DIRK JUMPS
In the wake of his racing leader, Brick Ryan dashed through the thickets
behind the tent, and crossed the road. Here Sax paused and shouted
toward the mountainside.
“Hello! What’s the matter?”
Ahead came a faint cry in answer, and a spitting crack. Something buzzed
through the leaves of a maple overhead, and a detached twig drifted
down.
“That was a gun!” said Brick in amazement. “Somebody shootin’ through
the trees.”
Sax was angry. “The fool!” he cried. “Is he trying to pick us off?” He
raised his voice and shouted again to the unknown. “Cut out that
shooting! We’re coming right along!”
Again he plunged into the woods. Brick, who had been rubbing his
uncovered arms and legs where his swimming suit had not protected him
from scratches and whipping branches, panted at his side. “Over this way
it came from, Sax,” he said. “Not very far off, either.”
McNulty saved his wind for running, and his long legs bounded out of
sight. In short order, Brick heard the man’s voice upraised in stinging
rebuke.
“Put that gun down! Here, give it to me, before you kill a few of us!
Now, What do you mean by this——”
Brick came to the edge of a little glade, and saw the leader standing
threateningly above a youth who crouched on the sward, guiltily handing
over his weapon. His body was covered with a stained blue coat and the
wreckage of a pair of white flannel trousers; his yellow hair was
rumpled; and on his pale face there was a look of mingled relief and
dismay.
“Begolly,” said Brick to himself, “it’s the Baby!”
Sax McNulty seized the rifle and poured out the contents of the magazine
into his hand. “What are you trying to do?” he asked. “What do you mean
by shooting around Camp Lenape? Who are you, anyway?”
Brick came up, and grinned at his councilor, indicating the prostrate
figure on the ground. “It’s the guy I was tellin’ you about, Sax,” he
sneered. “Young Moneybags. What else could you expect?”
“My—my name is Van Horn,” the other boy stammered. “I’m a camper.”
“A camper? You?” McNulty was scornful. “Well, you must be in the wrong
camp. At Lenape we don’t go around firing rifles all over the place.”
Dirk Van Horn swallowed, and began clambering to his feet. “I—I got
lost,” he began. “I read somewhere that three shots was a signal for
help. They didn’t sound very loud, so I shouted, too. I imagined that
someone might hear me and direct me back to the camp ground. You see,
sir, I hurt my leg——”
“Badly?”
“No—I can walk on it now. But then I got a trifle frightened, I suppose,
and things got mixed up somehow.”
Brick broke into a rasping laugh. “Lost, is it! He gets lost a few
hundred yards from camp, and yells for help! You got a job ahead of you,
Sax. He don’t need a councilor—it’s a nurse-maid he needs!”
“That’s enough, Brick,” the man said shortly. “Now, Van Horn, if you can
walk all right, we’ll go back to the tent. I understand you’ve been
assigned to my outfit. Well, first off, if you’ve got any more guns,
they’re going to be locked up with this one. We can’t have bullets
flying about. Come along—I’ll show you where camp is. After swim, we’ll
see about clearing up that mess of stuff you left on the floor.”
He led the way back toward the campus, bearing the forbidden weapon,
followed by the crestfallen Dirk. Brick Ryan began cautiously picking a
path through the underbrush—a swimming suit was not the best uniform for
mountain rescue-work. He chuckled. “Lost, he was! And Sax and I thought
we were goin’ to pull somebody out of trouble!”
The bushes ahead crackled as somebody ran through, and Brick paused. The
face of his friend Kipper Dabney appeared from behind a tree.
“What’s all the shootin’, Brick?”
Brick answered the question with a laugh. “You may think you’ve seen
greenhorns at Lenape, Kipper,” he said, “but I want to tell you we’ve
got the juiciest tenderfoot in Tent One that you ever saw. He’s a lily,
he is! There he goes—Sax McNulty just grabbed his gun in time to keep
him from shootin’ us for a couple of moose.”
Kipper was interested. “You sound as if you figured on doing something
about it.”
“Maybe I will,” smiled Brick wickedly. “Out of the goodness of my heart,
I might show him a few handy tricks. He sure needs a workout!” He
lowered his voice. “About twelve o’clock tonight, eh? What about it, my
boy? Are you game?”
“You mean—pass him the runaround?” the other asked doubtfully. “He looks
like a pretty husky fellow. He might go for us.”
“Not a chance! But if you’re nervous, we’ll get Ugly Brown to come too.
This baby is easy. Is it a go? Swell! Now let’s get down to the
dock—that guy and his fool stunts have made me miss half my swim!”
