KANGAROO COURT
The day dragged on miserably for Blackie.
He had a feeling that the eyes of his tent-mates were always furtively
upon him; when he would face them suddenly they would look away, but he
could feel their silent condemnation. Gallegher spent the morning hours
at work on the woodpile; Blackie saw him now and then bent over his job,
toiling alone. They had not spoken together since Wally had wakened them
both the night before; they did not speak at dinner or in the tent
during siesta hour afterwards. Blackie felt that the Irish boy was
avoiding the very sight of him.
When Recall sounded after siesta and the boys of Tent Four tumbled out
for the afternoon’s fun, Blackie did not leave his bunk. He found
himself alone with little Nightgown Guppy, who sat on the tent step
busily scooping out a section of birch wood for a bird-house. He worked
along in silence, but finally raised his head curiously and put a
question.
“What’s the matter, Blackie? Are you feeling sick or something?”
“No, I’m not sick, you fool!” growled Blackie, turning over on his
pillow.
“Well, then, why don’t you get out and play baseball with the bunch? The
campers are playing the councilors to-day, and you ought to be in the
game. I never thought you were a guy that would spend all his time doing
bunk-duty.”
“Who cares what you think? Shut up and beat it. I’m sick of hearing you
babies bawling around all the time.”
Guppy worked on for a minute. “What are you sore about, Blackie?” he
asked after some time. “Is it because you’re scared the Chief will know
you were smoking?”
Blackie sat up with a jerk. “How do you know I was smoking?”
“Oh, everybody knows.”
“If Gallegher said anything, I’ll knock his block off!”
“He didn’t have to say anything. We all know you were in on it, and lied
out of it to the Chief.”
The bunk creaked as Blackie jumped up and advanced toward the smaller
boy with doubled fists. “You say I’m a liar? By Jimmy, I’ll fix you for
this!”
“Don’t hit me!” said Guppy, dropping his tools and edging away. “All I
said was——”
“You said enough!” Blackie scowled fiercely, seized the lad’s arm
roughly, and gave it a wrenching twist until Guppy cried out with pain.
“That’ll teach you to keep your mouth shut around me! Now, will you be
calling me a liar any more? Will you? Will you?”
“Ow!” screamed Guppy. “I only said——You let me be, Blackie Thorne, or
you’ll be sorry——”
Blackie gave the arm another vicious turn. “If I hear you ever say again
that I was smoking with Gallegher, I’ll kill you, do you hear?”
“No, you won’t,” said a new voice. Blackie looked up. Facing him were
Ken Haviland, Gil Shelton, and a group of older boys who had approached
unnoticed.
“Get him!” called Gil in a low tone. He and Sunfish jumped and caught
Blackie’s arms.
“Don’t try to struggle, or it’ll be worse for you,” continued Ken. “All
right, Gup—he won’t bother you any more.”
Blackie found himself pinioned on both sides, and a husky guard of four
veteran campers formed about him. They put him, still struggling, on a
locker in the center of the tent. Ken Haviland assumed a seat on top of
an upper bunk, where he could look down upon the prisoner.
“The Kangaroo Court will now convene,” he said solemnly.
“What’s the idea?” protested Blackie. “Gil, I thought you and Sunfish
and Soapy Mullins were friends of mine!”
“Silence before the judge,” warned Gil. “You are now in court. We’ll let
your arms loose if you promise not to run away.”
“But why? If one of the leaders comes along now, you guys will sure look
stupid.”
“All of the leaders are down at the baseball field,” Sunfish assured
him. “Anyway, it’ll be worse for you if any of them hear tell of this.
Now, shut up! The court-martial is beginning.”
Ken Haviland, on his perch above, cleared his throat and began to speak.
“Gentlemen of the Kangaroo Court, you have been called together to try
the case of Blackie Thorne of Tent Four, Camp Lenape. You will see that
justice is done.”
The boys seated themselves about on boxes and bunks. There were eleven
of them, all from different tent-groups, and all boys who had spent at
least one season at Lenape. Ken looked sternly at Blackie.
