CHAPTER XPEE-WEE'S ADVENTURE
A walk of a few yards or so brought him to the railroad track. He was no longer the clown and mascot of theGood Turn; he was the scout, alert, resourceful, bent on hiding his tracks.
He did not know where he was going, more than that he was going to elude pursuit and find a suitable spot in which to camp for the night. Matters would take care of themselves in the daytime. He wanted to follow the railroad tracks, for he knew that would keep him close to the river, but he knew also that it had the disadvantage of being the very thing the boys would suppose it most likely that he would do. For, feel as he would toward them, he did not for a moment believe that they would let him take himself off without searching for him. And he knew something of Tom Slade's ability as a tracker.
"They won't get any merit badges trailingme, though," he said.
So he crossed the tracks and walked a couple of hundred feet or so up a hill, grabbed the limb of a tree, swung up into its branches, let himself down on the other side, and retraced his steps to the tracks and began to walk the ties, northward. He was now thoroughly in the spirit of the escapade and a feeling of independence seized him, a feeling that every scout knows, that having undertaken a thing he must succeed in it.
A walk of about ten minutes brought him to a high, roofed platform beside the tracks, where one or two hogsheads were standing and several cases. But there was no sign of life or habitation. It was evidently the freight station for some town not far distant, for a couple of old-fashioned box-cars stood on a siding, and Pee-wee contemplated them with the joy of sudden inspiration.
"Crinkums, that would be a dandy place to sleep," he thought, for it was blowing up cold and he had but scant equipment.
He went up to the nearest car and felt of the sliding door. It was the least bit open, owing to its damaged condition, and by moving it a very few inches more he could have slipped inside. But he paused to examine the pasters and chalk marks on the body. One read "Buffalo—4—LLM."There were the names of various cities and numerous strange marks. It was evident the car had been quite a globe-trotter in its time, but as it stood there then it seemed to Pee-wee that so it must have stood for a dozen years and was likely to stand for a dozen years more.
He slid the door a little farther open on its rusty hinges and climbed inside. It was very dark and still and smelled like a stable, but suddenly he was aware of a movement not far from him. He did not exactly hear it, but he felt that something was moving. For a moment a cold shudder went over him and he stood stark still, not daring to move. Then, believing that his imagination had played a trick, he fumbled in his duffel bag, found his flashlight and sent its vivid gleam about the car. A young fellow in a convict's suit stood menacingly before the door with one hand upon it, blinking and watching the boy with a lowering aspect. His head was close-shaven and shone in the light's glare so that he looked hardly human. He had apparently sprung to the door, perhaps out of a sound sleep, and he was evidently greatly alarmed. Pee-wee was also greatly alarmed, but he was no coward and he stood his ground though his heart was pounding in his breast.
"You ain't no bo," said the man.
"I—I'm a scout," stammered Pee-wee, "and I was going to camp here for the night. I didn't know there was anyone here."
The man continued to glare at him and Pee-wee thought he had never in his life seen such a villainous face.
"I'll—I'll go away," he said, "I was only going to sleep here."
The convict, still guarding the door, leered brutally at him, his head hanging low, his lips apart, more like a beast than a man.
"No, yer won't go 'way, nuther," he finally said; "yer ain't goin' ter double-crossme, pal. Wot d'yer say yer wuz?"
"A scout," said Pee-wee. "I don't need to stay here, you were here first. I can camp outdoors."
"No, yer don't," said the man. "You stay whar yer are. Yer ain't goin' ter double-crossme."
"I don't know what you mean by that," said Pee-wee.
The convict did not offer him any explanation, only stood guarding the door with a threatening aspect, which very much disconcerted Pee-wee. He was a scout and he was brave, and not panicky in peril or emergency, but the striped clothing andcropped head and stupid leer of the man before him made him seem something less than human. His terror was more that of an animal than of a man and his apparent inability to express himself save by the repetition of that one sentence frightened the boy. Apparently the creature was all instinct and no brains.
"Yer gotta stay here," he repeated. "Yer ain't goin' ter double-crossme, pal."
Then it began to dawn on Pee-wee what he meant.
"I guess I know about you," he said, "because I heard about your—getting away. But, anyway, if you let me go away I won't tell anyone I saw you. I don't want to camp here now. I'll promise not to go and tell people, if that's what you're afraid of."
"Wot's in that bag?" asked the man.
"My camping things."
"Got any grub?"
"I've got two biscuits and some chocolate."
"Gimme it," said the man, coming closer.
He snatched the food as fast as it was taken out of the bag, and Pee-wee surmised that he had not eaten since his escape from prison for he devoured it ravenously like a famished beast.
