THE TREATY UNDER THE FLAG
“My dear sir!” exclaimed Gilroy as Ned, hatless, coatless, ragged, and
well covered with blood, advanced into the firelight.
“Now, what do you think of that!” exclaimed Harry.
Ned dropped down on the ground and turned a tired face to the others.
“What do you think of a battle in the air?” he asked.
“Not up in the air, really?” asked Gilroy.
“We had battles in the air when we were running our aeroplanes,”
commented Harry, “and we rather liked them!”
“This little encounter,” Ned explained, “was with a great American
eagle, or eagles, rather. The eagle is a scrapper!”
As he spoke he pointed to the body of the dead bird laying just outside
the illuminated circle. Gilroy hastened in that direction, but paused
when a flutter of wind caused the feathers of the bird to move
threateningly.
“Is it alive?” he asked.
Harry lifted the bird by the neck and drew it nearer to the flame.
“This eagle,” he said with a grin, “is about the deadest thing I ever
saw. In fact,” he went on, “he is fully as dead as the eagle on a
counterfeit dollar!”
“Where did you get it?” asked Gilroy.
“I fought for it,” answered Ned.
“I know what’s the matter with Ned,” Harry exclaimed. “He hasn’t had
anything to eat since noon, and he’s hungry. Never try to talk to a Boy
Scout when he’s hungry,” he continued, “if you do, you’ll get saucy
answers.”
“I’m hungry myself!” Gilroy declared.
“Well,” Harry answered. “You can get supper any old time you want to.
I’d be glad to serve as chef tonight if it wasn’t for this bum old arm.
I could do a pretty good job cooking with one hand, only I’m just a
little bit weak yet.”
Gilroy at once accepted the invitation and began preparations for
supper, going about the work awkwardly.
“What are you going to have for supper?” he asked after a survey of the
provision shelves.
“Bear stew!” laughed Harry, well knowing the fat clerk’s abhorrence of
bear flesh. “We’re all going to eat bear stew. But you can have a
broiled rattlesnake if you care to go and catch one.”
Gilroy threw up his hands in horror.
“Do you eat rattlesnakes, really?” he asked.
Ned and Harry joined in a laugh at sight of the clerk’s disturbed
countenance. After a time Ned arose to assist in the preparation of the
meal, and then, for the first time, the others took note of the absence
of his coat and hat.
“Where are they?” Harry asked, pointing from breast to head.
Then Ned explained his plight and Gilroy shuddered in sympathy.
“On a narrow ledge,” he wailed, “hundreds of feet up in the air, a
battle with two great birds like that! I’ve heard a great deal about the
Pacific coast,” he went on, “and have long desired a trip like the
present one, but I’ll tell you now that my infatuation for the west has
vanished. Now I begin to understand,” he continued, “why we rarely see a
very old man west of Denver.”
“What becomes of ’em?” asked Harry.
“They are eaten by bears, and scalped by Indians, and drowned in places
like the Devil’s Punch Bowl, and chewed up by eagles, and slaughtered by
half-breeds!” replied the clerk. “And the wonder of it all is,” he
continued, “that they seem to like it!”
When the stew was simmering merrily on the coals and the coffee was
bubbling not far away, Ned began bringing out the dishes and clearing
away the litter of the fire.
“I suppose,” he said after a time, “that the others will be back for
supper. It seems to me that they are making a long trip to the Devil’s
Punch Bowl.”
“I know why they’re staying away such a long time,” Harry cut in, with a
grin. “They’re up on top of the mountain waving the stone flag on the
cliff. That’s a cheerful job, too.”
“My dear sir!” almost gasped Gilroy. “My information is to the effect
that the flag on the cliff is really carved out of stone!”
“It certainly is carved out of stone,” Ned answered. “In any other event
it would have come to an ignoble end long ago.”
“Who carved it there?” asked Harry.
“I have no information on the subject,” Ned replied, “except what common
sense gives me. The mine under the mountain was undoubtedly discovered
and worked by the Hoola Indians who first inhabited this country. Later
on, the Franciscans came here and established their mission. Still
later, the Spaniards came and claimed to own the country.
“It is my opinion,” he went on, “that the flag was carved there to stand
as a lasting monument to Spain two or three hundred years ago. Probably
the Hoola Indians, whose titles to the lands were recognized by the
Spanish and Mexican governments, chose that form of a monument to
indicate the location of the mine.”
