A BOY SCOUT TRICK
"Where's that fool boy going now?" asked Tommy as George, in
pursuit of the spy, dashed into the thicket.
"What did he see back here that caused him to let out a yell like
that?" asked Sandy.
"I don't believe he saw anything!" Will declared. "He just thought
he'd give us a good scare by pretending he'd bumped into a band of
Indians, or something like that."
The boys looked over the ground in the rear of the tent, and
finally Tommy came to the place where the spy had punctured the
canvas.
"Who made this hole in the tent?" he asked.
The boys gathered around the opening through which the spy had
inspected the interior of the tent, and looked at each other with
wonder expressed on their faces. Tommy was first to speak.
"George must have caught a man here looking in," he said.
"That's why he disappeared so suddenly," Will argued.
"Yes, he was chasing the Peeping Tom," Sandy agreed.
"I wish we knew the direction they took," Will mused. "The boy may
get into serious trouble, chasing off into the forest along in the
night. He should have told us of his discovery so one of us could
have gone with him! We may be able to find him yet."
"Aw, he'll come back before long!" Tommy argued. "He can't make
any headway out there in the underbrush, and the fellow who was
here will probably run away from him before he gets three rods from
the tent."
"I hope so!" answered Will.
"But what was that gink prowling around the tent for?" asked Sandy.
"That must have been the same fellow we heard using the paddle a
short time ago. If it is, he's mighty liberal with his bullets!"
"I'm anxious about that boy," Will broke in. "I wish he'd come
back!"
"Yes, this isn't a very desirable country to be lost in in the
night!" Tommy admitted. "He ought not to have gone away."
"What do you make of this gink prowling around our tent?" asked
Sandy. "Do you think he's doing it out of curiosity, or because he
has an inkling of what we're up here after?"
"Huh! How would any one away off up here know anything about the
Little Brass God?" demanded Tommy.
"Look here," Will argued. "The Little Brass God is stolen from
this house on Drexel Boulevard. Enclosed in a cavity in the toy is
a will disposing of several million dollars worth of property. The
Little Brass God is finally sold to a pawn-broker, who in turn
disposes of it to a trapper known to belong in the Hudson Bay
district."
"That's a fair statement," answered Tommy.
"Now, Mr. Horton, attorney for the man who is in quest of the lost
will, and Sigsbee, the man interested in probating the previous
will, both know of the final disposition of the Little Brass God.
At least, Frederick Tupper knows that it was taken from the pawn
shop by a Hudson Bay trapper, and it is believed that Sigsbee
possesses the same information."
"Of course, they both know about it," agreed Sandy.
"Now, why shouldn't they both send people up here in quest of the
Little Brass God?" Will continued.
"But suppose this man Sigsbee doesn't know anything about the will
being in the belly of the Little Brass God?" suggested Tommy.
"We believe he does know all about it!" said Will.
"And do you believe, too, that he hired a burglar to go and steal
the Little Brass God?" asked Sandy.
"As I said before," Will answered, "we don't know anything about
that. The Little Brass God may have been taken by a burglar who
was simply in quest of plunder. The whole thing resolves itself
into this: If the really, truly burglar stole the toy and sold it
to the pawn-broker, the will is in the ugly little chap's belly.
If Sigsbee hired the burglar he took the will out before the
trinket was sold at the pawn-shop. In that case, he would be the
last one to send an expedition up here to retrieve the toy. And so
you see," Will continued, "that we don't know anything about it."
"Well it's funny that gink should come prowling around our tents on
the first night of our arrival!" Tommy exclaimed. "According to
all accounts, he should have come sneaking into camp looking for a
drink of brandy. The fact that he ran away when discovered shows
that he wasn't here for any honest purpose."
"Well, what are we going to do?" demanded Sandy. "Let's give the
Little Brass God a rest long enough to make up our minds about
George."
"We can't do anything until morning," Will interposed.
"How do you know we can't?" demanded Tommy.
"Because it's dark, and because we know nothing about the country,"
replied Will.
The boys sat before the fire until midnight listening for the
return of their chum. When it began to snow they reluctantly
decided that George had crawled into some temporary shelter for the
night and would not think of trying to make his way home through
the storm.