“Prisoner, you are charged with breaking the camp law against smoking
and deliberately lying about your act when questioned on your honor. Are
you guilty or not guilty?”
“So Gallegher’s been squealing, huh?” exclaimed Blackie. “Well, what of
it? What right have you to treat me like a convict?”
“The right of the Kangaroo Court. You’re a tenderfoot at camp, so I’ll
explain to you what we’re doing here. The Chief and the councilors have
nothing to do with it now. You were asked on your honor if you had
broken a camp rule, and we know that you told a lie. Instead of owning
up and taking your punishment like a man, you broke your word and
sneaked out of it. The Chief accepted your word; that’s all he could do.
But the campers of Lenape have something to say about how a fellow like
you shall be treated. This court represents every boy in camp, and every
boy will stand by our decision. Are you guilty or not?”
Blackie sneered. “And I suppose if I say I am, you and this gang of
yours will run and tattle-tale to the Chief!”
“I said that the Chief has nothing to do with this. And you only hurt
yourself by acting ugly.”
“All right,” said Blackie sullenly. “I did it. What are you going to do
about it?”
“Gentlemen of the court, the prisoner has confessed his guilt. All in
favor of inflicting the usual penalty will rise.”
Every one of the eleven boys rose to his feet. Blackie looked from one
face to another of those who had been his friends, and read there only
reluctant determination. Ken Haviland tore a scrap of paper from a
notebook in his pocket, and scribbled on it with a pencil. Soapy Mullins
yanked Blackie to a standing position.
“Prisoner,” said Ken gravely, “the unanimous decision of the Kangaroo
Court is that you shall be given the Black Spot.” He held out the scrap
of paper, and Blackie took it wonderingly. There was nothing on it save
a rude pencilled black disc in the center. “From this moment you are
branded as a disgrace to Camp Lenape, and not a single camper will speak
so much as a word to you. Court’s adjourned!”
The members of the court departed toward the baseball field, taking
Guppy with them, and the culprit was left alone with the marked piece of
paper still in his hand. He crumpled it with an angry gesture, and
tossed it to the ground.
“Huh! They must think they’ve done something smart! The Black Spot!
Nobody will talk to me—we’ll see about that! And what if they don’t? A
lot I’d care if I never saw any of this bunch of Sunday-school kids
again!”
He caught up a hat and marched down to the ball field, drawn there by a
desire to brazen it out and see if his sentence meant anything. The
boys’ team was at bat, and Lefty Reardon, captain, was coaching off
third base.
“Hey, Lefty!” Blackie hailed him. “How about giving me a game?”
Lefty turned, looked him up and down quietly, and turned away again as
though he hadn’t heard the question. Blackie flushed, and after standing
uneasily for a minute, tried to look unconcerned and strolled down to
the gathering around the batter. There was a low ripple of whispers at
his approach; boys nudged each other and turned to look, turned away
with half-hidden smiles of contempt. He did not even dare to speak to
one of them. For the moment he was tempted to rough-house one or two of
the younger boys just to see whether or not they could be made to speak;
but he remembered what had happened when he had twisted Guppy’s arm, and
knew that any defiance of the unwritten code would be useless.
“What’s the score?” he asked of the world in general.
Not a boy answered him. Someone at his elbow snickered; no one looked in
his face. He felt like a ghost, a branded being who had no right among
that bunch of happy campers; he was lonely in a crowd.
The only reason he watched the game to its finish was because he refused
to give the boys the satisfaction of having driven him away. It was the
most wretched afternoon he had ever spent. He sat, drawn apart from the
rest, inwardly seething with fury and wondering how long he could stand
it. He forgot the exhilarating, breath-taking delights he had enjoyed at
Lenape; he could only remember the little dislikes he had acquired, the
humiliation of his ejection from the Stuck-Up initiation, the crude and
unceasing jokes that had been played upon him. He hated the Chief, the
leaders; with all the boys against him, staying at Lenape was
unbearable. He would leave the hateful place! It was the only thing to
do—run away from them all and never, never come back!