"Got any more?" he asked, glaring into the boy's face menacingly.
"No, I'm sorry I haven't. I escaped, too, as you might say, from my friends—from the fellers I was with. And I only brought a little with me."
After a few minutes (doubtless from the stimulating effects of the food), the convict's fear seemed to subside somewhat and he spoke a little more freely. But Pee-wee found it very unpleasant being shut in with him there in the darkness, for, of course, the flashlight could not be kept burning all the time.
"I wouldn't do yer no hurt," he assured Pee-wee. "I t'ought mebbe yer wuz ade-coy. Yer ain't, are ye?" he asked suspiciously.
"No, I'm not," said Pee-wee, "I'm just what I told you——"
"I ain't goin' ter leave ye go free, so ye might's well shut up. I seen pals double-crossme—them ez I trusted, too. Yer square, I guess—only innercent."
"I'd keep my word even with—I'd keep my word with you," said Pee-wee, "just the same as with anyone. Besides, I don't see what's the use of keeping me here. You'll have to let me gosome time, you can't keep me here forever, and you can't stay here forever, yourself."
"If ye stan' right 'n' show ye're game," said the convict, "thar won't no hurt come to ye. This here car's way-billed fer Buff'lo, 'n' I'm waitin' ter be took up now. It's a grain car. Yer ain't goin' ter peach wot I tell ye, now? I wuz put wise to it afore I come out by a railroad bloke. I had it straight these here cars would be picked up fer Buff'lo the nex' day after I done my trick. But they ain't took 'em up yet, an' I'm close ter starvin' here."
Pee-wee could not help but feel a certain sympathy with this man, wretch though he was, who on the information of some accomplice outside the prison, had made his escape expecting to be carried safely away the next day and had been crouching, half-starved, in this freight car ever since, waiting.
"What will you do if they don't take up the car for a week?" he asked. "They might look inside of it, too; or they might change their minds about taking it."
He was anxious for himself for he contemplated with terror his threatened imprisonment, but he could not help being concerned also for this miserablecreature and he wondered what would happen if they both remained in the car for several days more, with nothing to eat. Then, surely, the man would be compelled to put a little faith in him and let him go out in search of food. He wondered what he should do in that case—what he ought to do; but that, he realized, was borrowing trouble. Mr. Ellsworth, his scoutmaster, had once said that it isalways bad to play false. Well, then, would it be bad to play false with an escaped felon—to double-cross him? Pee-wee did not know.
His companion interrupted his train of thought "They don' look inside o' way-billed empties—not much," he said, "an' they don't let 'em stan' so long, nuther. I got bad luck, I did, from doin' my trick on a Friday. They'll be 'long pretty quick, though. They reckisitioned all th' empty grain cars fer Buff'lo. I'm lookin' ter hear th' whistle any minute, I am, an' I got a pal waitin' fer me in the yards up ter Buff'lo, wid the duds. When I get there 'n' get me clo's changed, mebbe I'll leave ye come back if me pal 'n' me thinks ye kin be trusted."
"I can be trusted now just as much as I could be trusted then," said Pee-wee, greatly disturbedat the thought of this enforced journey; "and how could I get back? I guess maybe you don't know anything about scouts—maybe they weren't started when you were—— Anyway, a scout can be trusted. Anybody'll tell you that. If he gives his word he'll keep it. I don't know anything about what you did and if you ask me if I want to see you get captured I couldn't tell you, because I don't know how I feel. But if you'll let me go now I'll promise not to say anything to anyone. I don't want to go to Buffalo. I want to go to my camp. As long as I know about you, you got to trust me some time and you might as well trust me now."
If the fugitive could have seen Pee-wee's earnest face and honest eyes as he made this pitiful appeal, he might have softened a little, even if he had not appreciated the good sense of the boy's remarks.
"I'd ruther get me other duds on fust, 'n' I'd like fer ter hev ye meet me pal," he said, with the first touch of humor he had shown. "Now, if yer go ter cuttin' up a rumpus I'll jest hev ter brain ye, see?"
Pee-wee leaned back against the side of the car in the darkness as despair seized him. He had alwayscoveted adventure but this was too much and he felt himself to be utterly helpless in this dreadful predicament. Even as he stood there in a state of pitiable consternation, a shrill whistle sounded in the distance, which was echoed back from the unseen hills.
"Dat's a freight," said the convict, quickly.
Pee-wee listened and his last flickering hope was extinguished as he recognized the discordant rattle and bang of the slow-moving train, emphasized by the stillness of the night. Nearer and nearer it came and louder grew the clank and clamor of the miscellaneous procession of box cars. It was a freight, all right.
