GETTING ACQUAINTED
Most of the boys around the camp fire sat as if petrified for a few
moments. Some of them clutched at their scalp locks, as if to make sure
of their continued existence.
The first scout to show real signs of recovery was a thin, lanky,
freckled-faced hero of unheroic appearance, who spoke in a jerky fashion
peculiarly his own.
"Help!" he cried. "Help! Mother! Why'd my pa let me come to this wild
place? Injuns! Robbers! Help!"
"Oh, shut up, Chick-chick," cried a small boy. "You'll have 'em coming
back."
A contemptuous laugh came from a big, handsome boy who sat in the middle
of the circle--big and handsome, yet with a supercilious look.
"Never mind, kid," he assured the little fellow. "You are safe enough
here. Chick-chick can't help having hysterics, but you're safe while I'm
here."
"Sure, you're safe," echoed Chick-chick. "Ev'body's safe. Matty will
protect you. Matty protects whole camp. Go after heap big Injun, Matty.
Jes' disappeared northwest by south."
"That's enough from you, Chick-chick," retorted the handsome scout, Matt
Burton, who did not bear chaffing cheerfully. "I could go after that
Indian if I cared to. And get him, too."
"Why should anyone want to go after him," interrupted Apple Newton.
"He's done nothing but suddenly appear and give some information that
may be valuable."
"He just came up from nowhere," said a scout. "I don't believe he's a
real Indian at all--just a spirit."
"He was right close to me," declared Chick-chick. "I smelled the
spirits."
"Maybe he is a phantom Indian. I've heard of such things," said Apple
Newton, ignoring Chick-chick's absurd remark. "I think it would be fine
to have a phantom come purposely to get us started on the right track
for the treasure hunt. 'Hunt heap stone' was what he said. We shall have
to look for peculiar formations of stone."
"Maybe we'll find one that has a letter under it telling where to dig,"
eagerly suggested one of the younger ones.
"Likely thing," said another. "How long would a letter stand the
weather? There'll be marks cut in the stone if there's anything."
"Much you fellows know about Indian ways," boasted Matt Burton. "What
did those Indians know about our language. Indians talk by signs and
numbers. It will take a smart fellow to tell what it means when you find
your heap stone."
"Don't worry, fellows. When you find it hike back an' ask Matty. He'll
tell you."
Matty was saved from delivering his angry response, for just then "taps"
sounded. The scout master demanded prompt attention to all camp signals.
It was understood that after taps there was to be no noise, no
unnecessary conversation. All was to be quiet and orderly.
Mr. Newton would not hear of Glen pushing Jolly Bill back to the farm
house.
"We have an empty tent with two cots and bedding too--left here by
members who were called home. You turn right in with us. We are glad to
have you--both of you. I think we'll make Glen a scout."
This invitation suited both of them splendidly. Spencer was pleased,
and, as for Glen, he had never experienced anything so gratifying in
his life. He was so excited that he could not sleep for some time, but
lay on his comfortable cot thinking of the many happenings of the last
few eventful days, and especially of the exciting story of the camp
fire, and the dramatic appearance of the Indian. He was glad that he was
here to help his good friend, Jolly Bill, but he felt that it would be
much more glorious to help him by finding bars of bright, glistening
bullion, than by looking for a lost lake.
Glen was still dreaming of Indians when the bugle call aroused him, and
he awakened to the glorious activities of a summer morning in a scout
camp. Two scouts were in the tent almost before he had hopped out of his
blankets and into his clothes.
"We came to help our friend, Mr. Spencer," explained Apple Newton.
"Want to wind up his machine an' put on some funny story records," added
Chick-chick.
"I can't tell funny stories before breakfast," objected Jolly Bill. "I'm
hungry enough to eat Indian."
"We have eggs for breakfast--fresh laid. We got 'em from the farmer
yesterday."
"You're sure they're fresh?" asked Spencer. "I'm very particular about
my eggs since I camped out a few years ago. One of our fellows wasn't
much good about cooking, but he said he'd get the eggs. He came back
pretty soon with a whole dozen. 'You're sure these are fresh?' I asked
him. 'Dead positive' said he. So I started to break one into my pan, and
about all there was that was still egg was the shell. 'What made you so
positive these eggs were fresh?' I asked that chap after I let him come
to a little. 'I could have sworn to it,' he said. 'I lifted the hen
right off the nest myself and the eggs were warm yet.'"
"Our eggs aren't laid by the dozen," said Apple, "and we know they're
fresh because the farmer said so. Come on now, if you're ready. The
scout master says we're to push your automobile right up to the end of
the table, next to him."
It was a jolly crowd at the table, and no less jolly was the squad
acting that morning as waiters. The scout master believed it good
discipline to teach every scout how to do the humblest duty as well as
how to do the greatest, so each scout took his turn at waiting on table.
Patrol leader Matt Burton was in charge of the waiter squad this
morning. He was the one exception who showed that it did not agree well
with every scout to do these menial tasks. He considered them beneath
his dignity and never would have condescended to them had there been a
way of escape. Since there was not, he had made the best of a bad job,
and as he was very bright and a natural leader he had managed to reach
the rank of Patrol Leader in spite of his disinclination to certain
matters of work.
"Bob said he had a special order for Mr. Spencer, Matt," said Apple,
stepping to his side after he had wheeled the cart up to the table.
"Tell him Mr. Spencer wants his eggs sure fresh and likes 'em soft."
