RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL
When that wailing cry reached their ears it thrilled the scouts through
and through, for now they knew that the worst must have happened to the
wretched Tony Pollock and his three cronies, adrift in the treacherous
muck bog.
"Forward, but be very careful to keep in my tracks all the time!"
called out the naturalist as he started off.
They wound around this way and that. There were times when Rob, who
came directly on the heels of the pilot, could not see the slightest
trace of a trail; but he realized that from long association and
investigation Mr. Henderson knew exactly where to set his feet, and
thus avoid unpleasant consequences.
They now and then sent out reassuring calls, for those unseen parties
ahead continued to make fervent appeals, as though a terrible fear
assailed them that the rescuers might go astray and miss them.
By degrees the shouts sounded closer, though becoming exceedingly
hoarse. Presently Felix called out that he believed he had glimpsed the
unfortunate boys.
"Oh! they're all in the mud, and up to their waists at that!" he cried.
"No, you're wrong there, Felix," said Josh. "Three of them seem to be
stuck fast, but there's one up in that tree nearly over them. He must
have managed to pull himself up there, somehow or other."
"He's got a branch, and is trying to help one of his mates," asserted
Rob. "But he doesn't seem to be making much headway."
"They're in a peck of trouble, believe me!" admitted George, for once
neglecting to sneer at the prospect of a fatality.
Carl was trying to make out who the three in the bog were.
"Can you see if _he's_ in there, Tom?" he asked, eagerly.
"Yes, it's Wedge McGuffey up in the tree, and the others must be Tony,
Asa and Dock," the patrol leader assured him; nor did he blame poor
Carl for sighing as though in relief, for he could easily guess what it
meant to him, this golden opportunity to be of help to the stubborn boy
who could lift the load from his heart, if only he chose.
When they came closer to the struggling captives in the lake of mud
they heard them actually sobbing for joy. Hope must have been almost
gone when first they heard that chorus of cheering shouts. And when the
scouts saw what a desperate condition the three prisoners were in they
could not blame them for showing such emotion in the excess of their
joy.
Soon the newcomers were as close as they could come to the three who
were stuck there in the mire. Never would they forget their deplorable
appearance. They had evidently floundered about until they were fairly
plastered over with the mud, and looked like imps.
"Can't you get us out of here, fellers?" called Tony Pollock, in a
voice that seemed almost cracked, such was his excitement, and his
fears that these scouts, whom he had done his best to injure, might
think to pay him back in his own coin and abandon him to his fate.
"Yes, we'll manage it some way or other," said the hermit-naturalist.
"Keep as still as you can, because every movement only sends you down
deeper."
Then he turned to Tom, for he knew the patrol leader was the one to
take charge of the rescue party.
"Here's the rope, Tom," he told him. "Pick out several of the stoutest
of your comrades, and make use of the tree as a lever. It's all very
simple, you can see, thought it may hurt them more or less when you
pull."
Tom understood what was expected of him.
"Come along with me, Carl, Rob and Josh," he said. "The rest of you
stand by and be ready to pull if we need any more help. We'll pass the
end of the rope back to you."
"But how are we going to climb up in the tree?" asked Rob; "without
getting stuck in the mud ourselves?"
"There's only one way," replied Tom, as he seized hold of a branch that
happened to be within reach, and commenced to climb it as though he
were a sailor swarming up a rope.
When he had effected a lodgment above they threw the rope to him, and
after Tom had made one end fast to the thick limb the other three had
little difficulty in following him.
Then they clambered out to where Wedge McGuffey was perched. His
condition betrayed the fact that he too had been caught in the muck;
but being closer to a friendly branch he must have made a tremendous
effort and climbed into the tree.
First of all Tom made a running noose in the end of the rope. Then he
lowered this to Tony who was almost below the limb of which they were
astride.
"Listen, Tony," said Tom, clearly, "put the loop under your arms, with
the knot at your chest. Then grin and bear it, because we've got to
drag hard to get you free from all that stuff you're in."
"Oh! never mind about me, Tom; I'd stand anything if only I could get
out of this terrible place. Pull me in half if you have to; I'm game!"
said the boy below.
They found that it was really a little harder than they had bargained
for, because of their insecure footing. Accordingly, after several
attempts that did not meet with much success, Tom had the other end of
the rope carried to the scouts who were on the ground.
After that Tony just had to come. He evidently suffered pain, but, as
he had said, he was game, and in the end they hoisted him to the limb,
where he clung watching the next rescue.
It happened that Asa was the second to be pulled out. Meanwhile Dock
was in great distress of mind. All his nerve seemed to have gone, for
he kept pleading with Carl not to think of having revenge because of
the way he had harmed him.