He sat there moodily, pondering the plan in his mind. It was easy enough
to decide to run away—but where should he go? If he went back to the
city, he would have to face his mother with a tale of disgrace, and the
boys of the camp would soon discover that their punishment had driven
him home like a whipped dog. If he slipped away and went east, toward
Elmville and the railroad, Wally would soon discover that he was
missing; a hunt would start, he would be easily traced and found before
he could get far, and he would be brought back to camp again, baffled
and more of an object of reproach than ever. But if he could manage to
get too far away to be traced, and stay hidden somewhere for three or
four days, they would think him dead, and when he finally did return
they would be so glad they would forget all about his crime, would be
sorry they had caused him to run off alone. The open road, that was the
thing! He would be a hobo for a while, might even bum his way to some
city miles off, having an adventurous time on the road while the Lenape
kids did their smart little tricks and acted like Sunday-school babies
and thought they were having a good time!
After some thought he decided not to leave immediately, but to wait
until supper-time. He was watched too closely now; every boy in camp
knew of his sentence and was covertly watching to see how he would take
it. But if he slipped away when the camp was assembled in the mess hall,
it was not likely that he would be seen. Wally might wonder what had
become of him, but would not take steps to find out until after the
meal; and by that time Blackie hoped to be several miles away in a
direction they would not expect him to take. He had seen the county map
which hung in the lodge, and knew that Newmiln Center, on Flatstone
Creek, was about ten miles as the crow flies northwest over the
mountains, in a rich farming region that was separated from camp by
miles of wilderness into which nobody ever penetrated. They would not
look for him on top of the ridges; they would never suspect that he
dared go there. Why, given a fair start and three hours of daylight, he
might even make Newmiln Center before dark closed in!
“I’ll do it!” Blackie muttered darkly to himself. “I’ll show them I
won’t knuckle under, no matter what they do!”
He would take his blankets, he decided, and also his flash-lantern, ax,
and compass. The next problem was food. That would have to be
taken—“hooked”—out of the kitchen somehow. But unless there was one of
the kitchen crew at work, the place was always kept locked. He would
have to manage, somehow.
He thought over his plans during the two hours before Retreat and the
evening flag-lowering ceremony. He did not appear for swim, but spent
the time making a neat roll of his blankets, which he hid along with his
flash-lamp, compass and ax in the bushes beside the road behind camp. He
knew that if his absence at the swimming dock was noted, the boys would
put it down to wanting to escape their silent contempt.
He was in his place when Retreat Call trumpeted out over the lake; but
when the usual evening rush to tables began and the files clattered up
the steps, he slipped around to the back door of the kitchen. He found
himself in the pantry; shelves of canned goods lined the walls, under
which were bins of vegetables, and the mirrored doors of the huge
ice-box took up one side of the room. During the hush that preceded the
saying of grace in the mess hall, he could hear Ellick whispering
directions to Leggy and his other dusky assistants, who were busied
dishing up the meal. This is what Blackie had counted upon, having the
kitchen crew so busy at this time that they would not see him. Hastily
he slipped a few potatoes and a can of peas into his shirt, and ran to
the ice-box. A cool, humid breath of air came out to him as he opened
the door and peered inside; it was dark within, and he felt about hoping
to locate something he could take. His hand touched a plate of cheese,
and he drew forth a good-sized chunk. There was a rattle of dishes from
the kitchen. Ellick’s voice came to his ears.
“Leggy, you just hurry up now and bring in de butter from de ice-box!”
Leggy’s dragging footsteps sounded across the floor. With frenzied haste
Blackie grabbed at whatever happened to be under his hand. It proved to
be a slice of ham. Slamming the ice-box door, he clattered across to the
exit and ran out of the skinny kitchen-helper’s sight. That had been a
close squeak! Pausing only to stuff the ham and cheese into the pockets
of his sweater, he darted around behind the wooden building that was
used for an ice-house and gained the rutted road that led toward the
mountains. Here he found his blanket roll and accouterments, slipped the
roll over his head and hooked the ax and lantern on his belt, and
trotted westward through the woods.