"If—if you'll let me get out," Pee-wee began, on the very verge of a panic, "if you'll let me get out——"
The convict fumblingly took him by the throat. He could feel the big, coarse, warm fingers pressing into the sides of his neck and it gagged him.
"If yer open yer head when we're bein' took up, I'll brain yer, hear that?" he said. "Gimme that light, gimme yer knife."
He flashed on the light, tore the scout knife from Pee-wee's belt, and flung the frightened boy against the side of the car. Keeping the lightpointed at him, he opened the knife. The spirit of desperate resolve seemed to have reawakened within him at the sound of that long-hoped-for train and Pee-wee was no more to him than an insect to have his life trampled out if he could not be used or if his use were unavailing. Here, unmasked, was the man who had braved the tempestuous river on that dreadful night. Truly, as the sheriff had said, "desperate characters will take desperate chances."
"If yer open yer head or call out or make a noise wid yer feet or poun' de side o' de car or start a-bawlin' I'll brain ye, ye hear? Nobody getsmealive. An' if anybody comes in here 'cause o' you makin' a noise and cryin' fer help, yer'll be the fust to git croaked—see?"
He pointed the light straight at Pee-wee, holding the open jack-knife in his other hand, and glared at him with a look which struck terror to the boy's heart. Pee-wee was too frightened and exhausted to answer. He only shook his head in acknowledgment, breathing heavily.
In a few minutes the train had come abreast of them and stopped. They could hear the weary puffing of the engine, and voices calling and occasionally they caught the gleam of a lantern throughthe crack in the car. Pee-wee remained very still. The convict took his stand in the middle of the car between the two sliding doors, lowering and alert, holding the flashlight and the clasp knife.
Soon the train moved again, then stopped. There were calls from one end of it to the other. Then it started again and continued to move until Pee-wee thought it was going away, and his hope revived at the thought that escape might yet be possible. Then the sound came nearer again and presently the car received a jolt, accompanied by a bang. The convict was thrown a little, but he resumed his stand, waiting, desperate, menacing. Those few minutes must have been dreadful ones to him as he watched the two doors, knife in hand.
Then came more shunting and banging and calling and answering, a short, shrill whistle and more moving and then at last the slow, continuous progress of the car, which was evidently now at last a part of that endless miscellaneous procession, rattling along through the night with its innumerable companions.
"It's lucky for them," said the convict, through his teeth, as he relaxed.
Pee-wee hardly knew what he meant, he had scarcely any interest, and it was difficult to hearon account of the noise. He was too shaken up to think clearly, but he wondered, as the rattling train moved slowly along, how long he could go without food, how he would get back from Buffalo, and whether this dreadful companion of his would take his stand, like an animal at bay, whenever the train stopped.
After a little time, when he was able to get a better grip on himself and realize fully his terrible plight, he began to think how, after all, the scout, with all his resource and fine courage, his tracking and his trailing and his good turns, is pretty helpless in a real dilemma. Here was an adventure, and rather too much of a one, and neither he nor any other scout could extricate him from his predicament. In books they could have done it with much brave talk, but in real life they could do nothing. He was tired and frightened and helpless; the shock of the pressure of those brutal fingers about his neck still distressed him, and his head ached from it all.
What wonder if in face of this tragical reality, the scouts with all their much advertised resource and prowess should lose prestige a little in his thoughts? Yet it might have been worth while for him to pause and reflect that though the scoutarm is neither brutal nor menacing, it still has an exceedingly long reach and that it can pin you just as surely as the cruel fingers which had fixed themselves on his own throat.
But he was too terrified and exhausted to think very clearly about anything.
CHAPTER XITRACKS AND TRAILING
When the engineer blew the whistle which the convict had heard with such satisfaction and Pee-wee with such dread, it was by way of warning two dark figures which were about to cross the tracks. Something bright which they carried shone in the glare of the headlight.
"Here comes a freight," said Tom.
"Let it come, I can't stop it," said Roy. "Je-ru-salem, this can is heavy."
"Same here," said Tom.
"I wouldn't carry another can of gas this far for a prince's ransom—whatever in the dickens that is. Look at the blisters on my hand, will you? Gee, I'm so hungry I could eat a package of tacks. I bet Pee-wee's been throwing duck fits. Never mind, we did a good turn. 'We seen our duty and we done it noble.' Some grammar! They ought to put us on the cover of the manual. Boy scouts returning from a gasoline hunt! Goodturn, turn down the gas, hey? Did you ever try tracking a freight train? It's terribly exciting."
