BREAKING UP THE SCOUTS' MEETING
Boom! boom!
Upon the silence of the Summer night sounded the startling detonation of
the big bell in the square tower of the church.
The assembled scouts, arrested by this unexpected peal just as they were
in the act of rushing forth to try and capture those who had been spying
on the meeting, stared at each other in mute astonishment and
indignation.
Every one seemed to quickly understand just what it meant, nor were they
long in finding their voices to denounce the outrage.
"It's a punk trick, fellows!" exclaimed Jack, his face filled with
growing anger. "They want to force the church trustees to chase us out
of our quarters here!"
"Yes," echoed Bobolink, trembling with eagerness to do something, he
hardly knew just what, "it's a plot to throw us out in the cold, that's
what! Talk to me about a mean, low-down trick--this takes the cake!"
"Let's surround the feller at the rope! Then we'll have something to
show that it wasn't our fault the old bell jangled!" cried another
member of the troop.
"On the jump, Foxes!" shouted William.
Immediately there was a grand rush. Some went through the door, aiming
to gain the outer air, in the hope of cutting off any escaping enemy.
Others rushed towards the stairs, by means of which the vestibule of the
old church could be reached, where dangled the rope that moved the bell.
Paul led this latter group. He was boiling with indignation over the
trick that had been played, for it promised to put the orderly scouts in
bad odor with the custodian of the building, who had been so kind to
them.
The sexton, whose name was Peter Ostertag, usually lighted the gymnasium
for them, and then went over to his own cottage near by. It was his
usual habit to return at about ten o'clock, when the meeting disbanded,
in order to put out the lights, and close the building. Perhaps he might
even then be on his way across lots.
What with the shouts of the excited scouts, rushing hither and thither;
together with some derisive laughter and cat calls from dark corners in
the immediate vicinity, the scene certainly took on a lively turn.
The bell had ceased to toll, though there still came a ringing, metallic
hum from up in the tower. Paul had snatched up a lamp as he ran, and
with this he was able to see when he reached the top of the stairs.
But the vestibule seemed to be empty. Paul rushed to the door, and to
his surprise found it locked. Perhaps the sexton had thought to secure
this exit after him, when he left the main body of the church, an hour
or two before. Then again, it might be, the plotters had been wise
enough to place a barrier in the way of pursuit by turning the key,
previously arranged on the outside of the lock.
"Hey! this way, Paul!" cried Bobolink, excitedly. "The door into the
church is open! Bring the lamp! He's in here, I tell you! Listen to
that, will you?"
There was a sound that drifted to their ears, and it came from inside
the body of the church, too. Paul could easily imagine that the escaping
bell-ringer must have stumbled while making his way across to some open
window, and upset a small table that he remembered stood close to the
wall.
He lost no time in carrying out the suggestion of Bobolink, who had
already rushed into the dark building, fairly wild to make a capture.
Outside they could hear the boys calling to each other as they ran to
and fro. The sharp, clear bark of a fox told that even in this period of
excitement the scouts did not forget that they possessed a signal which
could be used to tell friend from foe.
As soon as he gained a footing inside the big auditorium Paul held the
lamp above his head. This was done, partly, better to send its rays
around; and at the same time keep his own eyes from being dazzled by the
glow.
"There he is!" shrilled Bobolink, suddenly; "over by the window on the
left!"
Impetuous by nature, he made a dive in the direction indicated, only
speedily to come to grief; for he tripped over some hair cushions that
may have been purposely thrown into the aisle, and measured his length
on the floor.
Paul had himself discovered a moving figure over in the quarter
mentioned. There could not be the slightest doubt about it being a boy,
he believed, and in the hope of at least getting near enough to
recognize the interloper, he hastened forward as fast as policy would
permit.
With that lamp in his hand he did not want to follow the sad example of
Bobolink for such an accident might result in setting fire to the
building.
Now the figure began to put on more speed. Evidently the escaping party
believed there was considerable danger of his being caught; and could
guess what must follow if he fell into the hands of the aroused scouts.
Just in time did Paul discover that a piece of clothes line, probably
taken from a yard close by, had been cleverly fastened across the aisle
about six inches from the floor. It was undoubtedly intended to trip any
who unguardedly came along that way.
"'Ware the rope, fellows!" he called back over his shoulder; for some of
his comrades were pushing hotly after him.