"You boys go to bed now," Will advised, "and I'll sit up and keep
watch. If you hear me firing how and then, don't think the camp's
been attacked. George may be lost in the woods, and I'll be doing
that to give him the right direction."
"We should have done that before," Tommy suggested.
"Well, get to bed," Will urged, "and I'll run the camp till
morning."
Tommy and Sandy crawled into the tent which stood nearest to the
great campfire and cuddled up in the warm blankets.
"Do you believe Will will stay in camp until morning?" asked Tommy.
"Of course I don't," was the reply. "He'll wait until we're
asleep, and then he'll go prowling around the camp in search of
George."
"That's just about what he'll do."
"What's your idea, then?" asked Sandy.
"Well," Tommy whispered, "George may be out in the snow somewhere,
and it won't take us very long to circle about the camp just to
make sure."
"I got you!" replied Sandy. "We'll get out under the back wall,
and take a little trip with our searchlights."
Half an hour later, when Will, heavily wrapped, glanced in at the
tent preparatory to going out on his quiet search for the missing
chum, ho saw that the blankets were empty.
"The little scamps?" he chuckled. "They've beaten me to it!"
In the meantime, Tommy and Sandy were making their way through the
wilderness traveling in the narrow light provided by the electrics.
By this time the snow was quite deep, and the wind appeared to be
rising every minute.
"We never can get home in this storm if we once lose sight of the
campfire," Tommy said as the two huddled together in the lee of a
big tree.
"That's a fact!" Sandy admitted. "So I guess we'd better be poking
along. Which way is the fire?"
"Why, it ought to be right over there!" replied Tommy doubtfully.
"Over where?" demanded Sandy, with a note of alarm in his voice.
"Blessed if I know!" declared Tommy, sitting flat down in the snow.
The boys walked round and round the tree and made little excursions
in every direction without getting a single trace of the campfire.
"I guess we've gone and done it now!" Tommy grunted.
"Aw, we can find our way back all right enough!" Sandy declared.
"We came north when we left the camp, didn't we?"
"Guess we did," replied Tommy, his teeth rattling with the cold.
"Then all we've got to do is to follow the wind and we'll strike
the tents. That's some Boy Scout forestry sense, isn't it?"
"We'll wait until we see whether it brings us back to camp or not,"
replied Tommy. "If it does, it's all right; if it doesn't, it's
all wrong."
Had the boys proceeded straight north on leaving the camp, they
would have doubtless returned to the lighted zone by keeping with
the wind, if the wind had not shifted to the west soon after their
departure from the camp.
They walked for what seemed to them to be hours. In fact, more
than once they glanced about hoping to get their direction from a
showing of daylight in the sky.
"I don't believe it ever will be daylight again," grumbled Sandy,
"and I move we stop right here and build a big fire."
"Can we build a fire in all this ruck?" asked Tommy.
"You bet we can!" was the answer. "What are we Boy Scouts good for
if we can't build a fire in a storm?"
They cleared a little space in the snow and Tommy brought a handful
of dry bark. Shielding the flickering blaze as much as possible,
the boy applied the match he had struck to the bark. The fire
which resulted could have been started in a teacup.
About this he built a skeleton tent of bits of dry soft wood from
six to nine inches in length. His fire was now as large as an
ordinary kettle. Next, the boys threw larger boughs on the blaze,
and finally succeeded in surrounding it by large logs.
"There's one thing about it," Tommy declared as they warmed their
hands over the blaze, "there won't any wild animals take a bite out
of us as long as we keep near this fire!"
"I wish George would come poking along in," Sandy commented. "I
believe I'll go out in the thicket after I get warm and see if he
isn't somewhere in this vicinity. I thought I heard a call over
there just a moment ago."
"Listen, then," Tommy advised. "If some one called, we're likely
to hear a repetition of the sound."
Sure enough, the call came again as the boys huddled over the fire.
It came down with the wind and seemed to be rapidly drawing nearer.
"That sounds to me like a boy's voice," Sandy suggested.
"Sounds more like a half-breed to me!" Tommy answered.
"He's stopped coming on, anyway." Sandy exclaimed in a moment.
"Perhaps he's tumbled down in the snow!" Tommy argued.
"In that case, we'd better be getting out where he is," said Sandy.
The boys both left the fire and darted out into the darkness,
listening for the call but hearing only the roaring of the wind.