerted all their strength in the struggle and finally broke away from the lighter cadets. They wasted no time but fled down the path, leaving the boys winded and bruised, for the fight, though short, had been determined. Vench was for chasing them, but Hudson was against it.
“Nothing doing,” he cried. “Those men know the path and we don’t. Don’s still got his man.”
The short laborer had made a strong effort to get away from Don, but the cadet had held onto him grimly, knocking him down with each attempt to get up. The others went to his aid and they hauled both Don and the man to their feet. The man gave one despairing look around and then, realizing that he was trapped, whimpered brokenly.
“Please! No send Peter to jail! Peter not a bad man! I not mean to hurt you!”
“Are you Peter Cozoza?” asked Don, wiping the mud from his face and his overcoat.
The man nodded miserably. “Oh, please, not de jail. Think, mister, Maretta and de five keeds! What dey do if Peter in jail?”
“You won’t go to jail,” Douglas reassured him. “All we want you to do is to talk. Did you saw the eagles off up at the school?”
The man nodded. “I was paid to do it, mister! Peter not a bad man, but he need de money so bad!”
The cadets understood readily. “Sure, we know that, Peter,” Don said. “You were paid to cut them off. Who paid you to go up to our school and cut off the eagles?”
The man hesitated, but feeling that the truth would serve him better than a lie, spoke out. “A man name Mr. Gates, up at the big house, he tell me!”
“Sure!” nodded Jim, grimly. “Of course, it would be Mr. Gates.”
“But why?” asked Vench.
“Oh, just to make us feel that he was right about his stand against Dimsdale,” Don answered, wearily. “Just a petty, babyish revenge, that is all. He got these three men to take away the eagles so that it would cast reflections on Dimsdale. Maybe he even hoped to plant the eagles on their property later on, I don’t know. Or, if they were never found he would allow the suspicion between the two schools to rankle for years to come. You can’t say anything bad enough about a man like that.”
“You bet you can’t,” agreed the captain. “How did you know we were down here, Peter?”
“My wife, she tell me when I stop up there with my two friends,” the laborer replied.
“You just listen here, Peter,” Terry lectured. “In the future you stop having such kind of friends, do you hear? We’re going to be good to you and not take you to jail, just because we wouldn’t want to be mean to your wife and the kids, see? But if we ever catch you hanging around with bad men like that again, we’ll see that you go away to the big prison for years and years. See, Mr. Peter?”
“Yes, yes!” the man agreed, eagerly. “I will make good friends always, like you!”
“Thanks for the compliment!” laughed Hudson. “Now, we’d better get out of here. Peter, you show us the way down the path, and no funny business!”
They picked up the brass eagles, which were quite heavy, and following Peter, lugged them down the path. It was growing dark and it seemed a long way back, but in time they stood in the back yard of the Cozoza house.
“Another thing, Peter,” Don said to the laborer, as they prepared to set out for the village. “We want you to keep quiet about the whole thing. If you don’t, we’ll have to go back on our promise about the jail. If Mr. Gates should ask you about the eagles you tell him some of the soldier boys came and took them away, and that you couldn’t stop them. Outside of that we want you to keep your mouth closed about the whole business. Understand?”
“Yes, sir. I keep ver’ quiet!” the man promised.
They left him and trudged down to the village. The eagles were getting heavier all the time and Jim proposed that they hire a cab to take them up to the school.
“Good idea,” approved Douglas. “These things get heavier with every step. I guess we can scare up a dollar or two between us, can’t we?”
They found that between them they had a few dollars and they hailed a passing cab. Gratefully they piled in and told the driver to take them to Woodcrest.
“What you got in them bags, boys?” the driver, a town character, said as they drove up the hill toward the school.
“Flower pots!” returned Terry, promptly.
“You don’t say!” cried the driver, sending out a cloud of smoke from his battered pipe. “Must have quite a number of pots in those bags!”
“Oh, we have,” Terry returned. “You see, the colonel is thinking of relandscaping the whole school, so we’re going to put plenty of flowers around.”
Almost the first one that they met in the hall when they carried the rescued eagles into the school was the colonel himself.
“Where in the world have you been, boys?” the headmaster cried. “And where did you collect all that mud?”
