INSIDE THE ENEMY'S LINES
Jack and Toby pushed on through the woods. Having been over the course
much of the way before, going and returning, they would find it much
easier than if everything was strange to them.
"No use trying to see our trail, is there, Jack?" the other had remarked
after they were fairly started on their way.
"Well, it would have to be a pretty deep lot of tracks that would not be
washed out in all that downpour of steady rain," Jack advised him. "But
then there are scores of other things by means of which we'll be able to
know we are going over about the same route as before. For instance, you
remember seeing that stone yonder, that seems to be so neatly balanced
on another larger one, just as if human hands had placed it there?"
"Why, of course I do, and we even stopped to look at it closer," replied
Toby. "I called it Saddle Rock, because the top does resemble a saddle a
whole lot. Yes, and I shall be on the lookout for that remarkable
looking tree that made us think of a camel's hump, it was so curved. It
wasn't a great way beyond these same rocks, if I'm not off my bearings."
"We'll run across it before ten minutes more," commented Jack; and sure
enough that was just what they did.
So, thanks to the habit of observing things all the time, they were
enabled to follow their former course just as unerringly as though they
had been picking up a well-beaten trail.
Of course they talked of many things as they trudged along, for as yet
there was no positive reason which made it necessary for them to keep
quiet. That would come later on, when they drew nearer the danger zone.
As often happened Toby's thoughts ran back in a groove and centred about
the home country. It was only natural that this should be so; for no
sooner are boys off on a vacation trip before home, which may have
seemed very monotonous before, with its school duties, and the many
restrictions on their liberty, begins to assume a highly magnified place
in their concern. As the old saying has it, "you never miss the water
till the well runs dry," and boys become so accustomed to accepting the
comforts of home that they fail to appreciate them until all of a sudden
they find themselves cast upon their own resources, and face to face
with responsibilities they may never have dreamed of before.
From time to time the faces of all his Chester comrades had a fashion of
rising up before Toby, and he could even imagine himself talking with
them, perhaps relating some of the lively happenings of that two weeks
in the woods up in the wonderful Pontico Hills country.
"I got to thinking yesterday afternoon, while dozing there in the tent,"
Toby remarked at one time, "and wondering just what sort of an eleven
Chester could put in the field this Fall. Some of us have had a little
practice at football work, but other promising players would have to
begin right at the start, and learn all there is to the game."
"That can be done easily enough," Jack informed him. "Fact is, it's a
more simple thing to start right in the beginning, than to have to undo
some false notions, for let a fellow once get into a certain habit, and
it's hard to break him of it."
"One thing we can count ourselves lucky over, Jack; that's having such a
good coach as old Joe Hooker. He used to be a crackerjack football
player in his day; and it was a good deal owing to his work with the
nine that Chester won through with Harmony in baseball."
"We all give old Joe most of the credit," Jack told him, bluntly; "and
he's promised to whip the eleven into a smoothly running team before the
season begins. Inside of two months, or soon after school opens again,
there'll be pretty lively doings in Chester, with the squad out for
drill nearly every afternoon. All of us have got to get as hard as
nails, so we can stand every kind of thumping without weakening."
"Have you made out any sort of list so far, Jack, as to who's going to
get a chance for the big eleven?"
"I have a list of all available candidates, if that's what you mean,
Toby; but no selection can possibly be made until they've all had a
chance to show what's in them. Some who don't seem to promise a great
deal in the start will surprise everybody before they've been at work a
week. On the other hand there will be bitter disappointments in the
bunch, and fellows on whom I've depended may fail to come up to the
scratch and qualify."
"Well, I certainly hope I'm not one of that lot," said Toby, between his
set teeth, since his heart had long been yearning for a chance to shine
on the gridiron as a particular star, to hear the roar of plaudits from
the vast crowd assembled, when fortune allowed him to make some
sensational play that would advance his side closer to final victory.
"Nobody can tell until the test comes, what they will be able to do,
Toby. For my part I shall be bitterly sorry if both you and Steve do not
make the team. And then there's Big Bob Jeffries, who ought to be a
magnificent full-back; while long-legged Joel Jackman, and Fred Badger
should shine as right and left tackle. Besides, I'd surely love to see
Phil Parker, Herbert Jones and Hugh McGuffey pull through, because
they're all good fellows, and with the right sort of grit to do well in
football."