“And so,” Harry exclaimed, “that stone flag has waved above millions in
gold for hundreds of years, and no one knew the significance of it—no
one except the Hoola Indians.”
“That’s the way it seems to me!” Ned answered.
Just as the coffee and the stew were ready for consumption, Jimmie came
dashing into the camp, closely followed by the others, with Mr.
Bosworth, unfamiliar with mountain work, puffing along in the rear.
“Mother of Moses!” cried Jimmie. “I smelled that stew away up on the
snow line!”
“And I got a whiff of the coffee from the edge of the Devil’s Punch
Bowl,” laughed Jack.
Then Jimmie caught sight of Ned’s disheveled appearance and began a
critical examination of the tears in his garments and his wounds.
“You look,” the boy laughed, “like you’d been in a rough house at Coney
Island. Where did you get it?”
Mr. Bosworth now came up, and, with all present, the story of the battle
in the air was again told.
“And you left your gun and your searchlight and your coat up in the blue
sky, did you?” demanded Jimmie.
“I certainly did,” replied Ned. “But you step over to the barrier and
see what I brought back to represent them.”
Jimmie did as requested and soon came back into the firelight, dragging
the dead eagle.
“That’s some bird!” he chuckled. “Say, Ned,” he went on in a moment. “I
know where you can get all kinds of money for that. The Sioux Indians
will give a dollar apiece for the feathers for their hair.”
“This bird goes to the Eagle Patrol, New York,” Ned declared.
“Good for you!” shouted Jimmie. “We’ll hang it up in the club room and
give you a seat of honor directly under it.”
“I beg your pardon,” Gilroy interrupted, “but if it’s all the same to
you, Mr. Bosworth, and to you boys, I’d like to partake of a little
refreshment. This mountain air certainly does bring about an appetite!”
“I knew that something was giving me an appetite,” grinned Jimmie, “but
I didn’t know what it was!”
“Cripes!” Jack laughed. “Jimmie had just the same kind of an appetite on
the Amazon!”
“And Jimmie’s got just the same kind of an appetite now, too!” replied
the boy, ladling out a great dish of stew. “I’m going to devour just
three portions like this!” he insisted.
“Now, boys,” Mr. Bosworth said after supper was well under way, “I feel
obliged to start for New York tomorrow, taking Gilroy with me.”
“Don’t you do it!” cried Jimmie. “We won’t have any fun if Gilroy goes
away!”
“And my advice to you,” the lawyer went on, “is to come along with me.”
“Oh, Dad!” cried Jack. “Just because you got your business all in shape
you want to drag us off to New York.”
“I’m only giving advice,” Mr. Bosworth replied, with a smile. “You boys
can do just as you please.”
“Glory be!” shouted Jack.
“Have you really completed your business here?” asked Ned in a moment.
“Yes,” was the reply.
“Satisfactorily?” asked Ned.
“Entirely so! You see,” the lawyer went on, “my theory is always to work
along the lines of least resistance. I understand, of course, that we
could establish our claim to these lands through the courts. I
understand, too, that the Hoola Indians who claim title could be
electrocuted for the murder of Toombs. That would clear the atmosphere
of many complications.”
“But it wouldn’t be right!” Jimmie shouted.
“No, it wouldn’t be right,” Mr. Bosworth admitted. “The Indians really
have some rights here which should be respected, and Toombs received
only his just deserts. He never had any standing, even in Wall street.
He has betrayed every confidence for years, and there is not a soul on
earth who will mourn his death.”
“That’s the way I sized him up!” Ned said.
“And so, taking all things into consideration,” Mr. Bosworth went on, “I
have decided to give the Indians a fair price for their land—more than
enough to keep them in luxury the remainder of their lives—and to employ
them to direct the taking out of the gold.”
“Is there a lot of it?” asked Jack.
“It seems,” Mr. Bosworth replied, “that the eight Indians now living
mined the gold secretly until a few years ago, when, believing that they
had enough for all their future needs, they turned the waters of the
pool into the mine. At this time they had large stores of the precious
metal in an interior chamber, where one of their number was always kept
on guard.”
“I think I had a peep into that chamber!” Jack exclaimed.
“So far as I can understand, the treasure chamber is the one you boys
saw,” Mr. Bosworth went on, “and you were lucky to get out alive, too,”
he added. “Only the arrival of Ned and Jimmie protected you.”
“That’s more than Toombs did—get out alive!” Jimmie suggested.
