THE BOY SCOUTS
AT
MOBILIZATION CAMP
BY
ROBERT SHALER
AUTHOR OF “THE BOY SCOUTS OF THE SIGNAL CORPS,” “THE BOY SCOUTS OF
PIONEER CAMP,” ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1918, by
Hurst & Co., Inc.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I Good Luck 5
II A Breakdown on the Road 18
III Rising Suspicions 30
IV The Hold-up 39
V An Echo from the Past 48
VI The Burning Bridge 62
VII The Accusation 73
VIII In the Mobilization Camp 84
IX the Disappearance of Felix 95
X Bud Morgan on the Scent 106
XI The Value of a Good Reputation 117
XII The Search Squad 128
XIII The House by the Roadside 140
XIV A Successful Round-up 149
The Boy Scouts at Mobilization Camp
CHAPTER I
GOOD LUCK
“Honest Injun, Hugh, I never wanted to go anywhere half so much as I do
right now to drop in at that State camp where the militia has started
mobilizing.”
“Just so, Bud, and, to tell you the truth, I’m feeling the same way
myself. Ever since we scouts waved good-bye to our gallant Battery K
some five miles up the road, and watched the last gun, caisson and
supply wagon disappear over the crown of Kettledrum Hill, I’ve had that
picture in my mind.”
“Say, I wager things are just _humming_ over at that same camp, Hugh,”
sighed the first boy in faded khaki, “Bud” Morgan by name, and a member
of Oakvale’s famous Boy Scout Troop.
“They certainly must be,” admitted his comrade, who wore the insignia of
rank that marks not only a patrol leader, but an assistant scout master
as well. “This morning’s paper says that besides our fellows, there is a
full regiment already in camp, not to mention other commands, such as
the Engineers’, Signal Corps and Red Cross detachments.”
“Don’t forget to count the Aviation Squad, Hugh,” added Bud, eagerly.
“You know, I’m head over ears interested in the birdmen and their
doings, as well as in signaling, surveying and inventions.”
“Yes, it certainly must be a glorious sight,” Hugh said enviously. “To
tell you the truth, old fellow, I’m lying awake nights trying to think
up some reasonable excuse for paying a flying visit to the concentration
camp.”
“Anyhow,” remarked Bud, brightening up a little, “we can squeeze some
satisfaction out of the fact that the scouts had a heap to do with
getting Battery K off to the camp with their roster on a full war
footing.”[1]
“We’ve undertaken an all-summer job helping to run the Pastor farm for
the crippled old man, so his boy, Corporal Tony, could go to the Mexican
border with his company. That’s one way scouts can help Uncle Sam when
trouble comes along. It’s partly on account of that promise I’m holding
back about leaving Oakvale.”
“Oh! so far as that goes, Hugh,” said Bud, slyly, after the manner of a
tempter, “you’ve got the programme all laid out, and Alec Sands could
take your place for a week. The site for the camp we expect to start up
there near the Pastor farm has been arranged, so the boys would make the
hike, and then be handy in getting the hay crop cut, and have it taken
to the barn inside of ten days. If you took a notion, Hugh, don’t you
think the two of us might manage to get away? Try hard and think up some
good excuse for making the trip. A dozen people here in Oakvale would
want to send messages and packages to their boys, you know.”
Hugh Hardin laughed at the entreating manner of his companion. They were
standing at the time in front of the post office building, where people
kept coming and going in squads and singly, for that was one of the
busiest places in the mill town of Oakvale.
Hugh and Bud both belonged to the _Wolf_ Patrol of the troop, which was
in a most flourishing condition, having four full patrols, and another
well along. These enterprising lads of Oakvale had been more or less in
the limelight for several seasons past. Circumstances had allowed them
to engineer quite a number of really successful enterprises that were
one and all to their credit. Those readers who may be only making their
acquaintance with Hugh and his friends in this story, if at all curious
to know what some of those stirring adventures were, should secure
previous volumes in this series, and enjoy reading accounts of scout
activities as related therein.
