THE END—AND THE BEGINNING
The campers from Iron Lake departed northwards about five o’clock in
holiday mood, singing their camp song as they hiked, more than contented
to have won the close-fought victory in the water. Some of the Lenape
tribe accompanied them a mile or two on the road, and were forced to
swallow a lot of good-natured chaffing about their defeat, which they
felt keenly.
Blackie did not go with them. He had helped Ken Haviland ashore, and
seen him carried off toward the hospital tent and the ministrations of
Dr. Cannon; and then he returned to Tent Four and dressed in a clean
outfit. He was agreeably tired, but the swim had braced him immensely,
and he was comfortable in body for the first time since he had run away.
His mind was far from easy, however, as he answered the bugle’s summons
and stood Retreat ceremony with the tent groups. He was still in
coventry; not a boy spoke to him, and many were the black looks cast in
his direction.
It was the same at supper. Wally presided over a quiet table that night.
Gallegher sat gloomily next to the vacant chair that belonged to Ken
Haviland. Fat Crampton, with his usual good humor, was attacking his
food with gusto, rather pleased with himself for winning a first place
in the diving; Guppy and Lefkowitz chattered together now and then; but
Slater could not forget how easily Lenape might have held the
championship had things been a little different.
Once Guppy turned to Slater and said, “Gee, that fellow Dunning wasn’t
any slouch of a swimmer, was he?”
“He was pretty good, all right—but he would have been beaten in that
last race if a certain guy—I won’t mention any names—wasn’t yellow. It
would have won us the meet, too.” Slater looked meaningly at Blackie,
who flushed and gazed down at his plate, biting his lip to keep back a
bitter retort.
After the dessert, Wally leaned over to Blackie. “The Chief wants to see
you in his office, son,” he said, “right after supper. He’s got a friend
of yours in there with him now.”
“All right, Wally.” Blackie knew who that friend of his was; a saddled
horse was tethered outside that could belong to no one but Sheriff
Manders. When the dismissal signal was given, he went over to the office
door with a pounding heart, and entered at the Chief’s cheery
invitation.
The Chief nodded as he saw Blackie. “Come in, Thorne. You’ve met Sheriff
Manders, I hear. He’s ridden over to get your affadavit against the two
men who attacked Rattlesnake Joe. Just tell him slowly everything that
happened, and don’t keep anything back.”
The sheriff had paper and pen before him, and with a gentle kindliness
asked Blackie many questions, writing down the boy’s answers in a round,
careless hand. The Chief said no word, but listened with increasing
attention as the tale of Blackie’s adventures was unfolded. When the
officer pronounced himself satisfied, he looked over at the Chief with a
quizzical air.
“Kind of a lot of trouble for a kid his size to get into, eh? Well,
you’ve helped the state to prosecute a pair of brutal criminals, young
Thorne, and I think I may venture to say that——”
The Chief cut in on his speech. “We won’t talk about that now, Mr.
Manders, if you don’t mind.”
“Just as you say. Well, I’ll be going now. Thank you both. ’Night!” He
stamped out of the office.
Blackie made no move to leave, but cleared his throat huskily. He had
the most distasteful task in the world before him, the job of admitting
that he was a coward who had sought to shield himself from punishment
behind a lie.
“Chief, I—I want to tell you something.”
“Go ahead, Blackie.” The Chief’s face betrayed nothing of what he might
be thinking. “They say that confession is good for the soul.”
“I lied to you the other night. I was with Gallegher when he broke the
camp rule against smoking, and I smoked too. I’m sorry I lied, and I’m
willing to take my punishment.”
“You know what that means?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. You can go now.”
The Chief nodded that the affair was ended for the present, and Blackie
left the little office. He had done it. A great load was lifted from his
heart; he had confessed like a man, and things were understood between
the Chief and himself. However painful might be the outcome, at least he
had cleared away the black stain on his conscience.
A busy crew of stage-hands was arranging the lodge in the semblance of a
theater, for that night was to be given the musical show, “Coo-Coo,” in
which Sax McNulty and an imposing troupe of camp talent were to perform
for the amusement of the campers, a few visitors from the city, and some
neighboring farmers. As Blackie passed out to the porch, it was just
growing dusk. From the lake he could hear laughter and shouts of gaiety;
in spite of the afternoon’s defeat it was to be a night of merriment.
Chinese lanterns gleamed from the dock, which was crowded with campers
dressed in masquerade regalia; boat-loads of boys in costumes ranging
from African wild-man to pirate were rowing about amidst song and
fun-making, watching a canoe-tilting contest, at the end of which one
crew or another would be pushed over with a long bamboo pole and
precipitated into the water. Blackie turned away and headed for the
hospital tent. There was little happiness in his heart, and he did not
wish to be reminded of the gaiety of others.
