TRACKING
Anyway, you can bet I didn’t stay there long, because I wanted to find
out if Wig’s signal had been received. Maybe you won’t understand, but
down the river it seemed all right and I was sure somebody must have
caught it. But after we landed and I started up home, it seemed as if it
was just kind of playing, after all, because that’s the way some people
think about the scouts, so I hurried as fast as I could so that my
mother and father wouldn’t be worrying. I felt awfully funny, kind of,
as I went up the lawn because I knew that if no one had come and told
them about the signal, they’d think I was dead.
They were sitting on the porch waiting for me and I knew from the way my
mother put her arms around me that they had been worrying. She asked we
what had kept me so late and my father said that I ought to send them
some word when I was going to stay out as late as midnight. I have to
admit he was right, too.
But anyway, I knew that they hadn’t received any word about me from
anybody, and I was all up in the air about that. I could see that Jake
Holden hadn’t been there at all and that nobody had come and told them
about the signal, either. I didn’t exactly ask them, but I could tell it
all the same. So I told them all about everything that happened, about
how I got caught in the marsh and all that, and especially about Wig
being such a hero. Then she cried a little, kind of, and I said there
was no use crying because I was home all right. But anyway, she cried
just the same, and hugged me awful tight just as if everything hadn’t
ended all right. That’s a funny thing about mothers.
So then I went to bed and I lay awake thinking about everything that
happened. What I thought about most was why Jake Holden hadn’t come and
told my mother and father like I heard him say he was going to do. You
remember how I heard him say that. So that was a mystery—that’s what
Pee-wee would call it. And I was wondering why he hadn’t come to the
house to give them that note he had found. Because I knew Jake Holden
(he always called me “Scouty”) and he liked me, too, and I knew he would
sure have come to the house if something hadn’t happened.
Now that I was all calmed down, as you might say, I wasn’t surprised any
more about no one reading the signal, because maybe it didn’t show very
plain in Bridgeboro and anyway, most grown people seem to think that
signalling and all that kind of thing are lots of fun for scouts, but
not much use except when grown people, and especially the navy, do it.
Anyway, I should worry about grown people, because we have plenty of
fun.
Oh, boy, didn’t I sleep that night! When I got up I made up my mind that
I’d go to Jake Holden’s shanty, just for the fun of it, and find out why
he didn’t come and tell my family that I was dead. Because, if I was
dead, he sure ought to have come and told them. Of course, I knew I
_wasn’t_ dead, but anyway, how did he know that?
After breakfast I did my good turn—I turned my sister Ruth’s bed around
for her so as it faced the bay window. I was going to turn it twice and
call it two good turns, but she said that wouldn’t be fair—that that
wouldn’t be two good turns. I said it would be just as fair as Pee-wee
turning the ice-cream freezer till the cream was all frozen and then
saying he did a hundred good turns. Then she threw a tennis ball at me,
but it missed me. That’s one thing about girls, they can’t throw a ball.
They can’t whistle, either.
Now comes another adventure. After breakfast I went to Marshtown (that’s
a few houses down near the river) to Jake Holden’s shanty. It’s a funny
kind of a place made out of barrel staves and part of a boat all jumbled
up together, and it looks kind of like a chicken coop. He lives all
alone and kind of camps out. He’s a nice man, you can bet, only you have
to get on the right side of him. If you don’t get on the right side of
him the safest place is behind him. He catches fish and crabs and goes
around town selling them. He taught me how to cook.
When I got to his shanty I saw it was locked up and he wasn’t anywhere
around. I guess he went down the bay crabbing. Anyway, I ran as fast as
I could to Marshtown landing to see if he had gone yet, but there wasn’t
any sign of his boat there. Maybe you think I wasn’t disappointed.
Anyway, I began looking around like a scout is supposed to do, to see if
there were any signs to show me whether he’d be back soon, because maybe
he only went up to the Club landing for gasoline. But there weren’t any
signs and he didn’t show up.
Now, if I hadn’t been a scout I would have gone home and played tennis
or followed the shore up to the Club landing and waited for the troop to
come and go to work on the houseboat. But instead of that, I kept
looking around and pretty soon what do you think I saw? I saw a
footprint. Some Robinson Crusoe, hey?
It was a funny kind of a footprint. It wasn’t Jake’s, I knew that,
because he always wore fisherman’s boots. It was in the soft earth near
the landing and I could see it plain. I guess maybe it was made by a
good shoe, because it was pointed, but it was all worn out, that was one
sure thing, because there was a place that was made by a stocking or a
bare foot, where there wasn’t any sole at all.
Maybe you don’t know much about deduction, but that’s one thing scouts
learn about, and I tried to make out what it meant, but it had me
guessing. Because the shoe was pointed and had the remains of a rubber
heel—I could tell that by the big screw holes. And that meant good
shoes. And I thought it was funny anybody who could wear good shoes
would let them wear out like that.
Anyway, it was none of my business, only there was one mighty funny
thing about that footprint. There was an Indian’s head stamped right in
the mud. It wasn’t very plain, but I could see it was an Indian’s head
all right. It was something like the Indian’s head on a cent.
Oh, boy, I was all up in the air then, because I didn’t understand how
that could be there. Maybe you’ll say that it was stamped there to show
what make of shoes they were, but that’s where you’re wrong, because
most of the sole was all worn away and the mark would be worn away, too.
Somebody must have cut it there lately, that was one sure thing, and I
couldn’t understand why anybody would want to cut that on an old
worn-out shoe.
So I sat down on the edge of the float to think about it and then I saw
two or three more just like it, and even more, too, only not all of them
were so plain. Believe me, I didn’t know what to think. Then all of a
sudden I happened to remember that the Indian’s head is the design of
the scout pathfinder badge.
_Jiminety_, but didn’t I get down on my knees and study those some more.
Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with the scouts, but maybe it did.
And even if it did I couldn’t make out what it meant, because that shoe
was no scout shoe. I know a scout shoe when I see one, you can bet.
Anyway, I made up my mind I was going to follow that track as far as I
could. Maybe it would peter out on a street or something and then—good
night!
You’ll see what happened in the next chapter. Oh, boy, it’s going to be
a _peacherino_!