“We’ve been putting in a strenuous afternoon getting back the eagles, sir!” replied the senior captain. “Here they are.”
The story was swiftly told and then the cadets went upstairs to clean up. Like wildfire the story ran around the building and the six boys were admired by the others for their work.
It was decided to send a public apology to Dimsdale for holding that school in suspicion, and this was done and graciously accepted. Then Dimsdale acted by having a scorching editorial printed in the town paper in answer to the one suggested by Melvin Gates. The conduct of his son years ago was broadly hinted at and the good name of the Gates family was crushed once and for all in that locality.
“Do you think that will drive them out of the town?” Don and Jim asked the colonel, as they were discussing the editorial with him.
“I don’t know,” the colonel replied, slowly. “I hardly think so, for they only recently bought the house they are living in and that may be a big factor in keeping them here. I hope they do stay, for I’m still hopeful that we’ll find out why young Gates took that cup. Of course, this editorial practically ruins the family with decent people, but the Gates’ have money enough to keep to themselves and pass it off.”
“You yourself did not say anything to Melvin Gates, did you?” Don asked.
“No, that wasn’t necessary. As you saw for yourselves, the Dimsdale editorial was a scorcher and that was enough. Gates’ trick was simply an attempt at petty revenge that backfired. We’ll just have our eagles remounted and forget all about the whole thing.”
“OK,” nodded Jim. “Now that the Gates family is well established in Portville, perhaps we can learn something important about that cup business.”
Mr. Terry Mackson chuckled and looked over the edge of his blanket at the other two beds in the room. In the farthest bed Jim Mercer was sleeping with just a bit of noise proceeding from his throat. On the bed near Terry, Don slept in silence, his face turned toward the red-headed boy. Terry glanced back at the window and then put one bare foot out of bed.
It was the morning of the second Saturday in December and the weather man had sprung a surprise on the cadets. When they had gone to bed on the previous night it had been cold and clear, but during the night the weather had magically changed. Terry, lightest sleeper of the three friends, had awakened early, to find the world wrapped in a whirling, blowing snowstorm, the soft white flakes banked in little piles against their windows.
For a single moment Terry had lain there contemplating the beauty of the early morning scene and then the light of mischief had dawned in his gray eyes. Consulting his watch he perceived that it was almost time for the bugle to blow, so he had no compunctions about what he intended to do. With the grace of a stalking cat the red-head crept to the window and scooped in a handful of snow. Keeping a wary eye on the two sleepers he made himself about five small sized snowballs and placed them on his bed. Then he dipped his hands once more into the wet snow and gathered a large quantity.
Making his way with extreme caution he reached Jim’s bed and gently pulled the covers off that young man’s feet. Against the warm feet of the boy he placed the snow, and then, bounding over to Don, he placed a small pile on his forehead. From there it was but a single bound into bed, where he pulled up the covers over his chin, and carefully hiding the snowballs, pretended to sleep.
It was not a moment too soon. Jim sat up suddenly, drawing his feet in a convulsive movement toward him. A running trickle of cold water woke Don at the same time.
“Hey, who piled snow against my feet?” demanded Jim, knocking the cold stuff onto the floor with a single sweep.
“Probably the same one who put a mound of it on my head,” retorted Don, and the two brothers looked suspiciously at Terry.
But this aspect baffled them for a moment. Apparently, the red-head was fast asleep. Only a very little part of him showed above his cover, and a gentle sound, indicating deep breathing, came from the bed. But the more the brothers looked, the more suspicious they became.
“That looks too innocent to suit me,” Jim announced, and began to get out of bed.
“Yes, I doubt that peaceful, dreamy look on his homely face,” chimed in Don, throwing off his covers.
The boy in bed stirred and apparently woke up, flashing them a happy smile. “Good morning, Don; good morning, Jim,” he greeted, quietly. Then he sat up and looked with wondering astonishment out of the window. “Why bless my soul, it has snowed, hasn’t it?”
“Yes,” replied Jim, coming nearer. “And let me tell you, Chucklehead, that it has been a remarkable storm. It snowed right in under my covers and piled up against my feet, and there was even a little mound on my brother’s head!”
“No!” cried the red-headed boy, in astonishment.