The warning came too late, for there was a crash as one scout made a
dive; and from the various cries that immediately arose Paul judged that
the balance of the detail had swarmed upon the fallen leader, just as
though they had the pigskin oval down on the football field.
By now the escaping figure had reached the open window through which he
must have entered some time previously, taking time to lay these various
traps by means of which he expected to baffle pursuit.
Paul believed that such an ingenious artifice could have originated in
no brain save that of Ted Slavin, or possibly his crony, Ward Kenwood.
Hence he was trying his best to discover something familiar about the
figure now clambering up over the windowsill.
The balance of the scouts had managed to scramble to their feet after
that jarring tumble; and were even then at his heels, grumbling and
limping.
"It's Ted himself, that's what!" called Bobolink, at this exciting
juncture.
The fellow turned his head while crouching in the window, just ready to
drop outside. Paul could hardly keep from laughing at what he saw.
Possibly foreseeing some such predicament as this, and not wishing to
have his identity known if it could be avoided, what had the daring
bell-ringer done but assumed an old mask that might have been a part of
a Valentine night's fun, or even a left-over from last Hallowe'en
frolic.
At any rate it was a coal-black face that Paul saw, with a broad grin
capable of no further expansion.
"Yah! yah! yah!" laughed the pretended darky, as he waved a hand
mockingly in their direction, and then vanished from view.
Paul thought he recognized something familiar about the voice, though he
could not be absolutely certain. And it was not the bully of Stanhope,
Ted Slavin, that he had in mind, either.
There arose a chorus of bitter cries of disappointment, showing how the
scouts felt over the escape of the intruder who had played such a
successful practical joke on the troop.
"He's skidooed!" exclaimed Bobolink, in disgust. "Wouldn't that just
jar you some, fellows?"
"There goes William through the window after him! Bully boy, William!
Hope you get a grip on the sneak!" cried Nuthin, who was rubbing his
right shin as though it had been barked when he sprawled over the rope.
"Say, perhaps the boys outside may get him!" gasped another scout, who
must have had the breath squeezed out of his lungs when the balance of
the eager squad fell over him heavily, making a cushion of his body.
"Only hope they do," grumbled Nuthin. "But say, what's that you've
picked up, Paul? Looks mighty like a hat!"
"It is a hat, and fellows, I've got a pretty good notion I've seen it
before," responded the scout leader, as he held the object aloft.
The others crowded around, every eye fastened on the article picked up
by Paul just under the window that had afforded the fugitive a chance to
escape.
"It's Ward's lid, as sure as you live!" declared Bobolink, immediately.
"That's what it is," observed another, with conviction in his tone;
"ain't I had it in my hands more'n once at school? That was Ward in
here, doing these stunts!"
"Well," added Paul, cautiously, "it looks that way; but how do we know?
We didn't see his face, you remember. It might be another fellow wearing
his hat. This might satisfy the trustees that we didn't have anything to
do with the ringing of the bell; but I'd like to have better proof,
fellows."
"What's all that talking going on out there?" demanded Nuthin, who had
seated himself, the better to get at his bruised shin, and ease the pain
by rubbing.
Bobolink drew himself up into the window; and as he did so his hat also
fell off.
"There," declared Paul, quickly, "you see just how it happened to the
fellow with the black face; and he was in too big a hurry just then to
drop down again, so he could get his hat."
"What's all the row about, Bobolink? Have they got the slippery coon?"
asked Philip Towne, a member of the second patrol.
"Peter grabbed our chum as he was running after the shadow," replied the
boy perched on the windowsill. "He's shaking him as if he believed it
was William up to some of his old tricks, and that he rang that bell.
Now the other boys are crowding around trying to pull him off."
"But what about Ward? Has he gotten clean away?" asked a disappointed
one, of the lookout.
"Looks as if they couldn't flag him," came the answer in dejected tones;
"anyhow, I don't see any fellows holdin' a prisoner. Let's get outside,
and help explain to Peter, boys."
So they went straggling back to the exit, and passed outside, Paul
leaving the burning lamp in the vestibule as proof of his story.
Peter was an excitable German, who had been very good to the boys.
Indignant at what he thought to be an exhibition of base ingratitude on
their part, he had shaken William until the lad's teeth rattled.
"You vill wake up de goot beoples mit your rackets, hey?" the old sexton
was crying, "I knows apout how you does all de times, Villiam
Carberries, ain't it? Mebbe you t'ink it fun to ring dot pell like dot,
unt pring all de neighbors aroundt mit a rush. Hey! vat you poys say? He
didn't pull dot rope? Who did, den, tell me dot? Mebbe I didn't grab mit
him as he vas runnin' away! Hello! mister scout leader, how vas dot?"