One thing certain, those same enterprising and ambitious scouts had
succeeded in convincing the most skeptical persons that the coming to
town of such an organization had been the means of a regeneration among
the boys of Oakvale. Many things had been tolerated under the old order,
with the familiar excuse that “boys will be boys, and you must expect
them to play practical pranks, and do all manner of shocking things in
order to work off their extra enthusiasm,” but such outbreaks were quite
unknown in these later days. The reason was that a new means for
allowing the high-spirited lads to “let off steam” had been found.
On the morning the call of the President came summoning the National
Guard to mobilize, with a view to being sworn into the service of the
Government, so as to proceed forthwith to the Mexican border, and guard
the same against aggression, it sent a thrill across the entire country
from the Atlantic to the Pacific.
Tens of thousands of young fellows flocked to the armories, and the most
intense excitement followed, as hurried preparations were started
looking toward increasing these various military organizations from a
peace to a war footing.
Oakvale had a battery of four guns, together with such equipment as was
necessary for utilizing these field pieces; but just then it happened,
as in many similar organizations, that the roster contained just enough
names to prevent the company from being disbanded under the law by the
State authorities.
Consequently a feverish hunt began to enlist new units, or, what was
better yet, former members who had left the ranks to sign again, so as
to swell the number to a high level of which the town might be proud.
In this little drama it chanced that Hugh and his fellow scouts bore
themselves right handsomely, so that it was chiefly owing to their manly
efforts that a number of former members came forward again to put their
names down.
After a very eventful period of preparation, which lasted for several
days, Battery K had started for the mobilization camp. As connections on
the railroad did not happen to favor them, they concluded to make the
trip overland, knowing that it would take less than two full days, and
must prove of considerable benefit to both men and horses in the way of
practice, which they greatly needed.
Once more Oakvale had settled down to the humdrum monotony of customary
life. Things resumed their former conditions, but after the feverish
outburst of patriotism people found it difficult to attend to business.
They missed the faces of those gallant young fellows who had gone to
serve their country. So, too, they found things terribly dull after all
that exhilarating music which the fine Oakvale brass band had provided
while the battery lay encamped on the grass-covered public square. They
missed the enlisting officers’ tent, surrounded day and evening by a
curious throng, where the khaki-clad men urged their friends to sign the
muster roll so as to bring the local company up to a war footing.
Some of the boys had been inconsolable ever since they watched the last
of the troop vanish over the hill, as Hugh had described. Being
ambitious and patriotic lads, they would have liked nothing better than
a chance to accompany those artillerymen to camp, and even to the far
distant Southwest border where the followers of the Mexican bandit,
Villa, were threatening further bold raids across the international
line.
Never dreaming of having their ardent wishes suddenly realized, the two
boys continued to stand there, chatting of scout affairs in general, and
what they expected to do while in camp in particular. Bud, upon turning
his head, discovered something which he communicated to Hugh in his
breezy fashion:
“Unless I miss my guess, Hugh, we’re going to hear some news worth
while. There’s our comrade, Blake Merton, heading this way like a
schooner with all sails set. He looks considerably worked up, too. I
wonder what ails him? Perhaps something’s happened to keep him from
joining the bunch when we start on our hike tomorrow for that camp up
near the Pastor farm?”
Hugh, taking a look, remarked calmly:
“We’ll soon know what’s up, for he’s heading our way, and making signals
that he wants us to wait for him. I hope it hasn’t anything to do with
that case of scarlet fever my folks were talking about this morning,
because it happens that the Werner house is close to where Blake lives.
If one of his younger sisters came down with the disease they’d have to
quarantine the Mertons, and so Blake couldn’t go with us.”
“Wee whiz! that _would_ be tough luck—with vacation just starting in!”
the sympathetic Bud went on to say.
“Hello! Hugh!” remarked the newcomer as he arrived, partly out of breath
from hurrying so fast, and looking excited as well, “I’ve been searching
for you all over town. They put me on several false scents, but I’m
awful glad to find you at last!”
