GETTING IN A RUT.
"GREAT news, fellows!" called Hen Condit, as he gave the salute on
seeing that the assistant scout master was with the party on
motorcycles.
"What's that you say, Hen?" shouted Toby, making a flying jump from his
saddle that caused him to land plump on hands and knees before the road
house.
"Here, hold on, what d'ye think you're doing, Toby Jones?" called Nat,
who was showing a little more deliberation in dismounting. "Guess you're
dreaming about aeroplanes and all such tomfoolery. Think you can fly,
eh? Well, grow a pair of real wings first!"
Toby's pet hobby lay in the line of aeronautics. He was forever studying
up the mysteries of bird motion, and had the records of all the leading
aeroplane drivers at his finger tips, so that he could tell instantly
what was the highest point as yet reached by a bird-man; the fastest
flight made singly and with a passenger; the longest distance traversed
without alighting, and lots of other similar facts in which the average
boy might not be greatly interested.
He had several times made a gallant attempt to fly, but thus far the
machines he had constructed lacked some essential quality. At any rate
Toby had suffered pretty much as did the Darius Green of whom we older
fellows used to read in our earlier days; and perhaps can still
remember declaiming the story of a vaulting ambition that took a tumble
from the old barn roof.
Elmer gained the doorway where Hen Condit, one of the later recruits in
the Hickory Ridge troop, awaited him. Hen had only received his new
uniform on the preceding day, and hence he felt as proud as a peacock.
His chest had never before been known to have anything like the fine
appearance that it now presented. And only that morning his doting
father had remarked that joining the scouts had done more for the Condit
son and heir than years of pleading and scolding had effected, in so far
as making him stand up, and throw his shoulders back.
"Now, what's the news, Number Eight?" asked Elmer; for the boy in the
doorway belonged to the Wolf Patrol, though a real tenderfoot, in that
he had only qualified for the lowest rung in the ladder by learning how
to tie a number of knots, learning what the requirements of a scout
consist of, and similar things.
"I just had news from up the road, sir," said Hen, eagerly.
"Good news, or bad?" asked Elmer, just as if his eyes did not tell him
that.
"Fine and dandy, sir," was the reply.
"Of course connected with the advance member of our immortal six?" Elmer
continued.
"Sure." Hen forgot to add the term of respect now, for he was burning
with impatience to disclose his knowledge.
"Where from?" asked the scout leader.
"Rockledge, which is, I find, about thirty-two miles from Hickory Ridge
by the route marked out," answered Hen.
"That's right," muttered Toby, who had the map in his mind pretty
accurately, because he and Nat had often scoured the country when their
machines were newer and acted more decently.
"What was the report, Number Eight?" Elmer asked.
"One of our boys had just registered there. He was nearly half an hour
ahead of the next contestant; though that one appeared to be Felix
Wagner, the smart second baseman of the Fairfield nine!"
Elmer looked sober. He realized that the conditions seemed to be
peculiarly fitted for the carrying out of the scheme which those four
Fairfield plotters had arranged, and started up the road some time
before to execute, if it was necessary, in order to help their man win.
A Hickory Ridge scout half an hour ahead of the fleetest of the rival
organization! That would mean a Fairfield victory, providing the present
leader could in some way be disqualified.
"Who was the first man?" he asked, feeling pretty confident as to what
the answer would be.
"Lil Artha! He's doing the Hickory Ridge troop proud this day. We'll
forgive a heap in the way of practical jokes if he only comes in away
ahead of Felix," Hen observed, with the natural pride boys always take
in their home-town doings.
"Hurrah for Lil Artha! Didn't I always say he would show them a clean
pair of heels? Oh, he's a wonder at hiking and running! A three-bagger
for most fellows lets Lil Artha score the circuit. Bully boy, Artha!
Yes, we'll forgive everything if only he keeps this up and puts the
Injun sign on Fairfield."
Somehow or other it seemed as though most of their concern lay in the
possibility of the rival organization winning the laurels. No matter
which of the six home scouts came in ahead, if only he could have the
laugh on Fairfield!
"Half an hour ahead, you said, Number Eight?" Elmer pursued, as he
turned the matter over in his mind and began to figure as to just how
they should act in order to play the game right.
"That's what I got over the wire. If you want, you can call up Rockledge
now, and perhaps they'll be able to give more information," Hen Condit
answered.
"No need, I reckon. What we want to do now is to get busy," said Elmer.
His eye naturally turned toward the two old machines that were apt to
prove so unreliable. And no doubt Elmer was compelled to once more
debate within his mind whether it would be best for him to leave Nat and
Toby far in the lurch, depending on his single arm to protect Lil Artha
against the vandals who would ruin the great hike; or by suiting his
pace to their progress, accidents and all, and have comrades to depend
on in an emergency.
He quickly made up his mind to stick to them, for a while at least. If
things grew to be too bad, he could say good-by and go whirling off at
the rate of forty miles an hour.
Elmer was convinced that the fellows in the Fairfield car would hardly
be likely to start doing things until darkness came. They would not want
Lil Artha to see their faces, so that he could recognize them and later
on accuse them when openly denouncing the miserable game.
"Send on the news to headquarters, Number Eight," he said, as he
prepared to mount again; a movement that sent both Toby and Nat hurrying
toward their machines, anxious to coax them into a fresh start.
"Shall I tell them that you were along, sir?" asked Hen, making the
salute.