"You can just carry Mr. Spencer's order to Black Bob yourself," said
Matt disgustedly. "I'm no waiter."
"You won't be if the scout master hears you," said Apple, his good
nature exhausted. "You'll be a traveler."
"He surely will," observed Chick-chick. "I'll take care of Mr. Spencer,
Apple. Leave him to me."
"It's more in your line," insinuated Matt. "I guess it's about the same
thing as waiting on your father's customers at his garage."
"An' it's proud I am to do it," retorted Chick-chick. "I do it whenever
they want anything I can handle, from gasoline to a new machine. Lem'me
sell you a new car, Matty. Lem'me sell you one that'll make your blue
blood bubble all over itself. Tell ye 'bout it jest as soon as I get
those eggs."
"We've just bought a new car," said Matt. "And I'd walk before I'd let
my folks buy one of you, anyway."
"I don't believe that fellow likes you," observed Glen, as he went up to
the cook shack with Chick-chick.
"He surely don't disgrace himself by too much show of affection," agreed
Chick-chick. "You musn't think it's because it's me, though. There's
on'y one person Matty really loves. He's real smart, Matty is. You
noticed he spoke so the men couldn't hear him."
Black Bob had Mr. Spencer's eggs all ready.
"These is for the ge'mman as told the stories last night," he announced.
"He sure is quality, if they ain't much to him."
"Give 'em to me, Bob," said Chick-chick. "I'm going to wait on Mr.
Spencer."
"You go away, you Henry Chicken," objected Black Bob. "I know all 'bout
yore tricks. Bear Patrol is waitin' table dis yere mohnin' an' you
ain't no Bear Patrol."
"Well, here's Goosey," exclaimed Chick-chick, grabbing the shoulder of a
small scout who had just appeared. "Goosey is in Bear Patrol, and he's a
friend of mine, ain't you, Goosey?"
"I surely am," declared the small scout. "Anything I can do for
Chick-chick I do."
"Hustle these eggs down to Mr. Spencer, Goosey, an' make it your
business to wait on him. Bob won't give me a thing."
"Not when you ain't on duty. Oh, I know you, Mr. Henry-chick," Bob
affirmed.
"Bob doesn't seem to trust you," said Glen. "Aren't you friendly?"
"Just best friends ever. Bob hasn't better friend 'n me in camp. I like
Bob 'n I love his cakes an' pies. 'Tain't my fault if he doesn't always
seem to reciprocate, is it, Bob?"
"What dat 'bout recipe fo cake? Nev' you min', Mister Henry-chick. I
knows you, I do."
Bob shook a fist as he spoke, but the chuckle in his voice and the laugh
in his eye were more apparent than the threat in his fist.
"Well, let's go back an' get ours while they're hot," said Chick-chick.
"Goosey'll wait on Mr. Spencer. Good boy, Goosey. Goin' do something
good for Goosey some day."
He led Glen back to the long table of smooth boards laid on trestles
which stood on the grassy level. The scouts were helping themselves from
great bowls filled with eggs cooked in the shell, or from large platters
on which eggs fried or poached were served, according to their
preference. Bob was a good cook and gave them their choice. Glen, with
an appetite that cared little for the fine points of preference, chose
impartially from every dish that reached him. An occasional glance
showed that the small scout known as Goosey was giving good attention to
Jolly Bill, and not only he but Apple Newton and other scouts were
endeavoring eagerly to anticipate his wants.
Glen was mentally putting the fellows in their proper places on the
shelves of his esteem. Apple Newton and the boy called Chick-chick he
warmed to most particularly, and they were given prominent places. He
liked young Goosey, as well as several other of the younger boys whose
names he had not learned. There was a big fellow called Tom Scoresby
that he believed that he would get along with pretty well. Just one
scout he found no room for anywhere. That was Matt Burton. He hated
him, he was quite sure. His unruly young heart only had one desire for
Matt. He wanted just one good chance to measure strength with him and
plant his hard, clenched fist right where that smile of insolence curled
the handsome lips.
Quite engrossed in his thoughts Glen did not notice that the boys around
him had risen from the long bench on which they sat. Suddenly he heard
Matt Burton's voice behind him.
"Get up," he said. "Can't you see that we want these places for the
waiters."
Glen slowly and deliberately turned around in his seat and looked at his
questioner.
"Who are you?" he asked, and his voice was so aggressive that every
scout in hearing distance turned to see what was up.
"You'll find out who I am," replied Matt angrily. "Get up when I tell
you."
"I don't have to get up when you tell me, nor lie down when you tell me,
nor do anything when you tell me. Did you get that? What now?"
Matt was getting very angry but he did not entirely forget his position.
"If I call my patrol you'll get up mighty quick," he said. "I'd like to
know who let you come here, anyway."
"Never mind about your patrol and don't fuss about who let me come here.
You come and make me get up, all by yourself."
Matt looked at the brown skin and the strong tough features of the
obstinate boy a long minute, as if making up his mind.
"Oh, well," he said, "I suppose if you're a guest you must do as you
please."
"Since you're so nice about it," said Glen, "the seat's yours. Do what
you want with it."
Glen knew in his heart that there would be a clash with Matt Burton if
he stayed long in that camp. He felt also that he had not come out of
this first brush with entire distinction. Matt had been in the wrong and
had shown that he was angry, yet he had a certain discipline which had
enabled him to control his temper, and the issue had ended in defeat for
the undisciplined waif who might well have been victorious had they come
to blows.