"I know I'm going to be on needles and pins up to the time the final
selection is made," affirmed Toby. "And you'd better believe I want to
go in, if at all, on my honest individual merits. No favoritism can ever
be tolerated in football, where a single weak link in the chain spells
ultimate defeat for the team, no matter how strong the other ten men may
be. The opposing players can quickly learn where the soft snap lies, and
after that will devote all their efforts to tearing a hole through the
ranks just there where the line will give way soonest."
"Game words for you to speak, Toby," commented Jack, full of
satisfaction over the thought of having such an honest chum, whose every
interest was for the glory of his team, rather than a desire to make an
individual reputation, regardless of the general good.
Later on they found themselves at a well-remembered spot. The morning
was fairly well advanced by that time. Toby was looking around him
eagerly.
"Say, wasn't it right about here we were held up by that onery cat the
other afternoon, Jack?" he asked, with a trace of excitement in his
voice.
"There's the tree right over in front of us, in which she was located
when we first heard her angry snarls and spitting," his companion told
him. "But that's no sign at all the beast is anywhere near here now. For
all we know she may be ten or a dozen miles away."
"I hope so, anyhow," honest Toby hastily remarked; but he still
continued to cast nervous glances to the right and to the left as they
pushed slowly forward, keeping to the open line of the little ridge.
Several times something gave him a start. Now it was a rabbit that,
without warning, leaped from a clump of grass, and darted away with long
bounds. Then a bird flew up from a bush, and the sound of its wings made
Toby unconsciously remember the singular spitting noise which the
mottled cat with the ears that lay back on her head gave utterance to,
as she warned them to advance no further on penalty of being clawed.
But they were not attacked. The neighborhood just then seemed singularly
free from malignant four-footed enemies armed with sharp teeth and
nails. A dun-colored object just vanishing in a sink some little
distance away Toby identified as an extra large fox that had been
aroused from his noonday nap by the rustle of footsteps amidst the
foliage, or the murmur of their lowered voices. No one made any attempt
to interfere with the retreat of Reynard; indeed, they carried no weapon
that could have halted his flight, even though inclined that way, which
was far from being the case.
Remembering that when stopped on the previous occasion they had had
reason to believe they must be within a mile or so of the region from
whence those singular blasting noises proceeded, the two scouts from
that time on slowed down their pace and maintained a more vigilant watch
than ever, particularly keeping an eye ahead for any sign of enemies.
It was Toby, it chanced, who made a discovery.
"Stand still, Jack, and look through this vista ahead of us. Isn't that
a man I can see standing there, with a gun in his hand?"
"Just what it is, Toby, and from his actions I'd say he is some sort of
sentry or vidette, who is busy watching the open trail we've been
following for so long, as it seems to be a sort of woods thoroughfare,
possibly running to the bank of the river somewhere."
"That looks suspicious, doesn't it, Jack?"
"It looks as if they're up to some business that they do not want to be
discovered at," came the low reply. "I suppose that Mr. Dangerfield,
learning of our presence in the woods, and that we're all from Chester,
is afraid that we may take a notion to wander over this way; and he has
that guard stationed there to warn us back. Perhaps he'd tell some sort
of stiff story about Uncle Sam conducting an experimental proving
station with aerial torpedoes, or something like that, up here; and that
no one is allowed to set a foot on the ground under a severe penalty.
But we'll take care to give that guard a wide berth."
"You must mean we'll navigate around him, make a wide circle, so to
speak, eh, Jack?" asked Toby, thrilled with the prospect of soon finding
himself within the lines of the enemy.
"Yes, and right here is where we must begin the operation," Jack
announced. "We can take his bearings, and cut around on the right, where
the cover seems to be exceptionally good and heavy. No hurry about it
either, remember, Toby. We must make sure of our ground as we go. Given
half an hour, and we ought to have left the vidette handsomely in the
lurch."
It was very exciting, so Toby thought. Secretly he deplored the fact
that their only gun had to be left in camp with Steve. He would have
felt better could he but know they had some means of defense with them.
However, Jack evidently did not intend allowing anything to arise
necessitating such action. He expected to be able to carry out his
little spying expedition without betraying the fact of their presence to
any of the enemy.
Once they had circled around and come upon the open stretch again they
kept stealing forward. When once more they heard the deep-toned bark of
that dog, Jack stopped in his tracks.
"We must change our course again, Toby," he announced, briefly; "the
wind is striking us on the right cheek, when it should be dead ahead; or
that beast will soon be getting our scent. So let's strike off here, and
make another half circuit; when we can push ahead, and reach our goal
unchallenged."