THE SEARCH SQUAD
“Don’t be hasty about opening that letter, Blake,” cautioned the scout
master, who saw that such a move was indeed contemplated by his chum.
Blake held his hand before he had started to tear an end off the sealed
envelope.
“Why, I thought it would be only right to find out if Felix had said he
was sorry, Hugh,” he hastened to explain, looking somewhat disappointed.
“Because if things did turn out that way, you see I could get this
letter to Uncle Reuben, and then the object of our run up here to camp
would be accomplished.”
“Yes, I understand all that, Blake,” answered the other, quietly, “but
we mustn’t forget that a seal should be considered inviolate, and a
letter like this not opened except as a last resort. He hadn’t mailed
it, and might reconsider writing the same, no matter what the contents
are. Then, again, you can’t be sure that he did repent, and was wanting
Uncle Reuben to forgive him.”
Blake gave a big sigh.
“I suppose you’re right about that, Hugh,” he admitted, reluctantly,
“though I’d certainly like to see what’s inside of this the worst kind.”
“Better let Hugh keep it in his pocket,” suggested Bud.
“Which means that maybe I might yield to a strong temptation and slit
the envelope open some time or other,” Blake remarked, quickly. “Well,
it might be just as good that I didn’t have the chance, so here, you
keep it, Hugh.”
Accordingly, the patrol leader took the letter addressed to Mr. Reuben
Gregory at Oakvale.
“I’ll tell you how we’ll settle this thing,” he proposed, thinking it
best to have it decided, and wishing to give poor Blake what measure of
comfort he could; “suppose we say we’ll leave the letter unopened until
nine tomorrow morning. Then, if nothing comes from our hunt for your
cousin tonight, and the mystery of his disappearance is still
unexplained, why, I’ll take chances and we’ll see what he wrote.”
“All right, Hugh,” agreed Blake, instantly. “That’s about as good a
programme as we could arrange. Still, we have all admitted that it looks
promising that Felix went to the trouble of writing a letter to Uncle
Reuben, Something must have been worrying him—we’ve heard from one of
his comrades here that he hasn’t been himself ever since the battery
left Oakvale. It was an uneasy conscience, I’m sure; I know Felix pretty
well, and I’m certain that if he began to believe he had acted in a mean
way he would get no peace of mind until he had done all in his power to
rectify his error.”
Apparently Blake was in a decidedly “chipper” frame of mind since this
last odd happening. He seemed to feel that things were finally working
out to serve their ends, and that success must soon perch on their
banner.
“Well,” remarked the philosophical Bud, “nothing like having two strings
to your bow, I’ve always believed. Never put all your eggs in one
basket. Now, in case our little excursion along the road to the railway
station turns out a complete failure, you see we’ve always got this
letter to turn to.”
“And, of course,” added Blake, “when the time limit has expired those
men won’t bother trying to hold poor Felix any longer. They’ll believe
their game is won, and turn him loose. Now, just ten minutes have
dragged by since Captain Barclay left us, and he said half an hour,
didn’t he?”
All this was like so much Greek to young Shafter, and, seeing the look
of bewilderment on his face, Hugh took pity on him. Besides, since the
story was getting to be in general circulation through devious channels,
one guardsman taken into their confidence would not matter. Then, again,
the telling might serve to kill a little of the time that promised to
hang so heavily on their hands.
Accordingly he started in to entertain Burch Shafter with a remarkable
story that held his attention closely all the way through. Hugh was not
the one to waste words, and so he kept “hewing close to the line” until
he had arrived at the point where they were waiting for Captain Barclay
to return with permission from Headquarters to take a detail of armed
men and ascertain who the inmates of that old house on the roadside
were; likewise, whether Private Gregory were detained there against his
will.
“All I can say,” remarked the deeply interested listener, after the
stirring account of their adventures on the road had been brought to a
finish, “is that it beats the Dutch how you scouts do have thrilling
happenings come your way. Why, there’s a list as long as my arm of fine
things you fellows have done. Here you promise to add another laurel to
the wreath you’ve won. I take off my hat to Hugh Hardin and the boys of
Oakvale Troop. They are trump cards, every one of them, and that’s the
truth.”
He suddenly remembered he was a soldier, and that his time could not be
called his own; so, saying a hasty good-bye, Burch Shafter strode away.
His coming, and what he had brought with him, had given them all new
reasons for gratitude, and the rainbow of promise was once more shining
brilliantly in the heavens above.
The time dragged horribly after that, although they talked of many
things, so that Blake might not give way to impatience. There was a
never-ending source of delight in just glancing around them at all the
queer sights by which they found themselves surrounded, with veterans
and rookies carrying on a multitude of camp duties. Had it been in the
daytime instead of about nine o’clock at night, doubtless the visitors
would have witnessed a multitude of intensely interesting things, such
as are born of camp life, from comrades being shaved by fresh barbers,
to others engaged in taking their first lesson in the art of washing
their own clothes under very primitive conditions.
Finally, when Blake had sighed for about the hundredth time, and Bud
himself took to yawning because of the inaction, Hugh announced that he
believed he had seen an officer hurrying in their direction.
