THE SCOUTS SHOW THE WAY.
“Thad!”
Step Hen leaned back in the boat he occupied in company with Bumpus,
Davy Jones and the scout-master, as he softly uttered the name of the
last mentioned.
“Yes, what is it, Step Hen?” remarked Thad.
“Would you mind if I asked a single question?” pursued the other,
speaking as near a whisper as he could, and still make his voice carry.
“Go ahead, then,” the other went on to say, knowing full well that when
once Step Hen’s curiosity became fully aroused there was nothing to do
but gratify it; besides, had he not often told the scouts that a certain
amount of “wanting to know” was commendable?
“Why, I saw you talking with the sheriff just before we started out
again, and while you were ashore; would it be a fair question to ask
what you fixed up with him?” Step Hen inquired, boldly.
“Oh! nothing that would make any change in our plans,” said Thad. “The
fact is, I was a little nervous about what might happen in all the
excitement of a fight; and it was only my plan to get the sheriff to
promise that he would warn every man in the whole posse to be very
careful not to injure a hair of the girl’s head, even by accident;
that’s all, Step Hen.”
“Thank you, Thad, and I hope you don’t think I was putting in my oar
where I had no business to?”
“Sure I don’t,” replied the scout-master; “we’re all chums, and I’m
certain that every one of you feels almost as much interest as I do
about meeting up with this girl Jasper has with him, and learning
whether she can be our little Polly. But please don’t talk any more just
now, Step Hen; because it isn’t best; and besides, I want to do some
tall thinking.”
Neither Bumpus nor Davy had taken any part in this little whispered
conversation but they had listened eagerly, and doubtless caught every
word that was spoken; if one could judge from their manner, and the
great sigh that the fat scout managed to heave when Thad brought the
talk to an abrupt close.
Yes, it was true that every member of the Silver Fox Patrol did feel
that he had a deep personal interest in the outcome of this journey and
search. Thad was very dear to them all, and many times they had pitied
the boy because, outside of old “Daddy” Brewster, his uncle and
guardian, he seemed to have no close relatives, while they all had
parents, and in most cases either brothers or sisters, perhaps both.
Now, Thad was a sunny-natured lad, and not given to complaining; yet
these warm chums of the Boy Scout Troop could remember instances where
tears had come into his fine eyes when visiting at the home of some
comrade around Christmas time, and he seemed to realize what it was to
be without even one brother or sister, and lacking the love and
affection of father and mother.
And now that there really seemed a chance of Thad’s discovering a sweet
little sister to love and care for, every scout was praying pretty much
continually in his mind, that the expedition might not turn out a
failure, but that when they once more turned their faces northward there
would be an addition to their number, and that Thad would be smiling all
the while with supreme happiness.
Meanwhile Tom Smith was leading them carefully on.
It was entirely different now from what the advance of the sheriff’s
posse had been before the scouts met the crowd. Up to that time noise
had predominated, with the hounds baying wildly, and men shouting back
and forth, as though by this means they expected to frighten the swamp
fugitives into surrendering.
Scout tactics now prevailed. When real woodsmen start out to track an
enemy, or even a wild animal, they adopt the ways of the wolf or the
stealthy Indian, and keep utterly silent. Why, even the paddles seemed
to rise and fall with nothing to mark their laboring save possibly the
trickling drip of drops of water falling from the elevated blades; so
careful were those who handled the same how they used them.
Had they been trying to approach a feeding deer on the edge of the water
among lilypads the scouts could not have exercised greater caution; and
those in the other boats, noticing how gently the boys drove their
canoes along, made haste to pattern after them, not wishing to be
outdone.
All the while the swamp was getting more and more lonely looking, and
the vegetation becoming even thicker, showing that Alligator Smith must
be taking them to a part of the great morass where few people ever came.
Undoubtedly he had his reasons for this, and more than one of the scouts
found himself nearly bursting with eagerness to know what these could
be; but so long as the guide remained in the lead there was no
opportunity to put questions, even could they muster up courage enough
to attempt it.
Of course they were constantly on the alert, not knowing at what moment
there might come a change in the conditions, and something not down on
the bills occur to break the monotony of the advance.
Some of them remembered what the sheriff had said about this Jasper, and
how, if all accounts were true, there would be a wild time when they
finally rounded him up, as he would not succumb without a desperate
fight.