"Why, of course," said Elmer; "because they'll be anxious; you see,
there's a nasty plot afoot to kidnap Lil Artha, and make him forfeit his
place in the race, which would go to the next in line."
"And that happens to be Felix Wagner! Great governor! Now I know why you
fellows are hitting up the pace! Give 'em one for me, Toby, won't you?"
Hen bellowed after the three scouts; but they must have gone beyond
earshot, for at least no one seemed to pay the slightest attention to
his request.
It had been Elmer's first intention to make this trip on his wheel, like
the other inspectors, even though his still sore foot would have
rendered this a rather painful undertaking. Perhaps it was the knowledge
of his disability that had caused the owner of the motorcycle to offer
it to Elmer. At any rate the patrol leader was very glad to have it,
since there was little labor needed in order to cover all the ground
necessary.
Of course there was little chance for the trio of scouts to exchange
words while they were spinning along on their motorcycles. The road was
not all that could be desired, the heavy rain of the recent storm had
washed it badly in places, so that they had to keep a sharp lookout for
ruts.
Possibly there is nothing more exasperating to anyone riding a
motorcycle than to find that he is in a deep rut. For a brief time he
may be able to keep his proper balance; but presently he leans a trifle
too much one way, the heavy machine strikes the side of the rut, and as
a consequence there is a sudden dismounting; so that he feels himself
lucky if he alights anywhere but on his head.
Knowing this, and feeling that the wabbly machines of his comrades were
doubly dangerous under such conditions, Elmer always slowed down when he
struck a poor streak of road.
Even then their advance was not free from thrills. Toby was the first to
take a little header, because of thinking he could push through a rut
that somehow seemed to have drawn him as with a magnet, even when he was
fully determined that he would give it a wide berth.
He came down with quite a hard bang; and Nat, hearing the noise, and
being just a little in advance, tried to twist his head around in order
to discover what had happened to his companion in misfortune, when he,
too, turned a complete somersault and landed in the midst of a big clump
of thorny bushes that grew alongside the thoroughfare.
Of course, Elmer immediately stopped, and leaving his motorcycle, ran
back to see whether either of them could be seriously hurt. First of all
he laid hold on Nat, who was kicking his legs vigorously in the air, and
bleating like a calf. After a little pulling, and working the prisoner
of the bush to and fro, he managed to set him free.
"No bones broken, I hope, Nat?" asked Elmer, as the other started to
dance up and down, rubbing his elbows, his shins, and every part of his
anatomy he could possibly reach.
"Oh, I guess not, Elmer; but ain't I just a sight though?" groaned the
other. "My face feels like it was marked with scratches like a map; and
here's a big tear in my trousers. Got a safety pin, Elmer? Oh, dear,
won't I look terrible!"
"Don't worry over it so much, Nat. Be a scout and show your grit. Those
are only little scratches and will be gone in a few days. They're
bleeding some now, of course, and feel bad. Let me wash them with some
water from this brook, to take any poison out. How is it with you,
Toby?" and Elmer turned upon the other unfortunate who came limping
along just then, trundling his heavy motorcycle.
"Nothing much, I reckon, Elmer; got a lump about as big as a pigeon's
egg on top of my coco; but this ain't the first time by a long shot.
I'll be satisfied if only the upset didn't put my old ice wagon here out
of commission." And Toby bent over to test the sparking of his machine
after dropping the rest to the road.
It started off at a rattling pace, which fact seemed to tickle the owner
very much indeed.
"Say, blest if I don't think that tumble must have just knocked it back
into its old shape again!" he exclaimed in glee. "Haven't heard her take
the spark like that for a year and more. Hoopla! Nat, give yours a try.
Hope the same good luck fell your way."
However, such was not the case. Indeed, Nat's machine utterly balked,
and refused to do anything. Even after Elmer had spent as much as
fifteen minutes puttering over it he could not make it behave.
"I'll give it just one more try, Nat," he declared finally, "and then if
it won't work, I'm afraid Toby and myself will have to leave you here.
We've just _got_ to get along now, or it'll all be too late."
"That's right, Elmer," declared the scout, manfully. "I'm not the one to
kick on account of being sacrificed for the good of the troop. Lil Artha
must be protected against these Fairfield bullies. And if I have to hang
out here till after dark, why I'll just feel that I'm doing my little
part of the work. But I hope you make it this time, Elmer, because I'd
rather be along with you, and have an active share in the rush."
Once more did Elmer bend down over the motorcycle as it leaned against a
tree. Two minutes later there suddenly broke forth a rattle of sharp
reports and the rear wheel flew around at a dizzy pace.
"Good, good! You did it, Elmer! She's in the running again; and I won't
have to camp out here on the road till some wagon comes along to pick me
up." And filled with newborn pleasure, Nat proceeded to execute a
hornpipe right then and there.
"Well, get along with you both, then; I'll overtake you in about three
shakes of a lamb's tail," laughed Elmer, as he stepped off along the
road to where he had left his motorcycle.
Ten seconds later the others, just about to start out, heard him calling
aloud.
"He says, hurry, Nat," cried Toby, for a little bend in the road hid
their chum from them; and not waiting to test their machines any further
they were off.
They found Elmer running around, with his head bent low, as though he
might be interested in the make of the roadbed.
"What is it, Elmer?" asked Toby, coming to a stop.
"My motorcycle has gone!" was the startling reply the scout leader
made.