"Keep still, will you!" said Tom, setting down his can. "Can't you see I'm spilling the gasoline? Don't make me laugh."
"The face with the smile wins," Roy rattled on. "For he ain't no slouch, but the lad with the grouch—— Pick up your can and get off the track—safety first!"
"Well, then, for goodness' sake, shut up!" laughed Tom.
It had been like this all the way back, Tom setting down his can at intervals and laughing in spite of himself at Roy's nonsense.
When they reached the boat Roy looked inside and called Pee-wee.
"Where is our young hero, anyway?" he said.
But "our young hero" was not there. They poured the gas into the tank and then went inside where Roy discovered the note in the saucepan. He read it, then handed it to Tom and the two stood for a moment staring at each other, too surprised to speak.
"What do you suppose has got into him?" exclaimed Tom.
"Search me; unless he's mad because we left him here."
Tom looked about as if in search of some explanation, and as usual his scrutiny was not unfruitful.
"It looks as if he had started to get supper," said he: "there's the rice——"
A sudden inspiration seized Roy. Pulling out the recipe book from his duffel bag he opened it where the letter to Mary Temple lay. "I thought so," he said shamefacedly. "I left the end of it sticking out to mark the place and now it's in between the leaves. That's what did the mischief; he must have found it."
"You ought to have torn it up before we started," said Tom.
"I know it, but I just stuck it in there when I was brushing up my memory on rice cakes, and there it's been ever since. I ought never to have written it at all, if it comes to that."
Tom made no answer. They had never mentioned that incident which was such an unpleasant memory to them both.
"Well, we've got to find him, that's all," said Tom.
"Gee, it seems as if we couldn't possibly getalong without Pee-wee now," Roy said. "I never realized how much fun it would be having him along. Poor kid! It serves me right for——"
"What's the use of thinking about thatnow?" said Tom, bluntly. "We've just got to find him Come on, hurry up, get your flashlight. Every minute we wait he's a couple of hundred feet farther away."
For the first time in all their trip, as it seemed to Roy, Tom's spirit and interest were fully aroused. He was as keen as a bloodhound for the trail and instinctively Roy obeyed him.
They hurried out without waiting for so much as a bite to eat and with the aid of their flashlights (and thanks to the recent rains) had no difficulty in trailing Pee-wee as far as the railroad tracks.
"He'd either follow the track," said Tom, "or else the road we took and hide somewhere till we passed. He wouldn't try any cross-country business at night, I don't believe."
"Poor kid!" was all Roy could say. The thought of that note which he had carelessly left about and of Pee-wee starting out alone haunted him and made him feel like a scoundrel. All his gayety had vanished and he depended on Tom and followed his lead. He remembered only too wellthe wonderful tracking stunt that Tom had done the previous summer, and now, as he looked at that rather awkward figure, kneeling with head low, and creeping along from tie to tie, oblivious to all but his one purpose, he felt a certain thrill of confidence. By a sort of unspoken understanding, he (who was the most all-round scout of them all and looked it into the bargain) had acted as their leader and spokesman on the trip; and Tom Slade, who could no more talk to strangers, and especially girls, than he could fly, had followed, envying Roy's easy manner and all-around proficiency. But Tom was a wizard in tracking, and as Roy watched him now he could not help realizing with a pang of shame that again it was Tom who had come to the rescue to save him from the results of his own selfishness and ill-temper. He remembered those words, spoken in Tom's stolid way on the night of their quarrel. "It's kind of like a trail in your mind and I got to hit the right trail." Hehadhit the right trail then and brought Roy to his senses, and now again when that rude, selfish note cropped up to work mischief it was Tom who knelt down there on the railroad tracks, seeking again for the right trail.
"Here it is," he said at last, when he had closelyexamined and smelt of a dark spot on one of the ties. "Lucky you let him clean the engine; he must have been standing in the oil trough."
"Good he had his sneaks on, too," said Roy, stooping. "It's like a stamp on a pound of butter."
It was not quite as clear as that, but if Pee-wee had prepared his sneaks especially for making prints on wooden ties he could scarcely have done better. In order to get at the main bearings of the engine he had, with characteristic disregard, stood plunk in the copper drain basin under the crank-case. The oil had undoubtedly softened the rubber sole of his sneakers so that it held the clinging substance, and in some cases it was possible to distinguish on the ties the half-obliterated crisscross design of the rubber sole.
"Come on," said Tom, "this thing is a cinch."
