"BIG INJUN---HEAP BIG NOISE"
"Say, we don't want to just go on walking. There's no fun in
that," objected Spoff Henderson.
"We're out for rest more than for fun," Dick replied. "The walk
and the rest this afternoon are all by way of preparing for the
big game to-morrow afternoon."
"But wouldn't there be more rest about it if we had a little fun?"
Spoff insisted.
"Perhaps," Dick nodded. "What's your idea of fun?"
"Why not play 'Indians and Whites'?" put in Toby Ross eagerly.
"That would be just the sort of game for to-day," Dave approved.
"That's what I say," nodded Tom.
"Dick, you're used to these woods," Spoff went on. "You be the
big Injun---the big chief. Choose two more of the fellows to
be Injuns with you, and the rest will be whites."
"All right," nodded Dick. "Dave and Tom can go with me. Who'll
be your captain?"
"Greg!" cried Spoff.
"Holmesy," said Ross in the same breath.
So Greg Holmes was chosen captain, to command the whites.
"Give us the full six minutes, Greg, won't you?" Dick called,
as he and his two fellow "Injuns" prepared to enter the deep woods.
"Of course I will," Greg nodded. "You don't think I'd cheat,
do you?"
Those of the boys who were proud owners of watches hurriedly consulted
their timepieces. Greg retained his in his hand.
"Now," called Dick, and away he started, followed by Braves Darrin
and Reade.
As the Gridley boys had their own version of "Indians and Whites,"
a description of the game may as well be given here.
The Indians always chose a chief, the whites a captain. Chief
and braves started away at the call of time. Six minutes later,
to the second, the whites started in pursuit. The whites must
keep in one band, as must also the Indians. Yet, in trailing,
the whites could spread out, while the Indians must keep together.
Though the Indians were allowed to double on the trail, they were
not permitted to run. Nothing faster than an ordinary walk was
permitted to them, unless they found themselves sighted by the
whites.
Moreover, owing to the lack of skill on the part of the whites
in following a trail, the Indians were required to walk as usual,
making no special efforts to hide their footprints.
The whites were permitted to pursue at any gait. If they sighted
the Indians, then they were expected to yell by way of warning.
If more than half the Indians were captured before the expiration
of an hour from the first departure of the Indians, then the whites
won. Otherwise the Indians were victors.
Dick walked in advance, Dave and Tom side by side just behind him.
"We must try to think up some way to fool the fellows," muttered
Reade.
"Halt!" warned Dick, when they were barely two minutes away from
the starting point.
Darrin and Reade stopped in their tracks.
"See that low-hanging limb, and the bushes just beyond?" asked
young Prescott.
"Of course," assented Dave.
"We'll go on about a minute further," suggested Dick, who had
kept his watch in hand from the outset. "Then we'll walk backward,
stop here, grab that limb and swing ourselves over past the bushes.
That ought to throw the fellows off the track and get 'em all
mixed up."
"If the whites are spread enough they'll probably be outside those
bushes," remarked Reade. "Then they'll find where the trail changes."
"That's one of the chances that we have to take," smiled Dick.
"Let's see if we can't make it work."
Onward again they went, halting when Prescott gave the word.
Walking backward, they were soon at the oak with the low-hanging
limb.
"I'll try it first," proposed Dick, "and see if it's easy enough.
Don't walk around here and make enough tracks to call the attention
of the whites to the fact that we stopped here."
Dick made a bound, catching the limb fairly. Three or four times
he swung himself back and forth, until he had gained enough momentum.
Then he let go, on the last swing, landing on his feet well behind
the bushes. Dave came next, Tom following. Now the three Indians
hurried on again, Big Injun Dick in the lead as before.
"If we do throw them off, Greg's fighting men will have a hard
job hitting the trail again," chuckled Tom.
"If they don't find our trail, Dick, where are you headed for?"
whispered Dave.
"For the road and home," laughed Dick. "Then, while they're trying
to figure out where we've gone, we fellows will be washing up
for supper."
"I'd like to hear Old Greg grumbling if the 'double' does throw
'em off the trail altogether," grinned Darrin. "Dick, I think
we've more than half a chance to get away."
"We have about four chances out of five of slipping away from
Greg's soldiers," predicted Prescott.
For ten minutes Dick and his two braves plodded on. There were,
as yet, no audible sounds of pursuit.
"We caught 'em, surely enough, that time," chuckled Tom. "Going
to hit for the road now, Dick?"
"We can't reach the road until our hour is up; we're bound to
keep to the woods," Prescott replied. "However, you'll note that
I am taking a course that will gradually lead us to the road."
"Right-o," nodded Reade, after taking a look at their surroundings.