“Yes,” cried Jim. “And now we’re going to hang you out the window to get a little snow on you!”
“No, you’re not!” retorted Terry, bringing five melting snowballs into sudden view. “Here is where the artillery goes into action!”
Five snowballs sped in rapid succession across the room, three of them landing on Jim and Don. They managed to dodge the other two, and then, seeing that his ammunition was exhausted, they helped themselves to some snow from the window sill and faced him. Terry quickly raised a wall of bed covers before him.
“Don’t bother to make snowballs,” Jim begged. “I think we ought to do something useful with the snow. That lad’s face is dirty!”
“I see what you mean,” Don nodded. “It is kind of red. Too much of that red thatch on top of his head, and the color runs down on his face. Think we ought to wash it off?”
“Yep! Let’s get busy,” said Jim, earnestly.
“You keep away from me with that stuff!” grunted the boy, as they hurled themselves on him. But the two brothers tore down his cover wall and proceeded to wash his freckled face vigorously, not without damage to themselves and their pajamas, for Terry fought like a wildcat. In the midst of the melee the bugle rang out.
Abandoning their fun the boys began to dress rapidly, chattering away about the welcome snow. It promised them a variety of sport, in the nature of snow battles and sledding, and they were eager to get out and into it.
“Luckily, it is only a half day,” whooped Don, slipping into his coat. “We can get out into the snow soon after dinner. It’s coming down steadily.”
When they got downstairs they found only a few cadets ahead of them. Hudson was one of them. He stood out on the front steps, admiring the view across the rolling fields and hills. His back was toward the boys and Don quietly packed a snowball and threw it at him. It hit the senior captain on the back of the neck and he whirled around, grinning, intending to say something.
But he closed his mouth with a snap and waited. Just above Don’s head was a tiny shed roof, and Hudson saw what was going to happen. A puffy drift had gathered there and a fierce swirl of wind hit it at the precise moment that he turned around. Hudson grinned broadly as the miniature snowslide hit Don on the shoulders, knocking off his hat and sifting in powdery masses down his neck. Don coughed and sputtered in surprise.
“Very neatly and efficiently done,” cried Hudson lifting his hat politely to the snow drift. “I thank you!”
All through the morning classes the cadets were impatient and when the noon meal was over they piled out into the snow with zest and a sense of pleasure. By this time it had stopped snowing, leaving about a foot of snow carpeting the ground. The sun came out briefly and the cadets were alarmed lest it do some damage, but in the long run it turned out to be their friend. It melted enough of the white material to make it watery and then the cold air promptly froze it, making a delightful surface for coasting.
“Tonight we can go coasting on Nelson Hill!” cried Lieutenant Thompson.
Nelson Hill was a long stretch of sloping hillside less than a half mile west of the school, and the majority of the cadets were preparing to spend the evening with their sleds. Most of them had already started for the hill with barrel staves and miscellaneous wood, with which to build fires on top of the long slope. When Terry, Don, Jim and Vench stood around considering, the distressing fact was brought home to them that they had no sled.
“The seniors have got sleds,” remarked Vench. “And so have the second class men. I guess that the newer men are out of luck.”
Douglas approached them, excitement showing in his hurry. “You guys got a sled?” he hailed.
“No,” replied Jim. “Have you?”
“I know where there is one!” was the satisfying reply. “There is an old bob-sled down in the boathouse, with a broken runner, that we can fix up. What do you say?”
“Is the iron runner broken?” Don asked quickly.
“No, but a wooden support is. The iron on it is all right, outside of being a bit rusty. Suppose we fix it up?”
The cadets needed no further invitation but rushed to the boathouse without delay, there to find the old bob-sled of which Douglas had spoken. The broken wooden support, running from the body of the sled to the iron runner, was not a serious problem, and between them they soon managed to get it out and substitute another one for it.
“There!” cried Jim, proudly. “As good as new, by golly!”
“Well, just about,” agreed Vench. “If it was new it would have a little less dust on it, but as an A number one sled it is OK.”
“We’ll soon clean the dust off it,” decided Douglas, and they got some water from the gym, a brush and soap, and went to work with a will, with the result that the sled was soon in a different condition.