Dirk Van Horn did not fall asleep until some while after taps had
sounded bedtime for the Lenape campers, and their big bonfire had died
down to embers. He had gone through one of the liveliest days he had
ever known, but although weary, he was too wakeful to join his
tent-mates in their slumbers. He lay stretched on his bunk, staring up
at the dim, quiet stars glowing above the sighing branches of the pines,
and recalling the events of the crowded day.
Around him, snug in their blankets, slept his new tent-mates. It was a
strange feeling. Last night he had gone to bed in his familiar room back
home in the city, with his father and mother close at hand. Tonight he
lay out under canvas, in the forest-clad Lenape hills, listening to the
unknown noises of the night and the deep breathing of his new-found
companions—Mr. McNulty, and Lefty, and Joey, and the other Tent Two boys
he had met at supper. On the line from the ridgepole hung his brand-new
camping togs, and the other things he needed were neatly stowed beneath
the bunk or in his wooden locker, as Lefty had shown him. Lefty had said
that some baseball games were coming——
Dirk sighed. Lefty must know all about his ignominious return from his
hunting trip that afternoon. If Lefty thought him a chump, perhaps he
wouldn’t put him on the camp team! He could see now that he had made a
fool of himself with his silly rifle, but how was he to know all the
camp rules? And that Brick Ryan chap had snickered at him! Why did Ryan
dislike him so? Thinking of Brick Ryan, the new camper drifted off into
slumber....
He opened his eyes. His cheek was tingling. Something had trailed across
his face in the dark!
Through the trees he saw the yellow sickle of a new moon. He remembered
now. He was at Camp Lenape—— But whose was the voice close to his ear,
whispering cautious words?
“Shh! Listen, Van Horn, are you awake?”
He turned his head, and saw the outline of a strange face above him. A
boy whom he did not know had thus quietly aroused him in the dead of
night.
“Put on your slippers and bathrobe and come on!” the voice urged. “Don’t
wake up anybody else. This is just for you.”
“But what—what——” Dirk asked hoarsely. “I don’t believe I know you. What
do you want me for?”
“Hurry up!” the strange boy urged. “It’s a party. We want you to be our
guest. Just a little fun after taps, old man. Quick, now!”
Wonderingly, Dirk obeyed. He found his slippers and robe in the pale
light, while his guide waited motionless. Taking care not to make the
least noise to disturb the sleeping leader and the other boys of Tent
One, Dirk crept softly out into the thin moonlight. His guide took his
arm, and led the way down a path that skirted the upper row of tents,
and then wandered into the mysterious shadow of the forest. A hundred
yards beyond the farthest tent, the unknown boy stopped, and whispered
close to Dirk’s ear.
“We’re giving a party for you, Van,” he explained. “Very select. Some of
the best blood in camp is waiting to greet you.”
“Why—that’s very kind of them.” Dirk was flattered. “Where are we
going?”
The other hesitated. “Well, you see, our meeting-place is supposed to be
kept a secret. Would you mind wearing this for a minute?”
Before Dirk knew what his guide was about, he felt a large handkerchief
drop over his eyes. He muttered a protest, but already the blindfold was
knotted about his head, and even the dim glow of the night was shut from
his sight.
“Just hang on to my arm,” said the stranger reassuringly. “We’re not far
off now. This way.”
He gave Dirk a slight push ahead. Slowly, with arms outstretched, Dirk
felt his way forward along the rough path. He did not quite know what to
make of this midnight game of blind-man’s-buff; but he had no reason to
think that the other boy meant him harm. He remembered that at Wild Rose
Camp last summer, it was often the thing to have quiet little “spreads”
after bedtime, without the knowledge of the councilors. Seemingly,
Lenape also enjoyed this adventurous custom; and he took it as a tribute
to himself that he, a newcomer, should have been selected to be honored
on his first night on the campus.
While he was pondering this he was stumbling ahead over the rough
ground, now and then tripping over a rock or tree-root and leaning
heavily on the arm of the boy at his side. Suddenly, that arm was
withdrawn; he felt a rude thrust into his back; he stepped forward to
catch himself, found his ankles snared in a rope that had been stretched
across his path. He tripped and crashed to the earth, throwing his arms
out with a grunt of pain. He had landed with a smashing thud into a
thicket of scratching branches.
The shock of the impact had driven his breath out of him; he could not
cry out. He thrashed about upon the rocky ground, trying to tear the
blinding bandage from his eyes. But a sharp knee was now pressing into
the small of his back, and even as he struggled, someone unseen lashed
his hands together with a skillful handcuff knot.
“Take it easy, Baby!” urged a mocking voice above him, and the knee dug
deeper into his aching back. “How do you like our little party?”
He knew this voice! Brick Ryan!
He thrashed about, striving to regain his feet; but the torturing knee
pinned him fast.