All the members of Dick & Co. had spent so much of their time
in the woods that they knew every foot of the way.
"I wonder where that valiant band of whites is, anyway?" muttered
Dave. "I haven't heard a sound of them."
"You may hear their battle yell any minute," Dick whispered.
"Be careful not to talk loudly enough to give them any clue."
For two or three minutes more Dick led the way. Of a sudden he
halted---right up against a huge surprise. For the boys had suddenly
broken into a little circular clearing, not much more than thirty
feet in diameter. Near the center of this clearing, under a flimsy
shelter he had made of poles and branches, crouched Amos Garwood.
He was at work over a low bench built of a board across two boxes.
So intent was Garwood on what he was doing that he appeared not
to have heard the approach of the boys.
Dick Prescott stood looking on, one hand raised as a signal for
the silence of those behind him. But both Dave and Tom had caught
sight of the stranger at about the same instant.
"If any who know me have hinted that my brain is not strong enough,"
muttered Garwood, whose back was turned to the startled Grammar
School boys, "there is bound to be a great awakening when my wonderful
invention is perfected. Then the world will bow down to me, for
I shall be its master."
"Crazy as a porous plaster!" muttered Tom Reade under his breath.
"It will be a new, a strange sensation," continued Garwood, speaking
just loud enough to be heard by the onlookers. "A great sensation,
too, to be master of the world when, during these present dark
days, I am compelled to run and hide for fear envious scientists
will succeed in capturing me and locking me up."
"I wonder what he thinks he's doing there?" pondered Dick curiously.
"To think that a few grains of this wonderful substance would
pulverize a regiment!" continued Garwood, in an inventor's ecstasy.
"An ounce of this wonderful material enough to blow up an army
corps. A single pound sufficient to bring the nations of the
world to my feet in awed homage. And I can make a hundred pounds
a day of it! Oh, that I could reach other worlds, to make them
feel my mastery!"
"If his stuff is as good as he thinks it is, I certainly hope
he won't shoot off any of it accidentally," thought Prescott,
with an odd little shiver.
"Oh, that I dared trust my secret to one or two others!" murmured
Garwood, as he delved with one hand into one of the boxes that
supported his simple bench. "And now for the great finishing
touch!"
Amos Garwood placed on the board a fairsized wide-mouthed bottle.
From where he stood, Dick could read the label on the bottle---
"Potassium Chlorate---crystals."
"Chlorate of potash?" thought Dick. "That's what Dr. Bentley
gave me once for sore throat."
Dick, however, was soon to get an inkling of a suspicion that
chlorate of potash might be used to serve other purposes.
As the mentally queer inventor reached into the box for that bottle,
the three silent, observing "Injuns" saw that Garwood had on the
crude table before him a glass mortar and pestle, the former of
about two quarts' capacity.
In this mortar lay a quantity of powdered stuff, which Garwood
had evidently been grinding before their arrival. Now he poured
out a heaping handful of the chlorate crystals, dropping them
on top of the mixture in the mortar.
"A few turns---a little more fatigue of the wrist---and I am the
world's master---its owner!" cried Garwood exultantly.
"Ker-choo!" sneezed Tom Reade at the worst possible moment.
Amos Garwood turned like a flash, tottering to his feet.
"Spies! Traitors! Ingrates!" he gasped in hoarse terror.
"Nothing at all like it," Dick replied, with a pleasant smile.
"Mr. Garwood, we boys are playing in these woods. If we've meddled
with your affairs you'll pardon us, and let us pass on, won't you?"
"Didn't you try to find me here?" demanded Garwood, suspicious still.
"I give you my word of honor that we didn't, sir," answered Dick.
"Until a moment ago we hadn't any idea that you were within
fifty miles of this spot. You see, sir, we're playing Indians
and whites. We're the big Injuns, even if we don't look it.
And behind us, somewhere on our trail, is Captain Greg Holmes,
with a company of his brave soldiers, trailing us relentlessly."
"Soldiers?" quivered Amos Garwood, his face going ashen. Then
his face suddenly took on a look of intense exultation. "Soldiers?"
he repeated. "It couldn't be better. It is on soldiers that
my amazing discovery should be proved. But I waste time---and
loss of time may be fatal to all my plans. A few turns, and my
discovery is ready. I can then defy whole armies, if necessary!"
Sweeping the mortar around within reach, so that he could work
and watch the Grammar School boys at the same time, Amos Garwood
began to grind his pestle into the mixture with feverish energy.
Then all of a sudden the very earth shook and rocked. Big Injun
Prescott and his two braves were in the center of the biggest explosion
they had ever heard!