“Too late to try her out before supper,” decided Don, glancing out at the gathering darkness. “But we’ll go over to the hill after we eat.”
As soon as the evening meal was over Woodcrest Military school was nearly deserted, almost all of the cadets going toward the distant hill. Only a few boys, more interested in warm quarters and books, remained in the school to miss the fun.
The friends ran down to the boathouse, uncovered the bob, which they had hidden under some loose canvas, and placing it on the snow, pulled it at a rapid pace toward Nelson Hill. It took them a good half hour to get there, as it was uphill most of the way. The cadets who had arrived before them had lighted fires, which blazed against the black sky like flaming beacons, and by the light of these fires the cadets were coasting. The hill was long and sloping and gave them a good ride, and by the same token, a good stiff walk up again.
The hill was covered with sleds. Shouts of laughter and merry yells echoed and re-echoed over the surrounding country as the cadets enjoyed the fun. Generosity prevailed, the cadets loaning their sleds to those who had none, while the lenders warmed themselves around the fires and waited for the borrowers to toil up the hill again.
“Well, what say to our first trip down?” called Douglas, planting the bob firmly on the brow of the hill.
“OK,” agreed Vench, sitting on the sled. Douglas eyed him with vast disapproval.
“What are you going to do, sit on the sled?” he demanded.
“Certainly,” retorted Vench. “What am I supposed to do, stand on it?”
“You ought to know enough about tobogganing to lie down,” Douglas said. “Only girls sit up. Do you want me to clasp my hands around your tummy and scream when we hit a bump?”
“Aw, go chase yourself!” growled Vench, lying down on the front of the sled. Jim and Terry followed and Don squirmed on top of them. There was now just room enough for Douglas.
“All set?” inquired Douglas, taking hold of the rear of the sled.
“Let her go!” the others cried, and Douglas gave the bob a push. It began to tilt over the top of the hill and moved slowly down. Douglas sprang on, kneeling on the little space left for him, and the bob, with its heavy load, began to move with increasing speed down the hill. It did not immediately gain a great rate of speed for the runners were still a little rusty, but it picked up gradually, until it was fairly flying down the hill.
Past single sleds they went, Vench steering dexterously in and out between them, passing cadets toiling up the snowy slopes, who turned to stare after them. One or two light bumps were encountered, which caused the sled to jump a few inches from the ground, and they literally flew through the air, to land with a jarring thud a little further on. In this way they reached the bottom of the hill and kept going on the level ground, to stop finally a long way from the point at which they had started.
“That was great!” cried Don, springing up.
“The fires look to be a long way up in the air,” observed Vench, and they looked up to the top of the hill.
The fires looked far away from where they were, sending licking yellow flames against a deep black sky. A number of black dots were streaking down the hill in their direction, but the bob had gone further than any of them because of its weight.
“Now I suppose we have got to walk up again,” said Terry. “Too bad we can’t push a button and make the hill reverse for us!”
“Why go up right away?” asked Jim. “Here is a smaller hill. Want to try it?”
A few yards from them a smaller slope showed, on which the hard snow gleamed from the faraway fires.
“We’ll run right down into the woods, if we go down this hill,” cautioned Don. “However, I’m perfectly willing. Want to try it?”
The others agreed and with another push they dipped down this second hill, taking a long ride in between the trees that closed over their heads and shut out all light. But when they came to compare notes they found that sentiment was not very keen for this hill.
“Nothing to it,” declared Vench.
“The snow is packed harder on the long hill,” Jim decided. “No use using these little ones when we have a perfectly good big one.”
“No,” agreed Douglas, gathering up the rope of the bob-sled. “Well, we might as well begin our upward hike.”
“Wait a minute!” cried Don. “Did you hear a crash just then?”
None of them had. “Must have been some snow falling, or an old tree crashing down,” Terry suggested. They turned to go back but once more Don stopped them.
“Listen!” he cried. “Someone’s calling!”
They stopped and were silent for a long interval, but there was no sound. Vench laughed.
“Don’s hearing things,” he said. “We’ll have to get him back to the top of the hill right away.”
“No, I tell you I did hear something,” insisted Don. “Listen, there it is again!”
This time, clearly and distinctly on the night air, a call echoed through the woods.
