THE CHASE
Paul looked again, and more closely.
The light from the fire was becoming fickle. Once in a while the flame
would start up, and give quite some little illumination. Then dying down
lower than ever, it allowed a condition of half darkness to prevail.
Of course it had been during one of these former periods that Paul made
his startling discovery; and he waited in considerable suspense until
the flame took a notion to feed upon another little stock of tinder.
Could it really be a bear up there in that big oak, the branches of
which reached out, and shook hands with those of other trees? Paul
chuckled at the idea; it was so absurd. Save for an occasional traveling
Italian with a trained bear, no such animal had been known to exist in
all this section for many years.
A bobcat then? That was very nearly as impossible. Still, the hasty
glimpse he had secured told him that it was at least larger than a
raccoon or a 'possum, animals frequently seen in the vicinity of
Stanhope.
Well, what was to hinder a _boy_ from coming into competition with other
things, when an explanation of the mystery was sought? Some boys can
climb like monkeys; and he knew of several who would think little or
nothing of making their way from one tree to another, when the great
limbs interlocked.
There, the flame again began to show up, and dispell the gloom. Eagerly
did Paul make use of his eyes; nor was he disappointed this time.
There _was_ a swinging object dangling from the limb on which he had
fastened his gaze. Even though the light proved so deceptive Paul knew
that he was looking at a hanging boy, caught in the act of changing his
location by the sudden return of the light, and meaning to remain still
in the hope of escaping discovery.
Were there others also in the oak? Could it be that the entire Slavin
crowd had managed to elude their vigilance, and was now hovering over
the camp, ready to carry out some dark plot?
Paul did not believe this possible. Only an expert climber might succeed
in accomplishing such a clever feat. He considered a minute, and then
felt certain that he could give a guess concerning the identity of the
one aloft.
Among the partisans of Ted was a fellow named Eggleston, who was
usually known among his fellows as "Monkey." This because of his
fondness for doing all manner of wonderful tricks on a trapese or the
parallel bars. He could hang by his toes from the limb of a tree, and
never seemed alarmed in the slightest degree because twenty or more feet
lay between his dangling figure and the earth below.
Of course, then, this was Monkey Eggleston. He had received his orders
from Ted, and was carrying them out with more or less delight. Paul
calculated that he intended to drop down into the centre of the camp,
unseen, his presence unsuspected by the sentries, who would be looking
the other way for signs of trouble.
Then what?
A vicious boy let loose in a camp for half an hour, with a good sharp
knife in his possession, can do a tremendous amount of destruction. Why,
he might begin by cutting the bags that held their sugar, so that every
bit of it mixed with the soil and was lost. Half a dozen other things
seemed to flash through Paul's mind as he crouched there and watched the
dimly seen figure descending slowly from limb to limb.
Two courses were open to the scout leader. He could shout out, and bring
every sleeper dashing from the tents; after which the tree might be
surrounded, and the spy compelled to surrender. Then again he could
wait and watch.
His curiosity was aroused to some extent. He really wondered what the
game of Monkey Eggleston could be. And so he determined to simply creep
up closer, without giving the alarm. At the proper time he would start
things moving.
Of course, if one of the sentries happened to think that the fire should
be looked after, and came forward to throw on more fuel, it might
interfere with the plans of the boy in the tree. But Wallace would not
do this unless Paul gave the signal agreed on; and the patrol leader was
rather of the opinion the other two fellows might be sound asleep, being
unaccustomed to such a vigil.
He just caught a fleeting glimpse of something dropping lightly to the
ground close beside the mess tent. This he knew must be Monkey. He had
accomplished the first part of his errand, and now came the question of
what he meant to do next.
Paul pushed in closer, anxious to see what was going on, for the spy was
in the midst of the supplies gathered under the canvas cover. Just as
though his coming might have been discovered, a dark figure made a
sudden spring away from the spot. As the intruder bounded past the
smouldering fire he seemed to bend over and throw something into it.
Instantly a bright illumination took place, dazzling in its effect.
With the crash of the spy's retreating footsteps echoed the loud cries
that arose from the spot where Wallace was keeping guard:
"Fire! fire! turn out here and save your bacon, fellows!" he shouted at
the top of his voice.