"It's a shame to call it tracking," said Roy, regaining some measure of his wonted spirits as they hurried along. "It's a blazed trail."
And so, indeed, it was while it lasted, but suddenly it ceased and the boys paused, puzzled.
"Listen for trains," warned Tom.
"There won't be any along yet a while," saidRoy. "There's one stopped up there a ways now."
They could hear the shunting up the track, interspersed with faint voices calling.
"Here's where he's put one over on us," said Roy. "Poor kid."
"Here's where he's been reading Sir Baden-Powell, you mean. Wait till I see if he worked the boomerang trick. See that tree up there?"
It was amazing how readily Tom assumed that Pee-wee would do just what he had done to elude pursuit.
"Tree's always a suspicious thing," said he; "this is a Boer wrinkle—comes from South Africa."
He did not bother hunting for the tracks in the hubbly ground, but made straight for the tree.
"Poor kid," was all he could say as he picked up a few freshly fallen leaves and a twig or two. "He's good at climbing anyway." He examined one of the leaves carefully with his flashlight. "Squint around," he said to Roy, "and see if you can find where he stuck his staff in the ground."
Roy got down, poking his light here and there, and parting the rough growth.
"Here it is," said he.
Oh, it was all easy—too easy, for a scout. It gave them no feeling of triumph, only pity for the stout-hearted little fellow who had tried to escape them.
A more careful examination of the lower branches of the tree and of the ground beneath was enough. Tom did not even bother about the prints leading back to the railroad, but went back to the tracks and after a few minutes picked up the trail again there. This they followed till they came to the siding, now deserted.
Here, for a few minutes, it did seem as if Pee-wee had succeeded in baffling them, for the prints leaving the ties ran over to the siding and there ended in a confused collection of footprints pointing in every direction. Evidently, Pee-wee had paused here, but what direction he had taken from this point they could not see.
"This has gotmeguessing," said Tom.
"He was tangoing around here," said Roy, pointing his flashlight to the ground, "that's sure. Maybe the little Indian walked the rail."
But an inspection of the rail showed that he had not done that, unless, indeed, the recent rain had obliterated the marks.
They examined the platform carefully, thesteps, the one or two hogsheads, but no sign did they reveal.
"It gets me," said Tom, as they sat down on the edge of the platform, dangling their legs.
"He swore he wouldn't go near a railroad—remember?" said Roy, smiling a little wistfully.
Tom slowly shook his head.
"It's all my fault," said Roy.
"Meanwhile, we're losing time," said Tom.
"You don't suppose——" began Roy. "Where do you suppose that freight stopped? Here?"
Tom said nothing for a few moments. Then he jumped down and kneeling with his light began again examining the confusion of footprints near the siding. Roy watched him eagerly. He felt guilty and discouraged. Tom was apparently absorbed with some fresh thought. Around one footprint he drew a ring in the soil. Then he got up and crept along by the rail throwing his light upon it. About twelve or fifteen feet along this he paused, and crossing suddenly, examined the companion rail exactly opposite. Then he straightened up.
"What is it?" asked Roy. But he got no answer.
Tom went back along the rail till he came to apoint twelve or fifteen feet in the other direction from the group of footprints, and here he made another careful scrutiny of both rails. The group of footprints was outside the track and midway between the two points in which he seemed so much interested.
"This is the end ofourtracking," he said at length.
"What's the matter?"
"Come here and I'll show you. See that footprint—it's only half a one—the front half—see? That's the last one of the lot. That's where he climbed into the car—see?"
Roy stood speechless.
"See? Now come here and I'll show you something. See those little rusty places on the track? It's fresh rust—see? You can wipe it off with your finger. There's where the wheels were—see? One, two, three, four—same on the other side, see? And down there," pointing along the track, "it's the same way. If it hadn't been raining this week, we'd never known about a freight car being stalled here, hey? See, those footprints are just half-way between the rusty spots. There's where the door was. See? This little front half of a footprint tells the story. He had to climbto get in—poor kid. He went on a railroad train, after all."
Roy could say nothing. He could only stare as Tom pointed here and there and fitted things together like a picture puzzle. The car was gone, but it had left its marks, just as the boy had.
"You put it into my head when you mentioned the train," said Tom.
"Oh, sure;Iput it into your head," said Roy, in disgust. "I'ma wonderful scout—Iought to have a tin medal! It was you brought me that letter back. It was Pee-wee got the bird down and won a boat for us—and I've turned him out of it," he added, bitterly.