Bumpus watched the bushes and trees ahead of the guide’s boat. He was a
great fellow to imagine things, and doubtless had many a sudden start
when some bird stirred, or a small swamp animal scudded away, each time
causing poor nervous Bumpus to imagine that it must be the terrible
Jasper who was hidden there, drawing a bead on the most prominent object
in the leading canoe behind that of the guide, and which of course meant
himself.
But then, try as he would he could not reduce his bulk any more than had
already been done; and so he must continue to play the part of “martyr,”
serving as a shield to his three more fortunate chums back in the boat.
The guide moderated his pace from time to time. Bumpus wondered at first
whether this came from a fear lest he might be running into an ambush
cleverly set by the man in hiding; but after watching more carefully he
finally realized that he was far from striking the truth when he thought
this way.
In fact, these periods of seeming hesitancy were only indulged in when
the men on the shore had fallen somewhat behind; and undoubtedly it must
be Tom Smith’s plan to allow them an opportunity to come up again, so
that the entire company might be close together.
Finally Bumpus noticed that the guide was now heading straight in toward
the land, as though he meant to give over the water part of the trip;
whereat the fat scout had a thrill of expectancy and joy sweep over him;
for once they left the boats it would no longer be necessary for him to
stick there in the van, such a conspicuous object, when by rights he
felt much more at home in the rear, letting such fire-eaters as Giraffe
and Bob White take the lead if they felt so inclined. “Every one to his
taste,” was the motto of Bumpus; and as for him he always loudly
declared that Nature had not intended him to be a fighter, or else would
he have been fashioned on a different model from that of a dumpling.
Yes, now Tom Smith had driven the prow of his clumsy canoe right into
the bank, and he was clambering out of the same, showing that there was
about to be a positive change in the character of the hunt.
A minute later and Bumpus was able to clamber over the bow of his own
boat, and actually reach solid ground. How he drew in a great breath of
relief when this became an accomplished fact. After all, give him the
touch of good old _terra firma_—how well he remembered going to the
dictionary to find out what those italicized words meant when he first
came across them in a story of young plant hunters written by one who
used to be a great favorite among the boys several generations
past—Captain Mayne Reid, but who is seldom known to the lads of to-day;
and ever since that time Bumpus had been prone to spring his knowledge
upon his unsuspecting fellow scouts, until they threatened all sorts of
dire things unless he changed his tune.
Still the very thought of “solid ground” must always please a fellow
built on the order of an elephant, Bumpus told them time and again, as
an excuse for his satisfaction. However, he did not dare open his mouth
now to say a single word, and had to take it out in sighing, and
mentally shaking hands with himself.
Presently they were all gathered there. The boats were drawn up on the
bank to be left in charge of a guard, for it would not be very pleasant
if they returned later on, to find that some enemy had been there, and
either carried their canoes off, or else in some way smashed holes in
the bottoms, so that they would be useless for the return trip.
The sheriff, Thad and Tom Smith came together and talked for several
minutes in low tones, the rest gathering around, and trying to get in
touch with what was being said.
Had any one been noticing Davy very closely, however, they might have
seen him moving uneasily, then withdrawing his eyes from the central
figures to look hurriedly around him; and after that deliberately
walking away so that he could place himself on the _windward_ side of
the large group.
“Huh!” grunted Bumpus, frowning when he saw this, for he had by accident
been pushing up against Davy at the time, in his eagerness to hear what
the leaders were deciding on; “think you’re smart, don’t you? But I
kinder reckon you’re overdoing the thing, and you’ll get called down
good and hard by Thad, if you don’t let me alone. Huh! who cares,
anyway?”
Bumpus became aware about this time of the fact that Tom Smith was no
longer standing still, but had begun to move off, as though meaning to
lead them on land the balance of the way.
He also seemed to keep close to the border of the water, for some reason
or other, as though either the trail led there, or else he had some
object in not immediately plunging into the thick of the scrub.
Before they had gone fifty yards this object was made manifest. The
guide carefully parted the tall reeds that grew in the shallow water,
and then beckoned to the others to come forward and look for themselves.
Of course the scouts were in the van, and they quickly discovered what
it was the swamp guide wished them to see.
“Why, it’s only an old boat, after all!” grumbled Bumpus, who had
possibly anticipated discovering a monstrous alligator, or else the
terrible Jasper himself.
“Yes, only a boat,” added Allan, who was at his elbow; “but it belongs
to the man we’re looking for, and tells us that we’ll find him home,
when we get to where he hangs out; for that’s the means he has of coming
and going. Things look good to me.”