Figures came tumbling out of the tents. Every scout had been aroused by
that dreadful summons, which might mean the wind-up of their jolly
expedition before it had been started.
Of all the disasters that in a camp must be viewed with anxiety, a fire
ranks next to a sudden hurricane. Paul had spoken about these things so
much that every fellow realized the seriousness of the case, even though
he might be a tenderfoot, who had up to now never slept under canvas.
Of course, as is usually the case, many lost their heads in the
excitement. It could hardly have been otherwise, since they were new
hands at the business. They ran back and forth, trembling with eagerness
to do something heroic and grand, yet unable to collect their wits
enough to see what ought to be accomplished first.
Luckily all of them were not built that way. Had it been so there must
have followed a dire disaster that would have put a damper on their
budding hopes.
Paul saw Wallace jumping directly for the sputtering fire that was
running so strangely from point to point, and eating its way toward the
shelter under which all their precious stores had been heaped up.
"Whatever it is, he'll get it!" was the thought that flashed through
Paul's brain at that instant.
Relieved of this fear, he could turn his full attention toward the
escaping spy. Monkey Eggleston must not get clear, if it could possibly
be avoided. He had engaged in some sort of miserable trick, calculated
to harm those who were paying attention to their own private business.
He must be caught and made to confess.
So, with that determination urging him on, Paul sprang in swift pursuit
of the rapidly-disappearing form.
Since the moon had gone down, and darkness prevailed, it was not easy to
see the figure of the runner; but if Paul's eyes failed him his ears did
not. The fugitive was making a tremendous amount of noise as he slammed
through the woods. He collided with trees, stumbled over trailing vines,
and sprawled across more than one half rotten log that chanced to lie in
his path.
Paul did much better. Perhaps he happened to possess eyes that were able
to see in such semi-darkness; then again it might be his absence from
the fire had much to do with his ability to discern obstacles in time to
avoid contact with them.
At any rate he knew one thing, which was, that slowly but surely he was
overtaking the spy sent by the Slavin crowd to create havoc in the camp
of the scouts.
Paul also knew that it was perhaps a very unwise move on his part, this
chasing so madly after Monkey Eggleston. Of course the fellow had
friends not so far away, and the chances were he was even now heading
toward the place where Monkey knew they would be waiting to hear his
report.
Still Paul would not give up. The fact that he was surely overtaking the
other fellow acted as a sort of spur, urging him to continued efforts.
Had the chase seemed hopeless he might have abandoned it after the first
spurt; but now he felt that at any moment he was apt to pounce upon the
object of his pursuit, who was floundering along just ahead.
Suddenly the noise stopped. Either Monkey had been given a jolt in his
last tumble that knocked the breath completely out of his body; or else
he was "playing 'possum" in order to deceive his pursuer.
Paul groped his way forward. The trees became more scattered, and what
seemed to be a small glade dawned upon his sight.
He had carefully noted the spot where the last sound was heard, and as
he strained his eyes now he was able to make out a crouching figure
within ten feet of him.
"Ted?" said a quavering voice, "is that you?"
Evidently Monkey was entertaining a little hope that after all it may
have been his comrade who had chased after him so persistently. Paul did
not reply, but moved swiftly forward. He saw the other make a move as
though about to try and resume his flight; but the young scout leader of
the Red Fox Patrol did not mean to let so fine a chance slip through his
fingers.
He made a quick spring that landed him on the fugitive. With all his
strength Paul threw him back to the ground.
"Got you, Monkey!" he exclaimed, triumphantly; "now you'll come back
with me to our camp, and explain what sort of meanness you were up to,
trying to burn us out!"
The boy underneath seemed to be so badly frightened that he could hardly
find his tongue to say a word. He had shown spirit enough when climbing
through those trees to enter the hostile camp; yet now that he was held
a prisoner his natural cowardice returned. But before Paul could drag
him to his feet there was an unexpected interruption to the little
affair.
"Hey, boys!" called a voice he recognized as belonging to Ted Slavin,
"get a move on you, and surround the wise guy. We've got him in a hole,
and it's twenty-three for yours, Paul Morrison! He aint goin' to crawl
out of this pickle, if we know it. Jump him, fellers!"