"No, you——"
"Yes, I have. And it wasyouthat tracked him, and it wasyouspelled this out and it'syou—it's just likeyou, too—to turn around and say I put it into your head. The only thingI'vedone in this whole blooming business is try to insult Mary Temple—only—only you wouldn't let me get away with it," he stammered.
"Roy," interrupted Tom, "listen—just a minute." He had never seen Roy like this before.
"Come on," said Roy, sharply. "You've done allyoucould. Come on back!"
Tom was not much at talking, but seeing his friend in this state seemed to give him words and he spoke earnestly and with a depth of feeling.
"It's alwaysyou," said Roy. "It's——"
"Roy," said Tom, "don't—wait a minute—please. When we got back to the boat I said we'd have to find him—don't go on like that, Roy—please! I thought I could find him. But you see I can't—Ican't find him."
"You can make these tracks talk to you. I'm a——"
"No, you're not; listen,please. I said—you remember how I said I wanted to be alone with you—you remember? Well, now we are alone, and it's going to be you to do it, Roy; it's going to beyouto bring Pee-wee back. Just the same as you made me a scout a year ago, you remember? You're the only one can do it, Roy," he put his hand on Roy's shoulder, "and I'll—I'll help you. And it'll seem like old times—sort of—Roy. But you're the one to do it. You haven't forgotten about the searchlight, have you, Roy? You remember how you told me about the scout's arm having a long reach? You remember, Roy? Come on, hurry up!"
CHAPTER XIITHE LONG ARM OF THE SCOUT
As Tom spoke, there came rushing into Roy's memory as vivid as the searchlight's shaft, a certain dark night a year before when Tom Slade, hoodlum, had stood by his side and with eyes of wonder watched him flash a message from Blakeley's Hill to the city below to undo a piece of vicious mischief of which Tom had been guilty. He had turned the heavens into an open book for Westy Martin, miles away, to read what he should do.
A thrill of new hope seized Roy.
"So you see itwillbe you, Roy."
"It has to be you to remind me of it."
"Shut up!" said Tom.
They ran for the boat at top speed, for, as they both realized, it was largely a fight against time.
"That train was dragging along pretty slow when it passedus," said Tom.
"Sure, 'bout a million cars," Roy panted."There's an up-grade, too, I think, between here and Poughkeepsie. Be half an hour, anyway, before they make it. You're a wonder. We'll kid the life out of Pee-wee for riding on a train after all. 'Spose he did it on purpose or got locked in?"
"Locked in, I guess," said Tom. "Let's try scout pace, I'm getting winded."
The searchlight which had been an important adjunct of the oldNymphhad not been used on theGood Turn, for the reason that the boys had not run her at night. It was an acetylene light of splendid power and many a little craft Harry Stanton had picked up with it in his nocturnal cruising. Pee-wee had polished its reflector one day to pass the time, but with the exception of that attention it had lain in one of the lockers.
Reaching the boat they pulled the light out, connected it up, and found to their delight that it was in good working order.
"My idea," said Roy, now all excitement, "is to flash it from that hill, then from the middle of the river. Of course, it's a good deal a question of luck, but it seems as ifsomebodyought to catch it, in all these places along the river. Be great if we could find him to-night, hey?"
"They'd just have to hold him till we could getthere in the boat—they couldn't get him back here."
"No sooner said than stung," said Roy; "hurry up, bring that can, and some matches and—yes, you might as well bring the Manual anyway, thought I know that code backwards."
"You're right you do," said Tom.
He was glad to see Roy himself again and taking the lead, as usual.
"If there was only one of these telegraph operators—guys, as I used to call them—star-gazing, we'd pass the word to him, all right."
"A word to the guys, hey? Come on, hustle!"
A strenuous climb brought them to the brow of a hill from which the lights of several villages, and the more numerous lights of Poughkeepsie could be seen.
"Now, Tomasso, see-a if you know-a de lesson—queeck! Connect that up and—look out you don't step on the tube! I wish we had a pedestal or something. When you're roaming, you have to do as the Romans do, hey? Open your Manual to page 232. No!" he said hurriedly looking over Tom's shoulder. "Care of the fingernails!That's259you've got. What do you think we're going to do, start a manicure parlor?Thereyouare—now keep the place to make assurance doubly sure. Here goes! Hello, folks!" he called, as he swung the long shaft fan-wise across the heavens. "Now, three dots for S?"
"Right," said Tom.
Roy sent three short flashes into the night, then paused and sent a longer flash of about three seconds. Another pause, then three of the longer flashes, then a short one, two long ones and a short one.
"S-T-O-P—stop," he said.
"Right-o," concurred Tom.
"Now F—two shorts, a long and a short—is it?"
