FOOTPRINTS
So this, then, was the explanation of the bloodthirsty talk which the
mighty hero of the Bridgeboro troop had heard under the buffalo robe as
he emerged from the sweet realm of slumber in the automobile.
Pistols, killing, stealing and dead ones! To steal up to a bird and
_not_ kill it! To wake up if you are a dead one! To laugh with wholesome
scout humor at the silly gun play of the screen! To count the pistols in
William I. Smart's five reel thriller!
Alas, Scout Harris!
But we are not to accompany that redoubtable rescuer in his thrilling
flight. We are going to row across the lake in which the dying camp-fire
on the little island cast a golden flicker, into which the oars held by
our new acquaintance, Nick Vernon, dipped silently and rose dripping as
his practiced arms drew the boat through the water, causing a musical
little ripple at its bow.
"Got the key?" Fido asked.
"Do you suppose I'd come away without it?"
"Pull a little on your left. I can just make out the shed. There
isn't,--yes there is, there's just one light in the town."
"That's Algernon Kirkendall studying his algebra," said Nick.
"It's just in line with the shed. Row straight for the light and we'll
hit the shore just right. I'll lift this seat and steer with it.
Crinkums, it's dark on the water, isn't it?"
So the algebra was of some use in the world after all; Algernon
Kirkendall was a scout without knowing it.
"S.N.[1] thinks more of that new car than he does of the troop," said
Fido.
"Sure, the car don't give him as much trouble," said Nick. "We're a
Hunkajunk troop and Safety First's troop is a Ford troop; it's small but
it makes a lot of noise. If I ever start a troop it will be air-cooled.
How about it, am I headed right?"
[Footnote 1: Scoutmaster Ned he meant.]
"Row straight ahead, I'll steer."
"Golly, the water's black. Look! Did you see that fish jump? Look
around, the camp-fire looks good from here. Believe me, the autumn is
the time to camp. We're in luck. I love, I love, I love my lessons, but
oh you little island!"
"Ditto."
"We're set till Columbus Day."
"You mean Election Day. Gee, your oar touched bottom, here we are. I'll
row back."
They pulled the boat up and started for the shack. Fido reached it first
and called excitedly, "It's open! The car's gone!"
"Stop your fooling," called Nick.
"I'm not fooling, come and look for yourself, hurry up, the car's gone."
They stood in the big open doorway in gaping amazement. They walked in,
too dumfounded to speak, and when they did speak their voices sounded
strange to each other within the dark, empty confines of those old dried
board walls.
"Somebody must have broken in through the small door," said Fido.
"It's closed and locked," said his companion. "How about the fastening
on the big one?"
"It's all O.K.; nobody's been breaking in, that's sure."
"You don't mean to tell me S.N. would lock the small door and then come
away leaving the big one open, do you?" Nick asked incredulously.
"Well, what then?" his comrade retorted with greater incredulity. "If
both doors were closed and fastenings are all right now, could anybody
get the car out? They left the big door open--that's what they did."
"They never did that," said Nick; "look here, here's a fresh finger
print on the door--you can smell the oil on it. Here, wait till I light
another match. S.N. did what he always does, he opened the hood and
turned on the oil pet-cock and fussed around and then pulled the door
shut. Someone must have been inside this place before they got back."
Fido Norton was by this time on his knees outside the larger door. "Here
are footprints," said he; "two, three,--here's another one. Give me
another match."
"Those were made by our own fellows," said Nick, inspecting the ground,
half interested. "Can't you see they were made by scout shoes? Do you
think a boy scout stole the car? Here are some others, too, S.N.'s, and
Safety First's, I suppose."
"Why should they step outside the big door?" Norton asked. "These are
fresh footprints, all of them. After they got through, they'd go out
through the small door wouldn't they? This print, and this one, and this
one," he said, holding a match, "were made by scout shoes--_to-night_,
not an hour ago."
"All the fellows except us two are in camp," said Nick.
"All right," Fido Norton shot back, "they might all be at the North
Pole, but these prints were made by scout shoes _to-night_. That's what
I'm telling you."
"All right," said Nick with a tolerant sneer in his voice, "the car was
stolen by a boy scout, probably a tenderfoot. Maybe it was stolen by a
girl scout--"
"No, they're scout shoe prints," said Norton, ignoring his friend's
sarcasm, "and they're not an hour old, not a half hour, that's what I
think."
"Well, actions speak louder than footprints," said Nick; "what are we
going to do, that's the question?"
"Whatever you say," said Norton cheerfully.