BOY SCOUT DETECTIVES
On one of the fine courts back of the big summer hotel at Oakvale an
exciting game of tennis was drawing to a close. The players were
two patrol leaders of a troop of Boy Scouts who were awaiting the
arrival of "Chief" Denmead, their Scout Master, before going over
to Pioneer Lake for the opening of camp. Walter Osborne, of the
Hawk patrol, and Donald Miller, leader of the Foxes were very
evenly matched. The latter was conceded to play the steadiest,
surest all-around game, though Walter frequently surpassed him
in single shots or astonishing rallies.
That the set had been a hotly contested one was shown by the score
in games being 9 to 8 in favor of Miller. If he could make the next
game, the set would be his, and with it the championship of the
troop. He was counting on the fact that Walter was apt to go to
pieces at a critical moment; this helped to keep the playing
fairly even.
Perched on a barrel, overlooking the court, George Rawson, the
Assistant Scout Master, was scoring; while several other scouts had
various points of vantage and were watching the game with eager
interest.
In the middle of a rally, Don hit the ball a low, smashing stroke,
intending to place it in the far corner of the court. Instead, it
grazed the net and dropped dead on the serving line, before
Walter could return it.
"Vantage out!" called Rawson.
Walter laughed a trifle "sore-ly" as he returned the balls for his
opponent's next serve. He hated to lose, but he was a lad who
could take defeat gracefully if he had to, and this last play only
served to put him on his mettle.
Don's first ball was a cut, but Walter returned it easily, and a
new rally commenced. The captain of the Foxes played a net game,
trusting to his height and reach to stop every ball that came over,
while Walter preferred to, stand well back on the court where he
could place them better.
Back and forth flew the ball with such swiftness that Rawson had all
he could do to keep track of it. All at once, Walter lunged forward
to return a particularly difficult shot which Don had placed close
to the net. Biff! he just caught it and gave it a swift cut which
sent it whizzing past Don's extended racket to the base line, where
it raised a little spurt of dust.
Amid a murmur of applause from the young spectators, Rawson decided
in an instant.
"Out!" he called. "Game and set."
Before the cheers had died away, Walter walked up to the net and
shook hands with the victor.
"If you play like that when you're rusty, as you said you were, Don,"
he said pluckily, "I'd hate to be up against you when you're in
practice!"
"Oh, no, you wouldn't, old scout!" was Don's hearty response. "Why,
I remember times when you put it all over me! I'm afraid of that
famous serve of yours still!"
"Whoop-ee!" yelled Cooper Fennimore, a scout in Don's patrol,
springing up and waving his cap around his head. "That's some
playing, I tell you! For a chap that hasn't had a racket in his
paw for three months, that's going some!"
"Talk about speed!" put in another Fox. "Gee! I'm glad I wasn't
in Walter's place!"
The boy to whom these remarks were addressed, Blake Merton, a Hawk
and one of young Osborne's staunchest friends, flushed.
"If you had been in Walter's place, you would have lasted about two
minutes!" he retorted. His naturally quick temper---usually kept
in control---often flared up and led him to say things which he
afterward regretted.
"Huh!" exclaimed the Fox, scornfully. "You seem to think Walter
Osborne can win all the time! Don did start in rusty, but he soon
warmed up---just a little!"
"Let's play a set, Coop, you and I," suggested Blake Merton, turning
his back upon Don's elated follower. "Do you feel like it?"
"Sure thing, Blake! But I guess you won't have any trouble in
putting me down and out."
"Cut out the modesty!" laughed Blake. "It was all I could do to
beat you yesterday, and you know it."
So another court was soon occupied, with Dick Bellamy scoring. Dick
belonged to the Otter patrol, and as Alec Sands, who formerly
captained the Otters, was not going to be in camp that summer,
Dick was Tom Sherwood's only rival for the leadership. Already the
Otters had held informal discussions of Dick's and Tom's
qualifications, but it was still uncertain which of the two would
be elected. Each was popular and had a good record in woodcraft,
athletics, and scout games. Another question was: Who would be chosen
for leader of the Wolf patrol, in the absence of Hugh Hardin and his
chum, Billy Worth, that summer?
"Rough or smooth?" called Blake, tossing his racket in the air.
"Rough," answered Cooper.
"Smooth it is," the other declared, with a grin. "I'll take serve."
Blake had a peculiar and difficult cut on which he prided himself in
serving. It was seldom that anyone could touch it until after he
had played with Blake for some time, and Cooper was no exception to
the rule.
"Fifteen love," announced Dick from the barrel.
They crossed the court, and Blake tried the cut once more. This
time Cooper was ready for it and sent it back with a swift underhand
drive, and a rally began right at the start. The game promised to
be a good one and it drew many interested watchers, though most of
the boys had followed Rawson and the two patrol leaders over to
the hotel.