"You know blamed well it is," said Tom.
Thus the message was sent.
"Stop freight going north; boy locked in car. Hold. Friends coming up river in boat flying yellow flag."
They had on board a large yellow flag with TEMPLE CAMP on it, and Roy thought of this as being the best means of identifying the boat for anyone who might be watching for it along the shore.
Three times they flashed the message, then hurried back to the boat and chugged out, anchoringin midstream. The course of the river is as straight as an arrow here. The lights in the small towns of Milton and Camelot were visible on either side; tiny lights flickered along the railroads that skirted either shore, and beyond in the distance twinkled the lights on the great bridge at Poughkeepsie.
"We're right in the steamer's path here," said Tom; "let's hurry."
Roy played the shaft for a minute to attract attention, then threw his message again and again into the skies. The long, bright, silent column seemed to fill the whole heaven as it pierced the darkness in short and long flashes. The chugging of theGood Turn'sengine was emphasized by the solemn stillness as they ran in toward shore, and the splash of their dropping anchor awakened a faint echo from the neighboring mountains.
"Well, that's all we can do till morning," said Roy. "What do you say to some eats?"
"Gee, it's big and wild and lonely, isn't it?" said Tom.
They had never thought of the Hudson in this way before.
After breakfast in the morning they started upstream, their big yellow camp flag flying and keepingas near the shore as possible so as to be within hail. Now that the black background of the night had passed and the broad daylight was all about them, their hope had begun to wane. The spell seemed broken; the cheerful reality of the morning sunlight upon the water and the hills seemed to dissipate their confidence in that long shaft, and they saw the whole experience of the night as a sort of fantastic dream.
But Pee-wee was gone; there was no dream about that, and the boat did not seem like the same place without him.
The first place they passed was Stoneco, but there was no sign of life near the shore, and theGood Turnchugged by unheeded. They ran across to Milton where a couple of men lolled on a wharf and a few people were waiting at the little station. They could not get in very close to the shore on account of the flats, but Roy, making a megaphone of an old newspaper, asked if a flash message had been received there. After much shouting back and forth, he learned that the searchlight had been seen but had been thought to be from one of the night boats plying up and down the river. It had evidently meant nothing to the speaker or to anyone else there. Roy asked ifthey would please ask the telegraph operator if he had seen it.
"He'd understand it all right," he said, a bit disheartened. But the answer came back that the operator had not seen it.
At Poughkeepsie they made a landing at the wharf. Here expressmen were moving trunks about, a few stragglers waiting for some boat peered through the gates like prisoners; there was a general air of bustle and a "city" atmosphere about the place. A few people gathered about, looking at theGood Turnand watching the boys as they made their way up the wharf.
"Boy Scouts," they heard someone say.
There was the usual good-natured curiosity which follows scouts when they are away from home and which they have come to regard as a matter of course, but the big yellow flag seemed to carry no particular meaning to anyone here.
They walked up to the station where they asked the operator if he had seen the searchlight message or heard anything about it, but he had not. They inquired who was the night watchman on the wharf, hunted him out, and asked him. He had seen the light and wondered what and where it was. That was all.
"Foiled again!" said Roy.
They made inquiries of almost everyone they saw, going into a nearby hotel and several of the stores. They inquired at the fire house, where they thought men would have been up at night who might be expected to know the Morse code, but the spokesman there shook his head.
"A fellow who was with us got locked in a freight car," Roy explained, "and we signaled to people up this way to stop the train."
The man smiled; apparently he did not take Roy's explanation very seriously. "Now if you could only get that convict that escaped down yonder——"
"We have no interest in him," said Roy, shortly.
He and Tom had both counted on Poughkeepsie with its police force and fire department and general wide-awakeness, and they went back to theGood Turnpretty well discouraged, particularly as the good people of whom they had inquired had treated them with an air of kindly indulgence, smiling at their story, saying that the scouts were a wide-awake lot, and so forth; interested, but good-naturedly skeptical. One had said, "Are you making believe to telegraph that way? Well, it's good fun, anyway." Another asked if they hadbeen reading dime novels. The patronizing tone had rather nettled the boys.
"I'd like to have told that fellow that if wehadbeen reading dime novels, we wouldn't have had time to learn the Morse code," said Roy.
"The Motor Boat Heroes!" mocked Tom.
"Yes, volume three thousand, and they haven't learned how to run a gas engine yet! Get out your magnifying glass, Tom; what's that, a village, up there?"
"A house."
"Some house, too," said Roy, looking at the diminutive structure near the shore. "Put your hand down the chimney and open the front door, hey?"