Ken Haviland was sitting up in bed when he arrived, and invited him in
with a voice that showed he had quite recovered from the mishap of the
swimming race. “Sit down here on the bed, Blackie,” he said. “The Doc
filled me up with hot water and ginger, and I’m as well as ever, only he
won’t let me get up. It’s too bad, because I feel fine, and don’t want
to miss the big show.”
“That’s great, Ken.”
“What’s the matter? You look about as happy as a corpse.”
“Aw, the guys in the tent are still jumping on me because I didn’t win
the last race. Slater called me yellow at supper, and all the others
thought I was, too.”
“Did they? Well, soon as I get out of here, I’ll fix that! Wait till
they hear what really happened; they’ll be sorry they didn’t have better
sense. By the way, I’m passing around the word that the Kangaroo Court
decision is all off, and we’ve forgotten all about it. I’m sorry for
what I’ve been thinking of you all along.”
“I deserved it, Ken. I’ve been just a fresh kid ever since I hit camp—I
see it all now. I—I guess the gang will be glad to see me go back to the
city to-morrow.”
Ken leaned forward, and put his hand on Blackie’s shoulder. “Don’t you
think it! You’ve only been here two weeks, but you’ve done a lot for
Lenape. I don’t know what the Chief thinks, but as soon as Doc Cannon
lets me out of here, the bunch is going to find out what kind of a hero
you really are!”
“The Chief knows,” said Blackie dully. “He’s going to square up with me
in the morning.”
Blackie left the tent thinking of what the morning would be sure to
bring, and in a dejected mood went down to Tent Four. It was dark and
deserted; the whole camp was now assembled in the lodge, from which came
down to him the lively strains of music from the camp orchestra, the
overture of the show. The happiness of the campers only emphasized his
pangs of loneliness, and he slowly donned pajamas and climbed into his
bunk. The strain of the day soon proved too much for him, and lulled by
the music, he drifted off to sleep, from which he did not waken when his
tent-mates tumbled into their bunks when Call to Quarters sounded at
eleven o’clock.
Blackie woke in the misty dawn the next morning, and softly, so as not
to wake his slumbering tent-mates, dressed in his city clothes and began
packing his blankets and stuffing his camping-kit into his sea-bag.
To-day he would leave Lenape, leave the lake and the hills and go back
to the hot city. Well, that was the only thing to do. He was in bad with
the boys and the Chief, he told himself; he had failed in almost
everything he had attempted to do. After two weeks of the Lenape life,
he was not any better a camper than when he first landed in Tent Four.
True, he had won his honor emblem, but that was sure to be stripped from
him. He wore it on his jersey still, buttoned under his coat; but he
knew that he had no better right to wear it than Gallegher had, as
everyone would soon discover.
Reveille blew before he had finished his packing, and he continued
making ready for departure while the pajama crew went down for Indian
dip. He noticed that about a dozen other boys, who were also leaving at
the end of the first section, were also getting into their unaccustomed
travelling clothes and stowing their camp things into suitcases and
bags. By the time Assembly sounded, Blackie was ready to leave for the
station at a moment’s notice.
He lined up with his comrades before the flagpole. All during the
ceremony of flag salute and while the buglers were trumpeting Call to
Colors, his nervousness increased. He dreaded what was coming; it was
worse than a trip to the dentist. The Chief was sure to speak this
morning. In a few moments he would be disgraced before all the campers.
He looked toward the end of the line hastily. Little Pete Lister was
standing there with his drum strapped about his neck.
“Attention!” came the Chief’s command. He stood with dignified sternness
before them, and the files straightened.
“Blackie Thorne, five paces forward!”
There was a stir among the campers as Blackie marched forward with chin
up, arms at his side, and a set face. They, too, guessed what was coming
now.
“I wish I hadn’t said he was yellow yesterday,” whispered Slater behind
his hand. “That kid’s got nerve!”
“He sure has!” responded Gallegher. “I know what he feels like now, and
believe me, it’s no joke! But it was all my fault—I really dragged him
into it.”
“Silence in the ranks! Blackie Thorne, you have admitted to me that you
have been guilty of conduct unbecoming to a Lenape camper, and have
signified your willingness to abide by whatever punishment is inflicted.
Is that right?”
Blackie flushed, but looked his Chief straight in the eye. “Yes, sir.”
“You will here, in the sight of all your comrades, be stripped of the
honor emblem which has been made unworthy by your act.”
Blackie braced himself, waiting; the Chief stepped forward with the
blade of a knife gleaming in his hand. Now it was coming! He felt the
Chief pulling away his coat and cutting the stitches of the green and
white badge. The clattering tattoo from Lister’s drum was in his ears.