“When, at some time in the near future, the water is turned back into
the other channel,” Mr. Bosworth said, “the body of Toombs will be taken
out and given reverent and decent burial. That is all that can be done
for him now. His companions in New York will never know his fate.”
The boys sat by the campfire late that night, discussing plans and
occasionally referring some disputed point to Mr. Bosworth.
“Why, lads,” laughed the lawyer, “I’ve given you my best advice, and
that is that you take your vacation in some less dangerous locality.
However, if you won’t follow my line of thought, my next best advice is
for you to remain in this camp and breathe mountain air, and hunt
squirrels, and deer, and bear, for a month and then return to New York.”
“Think of a person remaining here when he might go back to the big
city!” exclaimed Gilroy. “Why,” he continued, “the half-breeds are
likely to break out again at any moment.”
“The half-breeds deserted when Huga was killed,” Norman replied. “They
were brought here on day wages, and will never show up again.”
“And what are we going to do with Norman?” asked Jack, his attention
called to the boy by the remark.
“Bring him back to New York with you,” replied Mr. Bosworth, “and I will
take pleasure in looking after his future, also that of his sister.”
“Bully for you, Dad!” Jack exclaimed.
“I’ll get him a job on Dad’s paper as a reporter,” Frank promised.
“That’s just the thing!” exclaimed Norman.
The party passed a restful night, and early in the morning Mr. Bosworth
and Gilroy set out for the return trip. As they had made no arrangements
for guides or teams, the boys accompanied them until, from far up on the
mountainside, they saw the roofs of a little town from which telegrams
asking for horses might be sent.
As the two descended the slope, the boys waved their handkerchiefs in
farewell and promised to show up in New York within a month.
“And we’ll do it, too!” Ned declared as they set their faces toward
their camp.
“We’ll be in New York if we ain’t having too much fun here!” Jimmie
laughed.
During the following month the boys enjoyed their vacation to the
fullest. They slept out on the range, hunted and fished in the cold
mountain rivers, and had, as Jimmie always expressed it, the time of
their lives. They were back in New York on time ready for the next
adventure which might come in their way.
The presentation of the eagle to the Eagle Patrol was the sensation of
the year among the Boy Scouts of New York. To this day, it occupies the
place of honor in the club room, having been mounted by one of the most
famous taxidermists of the city.
Mr. Bosworth fulfilled his promise to look after the future of Norman
and his sister, and they were soon placed at work, much to their liking
with prospects of happy lives before them.
Months afterward, when the employes of the corporation represented by
Mr. Bosworth, gathered near the old Spanish Mission and the Devil’s
Punch Bowl to remove the treasure of gold from the mine, there was some
talk among them of the strange hieroglyphics carved high up on the
smooth surface of the rocks.
“I don’t know what it all means,” the superintendent of the company
said, “but while I was in New York, talking with Mr. Bosworth, I often
heard that peculiar formation referred to. Now,” he added thoughtfully,
“what was it they called it. Ah! I know,” he added, his eyes
brightening. “They called it THE FLAG ON THE CLIFF.”
The End
THE VICTORY BOY SCOUTS
BY
CAPTAIN ALAN DOUGLAS
SCOUTMASTER
Stories from the pen of a writer who possesses a thorough knowledge of
his subject. In addition to the stories there is an addenda in which
useful boy scout nature lore is given, all illustrated. There are the
following twelve titles in the series:
_1. The Campfires of the Wolf Patrol._
_2. Woodcraft; or, How a Patrol Leader Made Good._
_3. Pathfinder; or, the Missing Tenderfoot._
_4. Great Hike; or, the Pride of Khaki Troop._
_5. Endurance Test; or, How Clear Grit Won the Day._
_6. Under Canvas; or, the Search for the Carteret Ghost._
_7. Storm-bound: or, a Vacation Among the Snow-Drifts._
_8. Afloat; or, Adventures on Watery Trails._
_9. Tenderfoot Squad; or, Camping at Raccoon Lodge._
_10. Boy Scout Electricians; or, the Hidden Dynamo._
_11. Boy Scouts in Open Plains; or, the Round-up not Ordered._
_12. Boy Scouts in an Airplane; or, the Warning from the Sky._
12mo. Lintex. Postpaid, Price each 50c
M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY
701-733 S. Dearborn Street :: CHICAGO
Transcriber’s Notes
--Silently corrected a few typos.
--Retained publication information from the printed edition: this eBook
is public-domain in the country of publication.
--In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by
_underscores_.