But as they ran in nearer the shore other houses showed themselves around the edge of the hill and here, too, was a little wharf with several people upon it and near it, on the shore, a surging crowd on the edge of which stood several wagons.
"Guess they must be having a mass meeting about putting a new spring on the post-office door," said Roy. "Somebody ought to lay a paperweight on that village a windy day like this. It might blow away. Close your throttle a little,Tom and put your timer back; we'll run in and see what's up."
"You don't suppose all that fuss can have anything to do with Pee-wee, do you?" Tom asked.
"No, it looks more as if a German submarine had landed there. There wouldn't be so much of a rumpus if they'd got the kid."
But in another moment Roy's skeptical mood had changed as he saw a tall, slender fellow in brown standing at the end of the wharf with arms outspread.
"What's he doing—posing for the movies?"
"He's semaphoring," Tom answered.
"I'll be jiggered if he isn't!" said Roy, all interest at once. "C—O—M—E—— I—(he makes his I too much like his C)—N.What do you know about that!Come in!"
The stranger held what seemed to be a large white placard in either hand in place of a flag and his motions were not as clear-cut as they should have been, but to Roy, with whom, as he had often said, the semaphore code was like "pumpkin pie," the message was plain.
As they ran alongside the wharf the khaki-clad signaler greeted them with the scout salute.
"Pretty brisk out on the water this morning?"he said. "We got your message—we were out canoeing last night; you use the International code, don't you?"
"Have you got him?" Roy asked anxiously.
"Oh, yes, he's here; pulled in somewhere around midnight, I guess. He stayed all night with one of our troop; he's up there now getting his breakfast. Great kid, isn't he?" he laughed. "He was telling us about rice cakes. We're kind of out of date up here, you know. I was a little balled up on your spacing," he added as they went up the wharf. "I haven't got the International down very good. Yes, we were drifting around, a couple of us, telling Ford jokes, when you sprung it on us."
"Have you got the signaling badge?" said Roy.
"Oh, yes, I managed to pull that; I'm out for the star now."
"You'll get it," said Tom.
"Is the kid all right?" Roy asked.
"Oh, sure; but he had some pretty rough handling, I guess. It was quite a little movie show when we dragged the other one out. Lucky the station agent and the constable were there. He's up there now waiting for the men from Ossining."
Through the surging crowd Tom and Roycould see, sitting on a bench at the station, a man in convict garb, with his hands manacled together and a guard on either side of him. In the broad light of day he was a desperate-looking creature, as he sat with his ugly head hanging low, apparently oblivious to all about him.
"I don't understand," said Roy.
"Didn't you know about him?"
"Not a thing—except we did know someone got away from Sing Sing the other night—but we never thought——"
"Didn't you know he was in the same car? That's why the little fellow couldn't get away. He'd have come back to you, sure."
Roy doubted it, but he said nothing and presently the mystery was cleared up by the arrival on the scene of Pee-wee himself, accompanied by several scouts. They were laughing merrily and seemed greatly elated that the boat had come; but Pee-wee was rather embarrassed and held back until Roy dragged him forward.
"Kiddo," said he, looking straight into the boy's face, "theGood Turncouldn't have lived another day without you. So you did hit the railroad after all, didn't you? Gee, it's good to see you; you've caused us more worry——" he put his arm overPee-wee's shoulder and turned away with him, and the others, being good scouts, had sense enough not to follow.
"Pee-wee," said Roy, "don't try to tell me—that can wait. Listen, kiddo. We're in the same boat, you and I. We each wrote a letter that we shouldn't have written, but yours was received and mine wasn't—thanks to Tom. We've got to forget about both those letters, Pee-wee. I was ashamed of mine before I'd finished writing it. There's no good talking about it now. You're with us because we want you with us, not because Mary Temple wanted it, but becauseIwant you and Tom wants you; do you hear? You know who it is that's always doing something for someone and never getting any credit for it, don't you? It's Tom Slade. He saved me from being a crazy fool—from sending that letter to Mary. And I came to my senses the next day. He tracked you to that car, only it always seems to work around so that someone else gets all the glory. It makes me feel like a—— Listen to them over there now, talking aboutsignaling. Pee-wee, you gave us an awful scare. It didn't seem natural on top of the cabin last night without you—you little mascot! We're not going to have another wordto say about this, kid—I'm your patrol leader, remember. We're going to hit it straight for camp now—the three of us—the Big Three—and you're with us because we can't do without you. Do you get that?"
"Roy," said Pee-wee, speaking with difficulty. "I—I had an—adventure."
"Well, I should think you did."