"Only get me out of this, Carl," he kept saying, "and I've got
something right here in my pocket I'm meaning to give back to you. I
was getting shaky about it anyhow; but if you help me now you're
a-goin' to have it, sure you are, Carl!"
It can easily be imagined that Carl worked feverishly when it came
time to get Dock Phillips out. He was deeper than either of the others
had been, and it required some very rough usage before finally they
loosened him from his miry bed.
Dock groaned terribly while the work was being carried on, but they did
not stop for that, knowing it had to be. In the end he, too, was drawn
up to the limb, a most sorry looking spectacle indeed, but his groans
had now changed into exclamations of gratitude.
It required much labor to get the four mud-daubed figures down to where
the others were awaiting them. Even Tom and his helpers were pretty
well plastered by that time, and their new uniforms looked anything but
fine. Josh grumbled a little, but as for Tom and Carl they felt that it
was worth all it cost and a great deal more.
Carl would not wait any longer than he could help. Perhaps he believed
in "striking while the iron was hot." Tom too was egging him on, for he
felt that the sooner that precious paper was in the possession of his
chum the better.
"Dock, I hope you mean to keep your word to me," Carl said, as they
took up the line of march over the ground that had been so lately
covered.
Dock was seen to be fumbling as though reaching into an inner pocket;
and while the suspense lasted of course Carl held his very breath.
Then a hand reached back, and something in it was eagerly seized by
the widow's son. One look told him that it was the paper his mother
needed so much in order to balk the greedy designs of Amasa Culpepper.
"How is everything now, Carl?" asked a voice in his ear, and turning he
found Tom's smiling face close to his own.
"Oh! that terrible load seems to have fallen from my shoulders just as
water does from the back of a duck!" Carl exclaimed, joyously, and the
patrol leader saw that he was very happy.
"I'm so glad!" was all Tom said, but the way he grasped his chum's hand
counted for much more than mere words.
When they finally reached the end of the treacherous Great Bog there
was a halt called by the naturalist.
"We must stop here and try to clean these boys off as best we can," he
announced.
This was no easy task, but by making use of slivers of wood from a
fallen tree they finally managed to relieve Tony and his crowd of most
of the black mud, although they would be apt to carry patches of it on
their garments for some time after it dried.
"Now," said the kindly old hermit-naturalist, "I'm going to invite all
of you up to my cabin, and we'll have a feast to-night in celebration
of this rescue from the Great Bog. You four lads have had a narrow
escape, and I only hope you'll never forget what the scouts have done
for you."
Even Tony seemed affected, and certainly no one had ever before known
him to show the first sign of contrition. He went straight up to Tom
and looked him in the eye.
"We played your crowd a mighty low trick I want to say, Tom Chesney;
and while we've et up most of the grub we took, here's something you
might be glad to get back again," and with that he thrust into the hand
of the patrol leader the little note-book which Tom had mourned as lost
to him forever.
"I'm glad to have that again, Tony," the other said, offering his hand
to the contrite one; "because I mean to use my account of this hike
later on in trying for a prize. It's lucky you didn't throw it away as
you did the frying-pan and coffee-pot, which I see you failed to carry
along with you."
"We know where they're hid in the brush," Tony hastened to declare;
"and I c'n get 'em again inside of an hour. I'm a-goin' to do it too,
'cause I feel mean about that thing. I'm done with callin' the scouts
names. Fellers that'd reach out a helpin' hand to them that didn't
deserve it must be the right sort. And laugh if you want to, Tom
Chesney, but when we get back home I want ye to lend me a book that
tells all a feller has to do when he thinks of gettin' up a scout
troop!"
Tony was as good as his word. When he said a thing he stuck to it,
which was his best quality. He tramped a long way back along the trail,
and reappeared after sunset bearing the missing cooking utensils.
"We're going to pay for the eatables we took later on, I promise ye,
Tom," he declared.
They spent a great night and those four boys who had hated the scouts
so long learned many wonderful things connected with the great movement
as they sat by the fire, and listened to all that was said.
In the morning they went their way, and appeared to be different youths
from what they had been in the past.
Mr. Witherspoon and the scouts spent another day and night with the
hermit-naturalist. Then on the next morning they started forth to
complete their hike over Big Bear Mountain.
It chanced that no further adventures came their way, and one afternoon
weary but well satisfied with the success of their trip, the troop
re-entered Lenox, with Felix sounding his fish horn just as valiantly
as though it were the most beautiful silver-plated bugle that money
could buy.