The Chief stepped backward, putting away the knife. Now it was all over.
Blackie made a move to return to his place in line.
“Stay where you are, Thorne!”
The campers started with surprise; they had not anticipated this.
Blackie waited, expecting some further reprimand.
“I still have another duty to do,” announced the Chief evenly. “But
first I want to tell a story which some of you may have read in a book
by Victor Hugo, a book called ‘Ninety-Three.’ It tells there of an
incident which happened on board a French warship. Through the
carelessness of the chief gunner, one of the huge cannons on the deck
broke away from its chains, and pitched about by the rough sea, rolled
from one end of the ship to the other like a monstrous metal
battering-ram on wheels, killing many sailors who could not get out of
its way, smashing the other cannons that were to defend the ship from
the enemy, and battering the timbers until the vessel was in danger of
sinking. It seemed impossible for the brutal rushes of the gun to be
checked; but one man, armed only with a handspike and a rope, jumped
down on the deck and struggled to halt its mad career. It was the chief
gunner, the man who was to blame for the deadly danger to the ship and
her crew; and after a superhuman battle in which he nearly lost his
life, he succeeded in overturning the cannon and lashing it so that it
could do no further harm.”
The Chief paused a moment. Blackie was listening in a daze, wondering
what this tale could have to do with him.
“When all was safe again,” continued the Chief, “the gunner was brought
to be judged by the general who commanded the ship. The general first
pinned upon the gunner’s jacket the cross of St. Louis, the medal for
military merit, as an award for his bravery in capturing the cannon. He
then ordered the man to be shot because his negligence had endangered
the ship. The gunner was executed with the cross of honor on his breast,
rewarded for his courage and punished for failing in his duty.”
Again the Chief paused; the boys looked at each other wonderingly.
“Sooner or later all of us get our just rewards for what we make of
ourselves, as that wise general knew. Blackie Thorne broke a camp rule,
told a lie to escape punishment, and ran away from camp rather than face
the consequences of his act. But when you hear what other deeds he has
done, you may agree that he has wiped out some of the counts against
him. Yesterday he threw away the glory of winning the swimming meet for
his camp in order to go to the assistance of a stricken tent-mate, a boy
whom he disliked; and afterwards he did not mention anything about his
reason for dropping out of the race, fearing to be a poor sportsman. The
winning of even a contest against Shawnee is, in my opinion, nothing to
be compared with the display of bravery shown by Blackie in the water
yesterday afternoon.”
A cheer rose from the campers, involuntarily bursting forth from their
lips. Excitement ran high. Blackie listened, abashed by this sudden turn
of favor.
“Blackie was again put to the test when he encountered a pair of
dangerous criminals who were wanted by the law. With courage and
discernment, he captured those men at great risk to himself. Now,
although he did not know about it, there was a reward offered for the
person who led to the arrest of these malefactors, and last night the
sheriff brought over to me a check for three thousand dollars, which I
am now presenting to Blackie Thorne.”
The Chief was unable to speak further; his words were drowned in a
torrent of cheers that made the mountains echo. Somehow the command to
march was given, and the hungry horde stamped off to breakfast, still
shouting Blackie’s name to the skies.
Blackie stood bewildered, clutching the check in his hand. Three
thousand dollars! Wally, who had left the line, put his arm around the
boy’s shoulder and looked down into his face.
“How do you like being rich, Blackie?” he laughed. “Does it feel funny
at first?”
“It sure does!” exclaimed Blackie. “Say, when I think how happy my
mother will be when I tell her I can buy lots of things we couldn’t have
before, I——”
“Don’t trouble to explain. By the way, when the Chief told me about this
check last night, I sent a telegram off to your mother asking her if you
could stay for the rest of the season if she didn’t have to pay any more
money. I didn’t break the news about your reward to her—you can do that
yourself—but just a little while ago I got a wire from her, and she
agrees that you can stay at Lenape clear up to September! Six weeks more
of camp for you, Blackie—how does that sound?”
“Great!” There was a lump in the boy’s throat as he looked out over the
campus he had come to love. Six weeks more of free, out-door comradeship
with Wally and the Chief and the whole gang of good fellows! “Say,
Wally, remember how you told me one day that there was a treasure around
here?” He looked down at the check in his hand. “I didn’t believe you
then, but I do now.”
“Blackie,” his councilor assured him solemnly, “you found that treasure
right in your own heart—the rich treasure of true Lenape spirit!”
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
dialect unchanged.
--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)
End of Project Gutenberg's Blackie Thorne at Camp Lenape, by Carl Saxon