Cooper won the first game, and the second was in progress, when the
attention of some of their companions was drawn to a horse and
buggy driven by two boys, appearing on the brow of the hill and
coming along the road which skirted the tennis courts. The occupants
of the buggy were Tom Sherwood and Art Cameron, and as they drew
near they were hailed with shouts of delight.
"Oh, you farmer!"
"Hayseed, where've you been planted?"
"Welcome to our city!"
"Come over here and get next to this game."
They did so, after tying Keno to a post and giving him his noonday
rations which they had brought with them from the farm. The story
of the championship match that had just been played was related to
them in full detail; they in turn stated the errand on which they
had come.
"You know we've been staying at Ralph Kenyon's farm, having a
great time," Tom, explained. "Well, last night, after Art and
I had gone to bed, some mean cuss, a thief, got into the house,
attacked Ralph---who's one of the best fellows on earth, boys---and
stole some money Ralph had been saving. In the tussle we managed
to grab a piece of his coat and his tie, and we've come over to
put them in the hands of the Oakvale constable, to see if he can
identify them."
"Good for you, Tom! Tell us about the fight!"
"Oh, it wasn't much of a fight," Tom evaded. "But first I want
to know how many of you fellows would like to make up some surveying
parties---four in each crew---and offer your services to the B.N.
and C. Railroad to help survey Ralph's land. We can do it, you
know, as assistants to the railroad's regular surveyors, and perhaps
we can show them that it would be better to buy part of Ralph's
property for their loop line than to buy any of his neighbor's, old
Silas Perkins. And, if we can do this, why, it'll be the greatest
thing ever for Ralph, because he's a good sort, and he wants to go
to college, and he'll-----"
Tom paused for breath. Enthusiasm for his friend and interest in
Ralph's ambition to get an education had carried him beyond the
limit of his usual brief remarks. Such a long speech was a surprise
to himself as well as to his auditors. They listened attentively,
and not a few among them caught the spirit of the plan.
"D'you think the Chief'll let us do it?" asked one. "You know,
we're due in camp by the first of next week."
"Oh, I think he will. You know he has already promised to give us
a course in geology this summer, and a lesson in surveying this
section. Then he's always willing to give us a chance to put what
we've learned into practical use."
"We'll ask him when he gets here at two o'clock."
So the matter remained open; and Blake and Cooper, who had stopped
playing, resumed their interrupted game. The others watched them,
forgetting more serious affairs.---All but Tom, who felt restive
and impatient to enlist the services of the constable, and to
carry out his other idea. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it
was after half-past one. In about half an hour the train would
arrive, bringing the Chief and perhaps a few more scouts. He
decided to stroll over to the station and meet them and submit
his plan for Denmead's approval.
With Tom Sherwood to think was to act. He left his friends at the
hotel, and telling Rawson where he was going, set out in the
direction of the station. His way took him first along Main Street
and thence down one of the narrower side streets or lanes which
branched off on each side.
Oakvale was scarcely more than a large village, but it boasted
many shops, two drugstores, a public school, a post office, and
four saloons. As Tom passed one of these haunts he saw a group
of men standing on the corner. They were gathered around a
rough-looking specimen of humanity who stood with one leg thrown
across the top of a low hydrant haranguing his boon companions.
"An' Perkins says ter me, 'Now, jist yeou hold yer hosses an' keep
yer shirt on, Bill,' says he. 'We don't want no foolin' with thet
kid.' Waal, I didn't like ther way he spoke, and so I got kind-er
huffy, and he says, 'Here! take yer pay, and git aout! Beat it!'
And here I am!"
"Fired again, eh, Bill?" said one of the loungers.
There was a loud guffaw, and another man dealt Bill a resounding
slap on the back. Whereupon the sidewalk meeting adjourned. As
they passed between the swinging doors of the saloon, Tom touched
the last man on the arm.
"Can you tell me where the constable's office is, sir?" he inquired
politely.
"I'm Constable Thompson," replied the man, displaying his badge, for
he realized that a Boy Scout would require some proof of the
statement. "What d'you want, sonny?"
Very briefly and to the point, Tom stated his case against the
unknown thief who had broken into Ralph's farmhouse during the
previous night. Then he showed Thompson the clews. The constable
examined them carefully, and seemed to recognize them. While he
was doing so, the man called Bill appeared in the doorway and
beckoned for him to come inside.
"Ain't you off'n the water wagon, Thomp?" he asked, with a repulsive
chortle. "Come on! What's the mat------?" He broke off abruptly
as his eyes fell upon the torn remnants in the constable's hands.
"What---what you got there?" he mumbled, turning pale. "Got a
bargain in-----?"
"No," replied Thompson curtly. "Straight goods, Bill Terrill. And
it won't be a bargain for---a burglar, unless I'm mistaken. So long!
I've got to hustle or I may miss my guess and my man."
So saying, he nodded to Tom to follow him and strode away, leaving
Bill Terrill on the threshold of discovery.