“Help!” cried a faint muffled voice. “Help, somebody!”
“Someone is in trouble!” cried Vench, as the startled cadets looked at each other in the dense gloom.
“Yes, and we had better get on the job,” announced Don, with decision. “The call came from over this way.”
“Shall we leave the bob here?” Douglas asked.
“Might as well,” Jim nodded. “It will only be in the way. We can easily find it when we come back.”
There was no sound from the one who had called out a few moments ago, but the boys had the direction in mind, so they struck off into the tangle of the woods without further delay. They had gone about two hundred yards when they came upon a country road which had been cut through the woods.
“I wonder if the call came from this road?” mused Don, as they halted in perplexity.
“I think it did,” Terry replied. “I don’t believe that it was in the woods. Shall we split into two parties?”
“You mean one go up and one down the road?” Don asked.
“Yes. You and I will go east and Vench, Doug and Jim can go west. We’ll sing out if we see anything.”
This plan was agreed to and the boys set out, Terry and Don running along the road in the general direction of Portville. But they had not gone far before someone whistled back of them.
“That’s Jim,” Don said, as they halted. “They must have found something. Let’s go back.”
Accordingly, they turned around and ran back, passing the spot where they had split and continuing on until they came to a bend in the snow-covered road. Around this bend they found the other boys gathered around a small automobile, the nose of which was smashed against a tree. The three boys were busy around the car as Don and Terry hastened up. By the faint light of the one headlight that was burning the two boys could see that a figure was hunched over the wheel of the club coupe. The others were trying to pull the man out and finding it a trying task, for the driver was tightly pinned by the wheel, which had rammed into his stomach.
“His feet are free,” announced Douglas, who had been giving his attention to them. Don grasped the bent steering wheel and exerted all of his strength. It yielded a little and he tugged some more.
“Pull, you guys,” he commanded, and they drew the body of the driver from the car. The man was unconscious and groaned slightly. When they had placed him on the snow in the road they saw that it was Melvin Gates.
“Somebody run and get the bob-sled,” directed Don, and Vench and Douglas dashed into the woods at once. Quickly and efficiently Don ran his hands over the man’s arms and legs.
“No bones broken that I can feel,” he announced. “However, he may be internally injured, and it is possible that some of his ribs are broken. I wonder if we ought to move him?”
“We’ve got to,” decided Terry as the others appeared with the big sled. “He must be taken home or to a doctor’s at once. We’ll lift him gently onto the sled and get going right away.”
There was a blanket in the car and this they spread on the sled. Then, with infinite care they placed the limp body of the elder Gates on the sled and covered him up protectingly. Don and Douglas took the rope and began to pull the sled, while Terry, Jim and Vench brought up the rear and helped by pushing.
“Don’t you thing somebody had better run ahead and get a doctor?” asked Vench.
“Yes,” nodded Don. “We’re not far from Portville, and we’ll take Gates right to his home. Suppose you and Jim run ahead and get a doctor, and we’ll take Mr. Gates to his own house.”
“OK,” cried Jim, and he and Vench set off at a brisk trot and soon were lost to sight down the winding road.
“Car must have skidded on the road,” observed Douglas, as they pulled the sled with its silent burden.
“It did,” agreed Don. “I noticed the marks on the snow. This old road must be a shortcut to Portville and Mr. Gates was taking it on the way home from wherever he has been. The snow just at that point was pretty hard and slippery and the car hit the tree, buckling up. That was the crash that I heard.”
“It must have been,” Douglas replied. “Do you think he’ll die?”
“Hard to tell,” shrugged Don. “We can’t be sure how badly he is hurt inside. I hope we aren’t far from Portville.”
They were not, but it seemed like a longer journey than it actually was. Terry helped greatly by pushing and guiding the sled over obstructions and places that would have jarred the man. Now and then they heard low groans from Mr. Gates, but he did not regain consciousness.
Don knew the Gates’ home by a description which the colonel had given him and they had no difficulty in finding it. Since there was no hospital nearby they knew that their best plan was to get Gates to his own home as soon as possible. It was with a vast sense of relief that they ran the bob-sled up the driveway of the Gates home and came to a halt before the wide front doors.