“Don’t get worked up,” his tormenter advised. “We just want you to do a
few little tricks for us. Lift him up, Kipper!”
Dirk was jerked roughly to his feet, pinioned on both sides by strong
arms. Behind him rose again the jeering voice of Ryan.
“Now, don’t go wild and hurt yourself. If you’re a nice baby, and do
what we tell you, maybe we’ll let you off easy—maybe!”
Dirk choked, and found his voice. “You are a coward, Ryan! A coward and
a bully!”
“Shut up!” came the savage answer. “Do you want to wake up the whole
camp?” A sharp point of metal prodded the flesh of Dirk’s leg. “Feel
that? Any more hot air and you’ll get a touch of this! Now, march!”
Biting his lip to keep back the cry that rose to his tongue, Dirk Van
Horn was dragged through the woods. His blindfold was still knotted
tightly over his eyes, and he was helpless in the hands of his captors.
Soon, he could tell by the’ feel of smooth earth under the thin soles of
his slippers that they had come to some sort of clearing. Here his
torturers—he judged that there were three of them—halted. Again Ryan
spoke.
“Now, you’ve got so much sportin’ goods with you, we thought you must be
a swell athlete. We want to see what you can do on the high jump and the
dash and the obstacle race. That right, boys?”
“I won’t do it,” said Dirk stubbornly. “Let me out of this, Ryan. If the
camp director knew you were hazing me——”
“Shut up! Now, the first event will be the runnin’ high jump. When I say
‘go!’ you take off and show us how to break a record! Don’t try to pull
off that blindfold, either, or you’ll get another jab with my knife.
Ready?”
The restraining arms were drawn away, but Dirk stood motionless,
refusing to reply. Sightless, he knew that he could not run, or even
walk, more than a few steps before he would again be brought to the
ground with a crash. Where was he? Far from any help, any sympathetic
leader who could put a stop to the cruel hazing. Was Ryan determined to
push him, helpless, through the motions of a travesty of a track meet,
in disregard of bruises and broken bones?
“Go!” rasped the voice. “Run! Run, or——”
Dirk flinched as he felt the sharp knife-point pierce the skin of his
thigh. His terror was rising, but he did not cry out.
A horrible moment of waiting; then Dirk heard his unseen tormenter laugh
wickedly to himself.
“He won’t play with us, boys! Well, that’s his hard luck! Too bad! It’s
over the cliff for him!”
“Over the cliff!” echoed the henchmen hollowly. “We gave him his chance.
Come on, you!”
Again Dirk was dragged through the forest, more roughly than before. His
captors twisted about so that he had not the least idea in which
direction they were heading, but it seemed as if ages passed before they
halted at last. During the painful journey he had tried to make some
plan for escape; but it was of no use—there were three of them, holding
him closely; he could neither see them nor his surroundings, and his
hands were tightly bound. Was their threat merely a sham, or were they
really now nearing some steep, jagged wall of rock in the forest?
“Don’t move!” warned Ryan suddenly. “We’re right on the edge of Indian
Cliff! Now, Baby, we’ll give you one more chance. Will you behave and do
your stuff in our moonlight track meet? Or do you want to end up a
hundred feet below, down on those big rocks, with a busted neck?”
Dirk’s head was whirling. He tried to fight free, but the clutch of the
restraining arms tightened, and an ungentle hand made sure his blindfold
was still secure. He cautiously felt out with one slippered foot. A few
inches before him, the grassy earth ended in a crumbling edge. A tingle
of horror rose up the boy’s spine.
“Indian Cliff,” Ryan’s voice assured him harshly. “That’s where they’ll
find you in the mornin’. Well, what about it? Yes or no?”
“You don’t dare go through with it!” Dirk cried. “You’re trying to
frighten me! Well, I won’t be fooled! I don’t believe you!”
“He don’t believe us!” jeered Brick. “We’ll have to show him. Get ready.
Let him go, my lads!”
The two henchmen fell back. Dirk turned swiftly; but the point of the
knife caught him in the side, and he recoiled to the treacherous edge of
the embankment.
“So long, Baby! One jump, and it’s all over with you! Well, will you
jump yourself, or will we have to heave you over?” Another prod of the
blade accented his words.
Dirk swallowed heavily, and tears came into his shrouded eyes. “You’ll
be sorry for this, Ryan, you mucker!” he shouted. His teeth were
chattering, and a faint breeze fanned his brow where beads of cold sweat
stood out. “You’re a coward——”
“That’s enough!” Ryan’s tone was ugly. “Do I have to prod you again, or
will you jump?”
Dirk took a deep gasp of air, and his muscles tensed.
“I’ll jump,” he said, and leaped blindly forward.