“Unless I’m greatly mistaken, it’s our friend the captain,” he added.
“Sure it is, and no mistake,” chuckled Bud; while Blake drew in a long
breath that spelled relief because his “watchful waiting” period was
over.
As the officer approached they took new hope upon seeing the look spread
upon his face. Surely he would not smile so broadly if he were bringing
them bad news.
“It’s all right, boys, all right,” he told them, immediately.
“Then the general has given permission for us to carry out the scheme,
has he, sir?” asked Hugh, greatly pleased.
“He told me to take charge of it personally, and leave no stone unturned
to ascertain how Private Gregory could be taken out of the camp
undetected; also to bring before him those guilty of the outrage, if
they could be caught. That house, it seems, comes within the boundaries
of the camp, and hence any one living there, or occupying the premises,
is amenable to military discipline and rules.”
“Then if by good luck we trap that schemer and good-for-nothing Luther
Gregory,” exclaimed Blake, rubbing his hands in joy, “it’s going to be
hard for him because he’s interfered with the liberty of one of Uncle
Sam’s recruits? Well, I guess on the whole he’ll get only what he
deserves, and I’ll be glad of it.”
“Are you going with us, Captain?” asked Bud.
“Yes, and I shall take a detail of men, so as to make doubly sure,”
explained the officer, as though he had mapped out his plan of campaign,
like a wise soldier, as he came along. “The moon will soon be rising,
and we may get some benefit of her light, though that does not matter
much.”
He was told about the letter, and seemed to feel a good deal like Hugh
in that it had better not be opened, save as a last resort. If other
things failed them, and no signs of the missing Felix could be found,
then it would be time enough to think of breaking the seal.
“You know,” he went on to say, particularly directing the words toward
Blake, whom he guessed had been the one desirous of reading the letter,
“there’s always a mean feeling comes on any one when you open a sealed
envelope surreptitiously. It’s like a thief breaking into a house in the
night; you think you’re doing something you ought to be ashamed of, no
matter how good your motives really are. So better let that rest until
all other hope has been abandoned.”
“Yes,” added Bud, “and even at noon tomorrow we could telegraph to Uncle
Reuben we were on the road with a letter of apology, and he’d be only
too willing to wait for us to arrive before changing his will. I reckon
the old gentleman would be only too glad of a chance to meet a
compromise halfway, if he thinks as much of Felix as Blake Merton here
tells us he does.”
“I want you to come with me over to the camp of the aviation boys,” said
Captain Barclay. “I have authority to enlist anyone I please in the
squad we shall take with us for duty, and that being the case it might
be just as well to have that party along who told you about Luther
Gregory.”
“Johnston was his name, Captain,” explained Bud, “and I reckon he’s some
punkins of an aeroplane pilot, too, because he’s been giving daring
exhibitions in lots of county fairs down South last winter. From what he
said, I reckon Johnston will be glad to be in the bunch, because things
are getting kind of stale for him here, with so little material to work
with.”
The captain left them for a short time. When he came back, three men
carrying guns followed at his heels. Blake surveyed their armament with
considerable interest, as though convinced by this time that the clouds
were gathering around the devoted heads of the two schemers who must
soon find themselves in the toils.
“There’s the moon just peeping above the horizon, you see, boys,” the
captain remarked, as he joined the waiting trio of scouts. “It isn’t
more than ten o’clock, either, and we needn’t be in any hurry. Let’s
head across to where the aviation squad have their quarters, so as to
pick up Johnston, the air pilot.”
As they were proceeding along, the clear notes of a bugle ascended from
some point close by, and never would Hugh and his chums forget the
peculiar effect produced upon them when, for the first time, they heard
“taps” sounded in a military camp while the grim shadow of impending war
was hovering over the land. It seemed to thrill them through and through
with its significance, for they could not help remembering how it is
this same sweet sad call that is invariably given over the grave of a
soldier when his comrades bury him with full military honors.
When they finally arrived at the border of the camp, where lay the field
that was to be devoted to such aviation work as could be carried on with
the poor material on hand, Captain Barclay immediately sought the
officer in command of the squad, whom he chanced to already know.
He found no trouble in securing permission to have the air pilot
Johnston join them, though, doubtless, the other wondered much what it
all meant, for there was no time to enter into full explanations.
Captain Barclay did promise to see him on the next day, and tell him an
interesting story connected with the visit of these three scouts from
his home town.
Johnston recognized Bud, and readily agreed to lead the little
expedition to the house where he had seen his old associate in
aeronautics, Luther Gregory. As he had, it may be remembered, heard
pretty much the whole story of the adventure from Bud Morgan’s lips, at
the time the other was coaxing him to tell the location of the house
where he claimed to have seen Luther, the aviator did not express any
surprise, only satisfaction that his services had been thought worth
while securing.
There being nothing else to detain them now, the captain gave the order
for marching, and the little company started forth. A sentry on the
border of the great camp challenged, and demanded the password, which
Captain Barclay whispered in his ear; and so with the last obstacle to
their progress removed they began to follow the road that led to the
railway station, possibly four miles away.