“What’s the trouble, Blake?” asked the patrol leader; for, although the
Merton boy belonged to the _Hawk_ Patrol, somehow, when he wanted
counsel and advice, he turned to the assistant scout master rather than
to Walter Osborne, who was the _Hawk_ leader.
Blake glanced toward Bud, and then, as though making up his mind,
quickly exclaimed:
“I guess Bud can be depended on to keep a secret as tight as a drum, and
so I’m going to speak up. Fact is, Hugh, I’m in a peck of trouble about
my cousin, Felix Platt.”
“Oh! I remember that he went away with the battery, being a member of
the same,” Hugh observed. “What ails Felix? Has his mother fallen sick,
and ought he come home again before being mustered into Uncle Sam’s
service?”
Blake Merton shook his head.
“No, it isn’t that, Hugh, worse than that, even, I should say!” he
declared.
“Well, you’ve got us worked up, all right, Blake,” exclaimed Bud,
feverishly, “so please explain what you mean when you say that. I hope
your cousin hasn’t gone and done something wrong?”
“He’s made a fool of himself, I’m sorry to say, and stands a good chance
of losing all his uncle’s property. You must know that Uncle Reuben is
his guardian as well, and has made his will in favor of Felix, so as to
cut off that bad son of his who disgraced him several times.”
“Yes, we know all about what Luther Gregory has done to worry his
father,” admitted Bud, encouragingly. “But Reuben isn’t any blood
relation of yours, is he?”
“Oh! no, though Felix happens to be my second cousin. You see, they had
some warm words the night before the battery left town, and Felix, being
a hot-blooded young fellow, said something he shouldn’t, and which has
cut Uncle Reuben to the quick. Just this morning the old gentleman had
his lawyer, Judge Marshall, to change his will once more, cutting off
Felix. The good old judge managed to coax him to wait a bit; and so
Uncle Reuben has vowed that if he doesn’t receive an apology from Felix
by sundown of tomorrow, nothing will keep him from doing as he
threatens, much as he has cared for the boy since his own son failed
him. Yes, he threatens to leave every dollar of his big fortune to
charity.”
“That’s too bad,” mused Hugh, shaking his head, for he had always liked
Felix, who was a pretty fine sort of a young chap, as they go in these
days. “But how is it you come to know about this matter, Blake?”
“Just this way, Hugh,” came the ready reply. “Uncle Reuben made Judge
Marshall promise that he wouldn’t communicate with Felix, or send him
any direct word; but, having the best interests of all parties at stake,
and, believing the old man would secretly applaud his action if ever he
knew it, the judge called to me over the wire to drop in right away and
see him. Then he told me about it, not suggesting a single thing, mind
you, but leaving it up to me to do what I thought best, because he knew
how fond of Felix I’ve always been.”
“Well, then,” said Hugh, beaming on him, “why don’t you get busy, and
write Felix a letter right away, explaining the case, and begging him to
send the apology? By now he’s cooled down, and ten chances to one is
mighty sorry for speaking as he did.”
“Hugh, I thought of that the first thing, but what if the letter didn’t
reach him?” objected Blake, frowning as he spoke.
“You could register it, or send with a quick delivery stamp,” remarked
Bud.
“Even then there would always be a lot of uncertainty about it,”
continued the other, stubbornly.
“Evidently, then, you’ve got some other dandy scheme up your sleeve!”
exclaimed Bud, suspiciously. “Let’s hear about it, Blake, if you need
any advice.”
“Well, I’ve always believed that when you want anything done, the only
safe way is to do it yourself. You remember the bird telling her young
ones in the nest that so long as the farmer depended on his relatives
and friends to help cut the wheat there was no need for worry; but when
finally he told his son they’d start in and do the job themselves the
mother bird admitted it was time for flitting. Now, Hugh, I’ve got a
hunch that if only you’d go along with me to give advice, I’d make a
start for the mobilization camp right away, and tell Felix face to face
what a fool he has been, as well as fetch back a letter for Uncle Reuben
that would heal all the bitter feelings in the old gentleman’s heart.
What do you say to that, Hugh?”