Paul had come up while William was being shaken like a rat in the
clutches of a terrier.
"Say, Paul, tell him, for goodness sake," stammered the innocent victim,
as he squirmed in the clutches of the indignant sexton, "ask him to let
up on this rough house business. I'm just falling to pieces!"
"Wait a minute, Peter," the scout leader immediately called out,
"William was with the rest of us down in the basement at the time the
bell began to ring. We all started to try and catch the fellow who
pulled the rope; but I'm afraid he got away. He went through the church,
and out of an open window. You can see for yourself when you go inside,
that he tied a rope to trip any of us when we chased him."
Peter eased up his hold, and the agile William broke away, as if only
too glad to be able to catch his breath again.
"Yes, and Peter, we know who it was, too!" declared Nuthin, eagerly.
"That is, we think we do," broke in Paul, holding up his find. "This hat
dropped when he climbed up to the window. And a lot of us have seen it
before."
"Why, it belongs to Ward Kenwood!" exclaimed Jud Elderkin, as he bent
forward to take a better look at the captured headgear.
"How do you know?" asked Paul, for a purpose.
"Well, I've seen it on him lots of times," came the unhesitating reply.
"There may be a few hats like it in Stanhope, but they're scarce as
hen's teeth. Besides, I've got my private mark on that hat. Look inside,
and see if there isn't a circle and two cross bars, made with a pen on
the sweat band?"
Paul stepped over to the street light close by, and examined the inside
of the hat.
"You're right, Jud; here's the mark, sure enough. However did you come
to put it there inside of Ward's hat?" he asked, smiling.
"Oh!" answered Jud, with a broad grin, "that was my idea of a little
joke, fellows. I happened to find his hat one fine day at school, and
having a pen in my hand, thought I'd give him something to puzzle his
head about. So I made that high sign there. Guess he wondered what it
all meant, and if he was marked for a Black Hand victim. But you can
roll your hoop, fellows, that this is Ward's lid."
"If we had only caught him, Peter, you would know it was so," observed
Jack; who had led the crowd that rushed outdoors, and felt rather cheap
because their intended game had succeeded in escaping.
"Look here, what's to hinder us going and collarin' him on his way
home?" broke in Bobolink, always conjuring up bright ideas.
"That's so, Paul. What d'ye think?" asked Jack, eagerly.
"A good idea," declared the one addressed, without stopping an instant;
"and Peter shall go along to be a witness, if we find that Ward is minus
his hat. Perhaps we might be lucky enough to find that black mask in his
pocket, too. And somehow, I've got a notion he had his hands rubbed
with charcoal, to match his face. If we found that to be the case I
guess the trustees would be ready to admit _we_ didn't have anything to
do with this affair."
"Give the order then, Paul. Every one will want to go along; but that
would be sure to queer the job. Pick out several likely chaps, won't
you?" asked Jack.
"Sure I will. To begin with, Jack, you stay to see about closing up
shop. Bobolink, you and Bluff come with us; yes, and Nuthin can trot
along, too. That ought to be enough, with Peter here to help."
The German sexton was not so very dull of comprehension after all. And
besides, he believed in Paul Morrison. He agreed to accompany the group
of scouts on their strange errand, since Jack promised to close all the
windows, and remain in the basement until his return.
Accordingly the five walked away, vanishing in the darkness. Paul
suspected that one or more of the enemy might be concealed close by,
hoping to learn what they meant to do; and so he had lowered his voice
when speaking.
He led the way, passing through several side streets until finally they
found themselves close to the fine residence of Mr. Kenwood, the banker.
"Say, I happen to know that Ward always uses the back gate when he goes
out nights," ventured Nuthin, in a whisper, close to Paul's ear.
This was important news, and the scout leader was not slow to take
advantage of it. So they found a place close to the rear gate, and
crouched low, waiting. Slowly the minutes passed. The town clock struck
the half hour, though it seemed to some of the watchers that they must
have been on duty for ages.
"That's him coming," said Nuthin at length, in the lowest of voices; "I
know his whistle all right. He's feelin' right merry over givin' us the
ha! ha!"
"'Sh!" warned Paul, just then; and as the whistler drew rapidly closer
the five crouching figures prepared to spring out upon him.