THE SCOUT
LONG before the alarm clock buzzed the rising hour, Billy was awake. He
hopped out and hurried with his dressing, watching the sunrise meanwhile
with some anxiety. It seemed more golden and opalescent than usual; or
was it only because it was some time since he had seen it? Such a fine
beginning was apt to end in rain, he remembered a little impatiently.
He was at the meeting-place before time, as were the five other eager
ones. Two days! So short a time in which to win honors! Three patrols
had failed to find the flag so cunningly hidden by Scoutmaster Streeter
to test the troops. The Skwis-kwises (squirrels) had tried, the
Chetwoots, and Billy’s troop, the Olympics. This was a joint patrol, and
the honor of being its leader Billy had long coveted.
They looked quite smart when they started off, in their khaki uniforms
and their scouts’ hats all at precisely the same angle with chin-straps
resting jauntily on the tip of the chin. Billy carried the banner of his
own troop, the design being a snowy mountain with a jagged crest, a
picture of old Olympus himself; not the classic mountain, but the
Sentinel of the Pacific.
Their work was definite. They were to take the trolley line to the
northeast city terminal, going and coming; from there cover at least
fifteen miles on foot in the two days, whether they found the flag or
not. Mr. Streeter said if they could only read his plain signs they
could not miss it; but so far the patrols had failed.
Besides finding the flag each was to fulfil the rule of one kind act
each day; to report some fact of the woods-life not before recorded in
the annals of the city troops, or some new deed; and to stop one hour on
Sunday for exercises of their own devising that should take the place of
church. To accomplish this most of the circumstances would have to be in
their favor. Billy hoped the weather would be one.
The start included breakfast which they took at an early restaurant,
that their knapsacks might not weigh an unnecessary ounce. They set off
northward from the railroad terminus, following the beautiful boulevard
as long as its direction was right, then a country road for a mile or
so, which they left at a given point for the trails where their real
hunt began.
Billy divided the patrol into three squads, Hugh of the Skwis-kwises had
Mumps from the Chetwoots for his partner; Redtop was assigned with
“Bump” Parker; and Billy took Bob Brown. He was a tenderfoot. So was
Hugh, though one of the cleverest and most observant of all the scouts;
but he was doomed to his class till time should bring around his twelfth
birthday, when he would be eligible to all the scout honors he could
win.
“We’ll search the trails for three hours,” Billy decided, “and meet at
the south end of Lake Mow-itsh on the main road.” He studied his map, a
copy of which each one carried. “Ten points for the first squad to
arrive, and ten points for any new bird seen in the forest and rightly
named.”
“That’s easy!” Bob exclaimed. He was a recent arrival from the Middle
States.
“You won’t think so after you’ve hiked a while; the forest is too dense
for many birds,—not enough food for them.”
“And now for the routes; draw straws.”
Billy and Bob drew the longest route, which pleased the patrol leader.
“Now’s your chance to show your grit, kid; your legs are not as long as
mine.”
“But they’re as good, I bet,” Bob returned spunkily. And they separated.
The woods here were dense and heavy with rain of the night before. The
fickle sun disappeared, and the stillness of the forest settled upon
them. Unconsciously Billy and Bob lowered their voices, doing very
little talking, for Billy’s eyes and mind were on the trail intently
watching for the slightest sign. At each division of the trail he
searched so long and carefully that Bob was impatient.
“We’ll lose all chance of winning in at the lake.”
“If we find the flag that will be the biggest win of all, and I’m not
going to lose one pointer if I can help it.” Billy went down on his
knees to look at a track.
“What did you expect to find?”
“I didn’t know; but it’s up to a scout to pass nothing by in the woods.
Look for the arrow that points the way, you tenderfoot. It may be only a
straight shaft or it may have a square at the feathered end.”
“What does that mean?”
“A letter three paces from the arrow.”
“What color will the arrow be?”
“Gee whiz! Did you think it would be bought from a store?
Diamond-tipped, maybe? It’ll be any old stick touched up with a jack
knife perhaps. You’ve got a lot to learn, kid.”
“What direction from the arrow would the letter be?”
“What do you think?”
“The way the arrow points?”
“Right—What have you found?” Billy crossed a small open spot to where
the other boy was bending over two crossed sticks at the foot of a tree.
“Good! You’re not blind as you might be. That’s luck—finding that. We’re
on the wrong lead.”
“How do you know? Two sticks might fall that way.”
“But look here! See that crooked line made of pieces of bark?”
“Yes, but that’s nothing—Why, it’s the letter ‘S.’”
“That means Mr. Streeter. Around here somewhere we’ll find more signs.”
They hunted carefully along, leaving their own records on tree or
ground. Billy explained the many ways of marking the way,—smokes,
wigwagging, shaking the blanket, the semaphore code, all of which are
practically useless in the dense forest, where trees reach higher than
could any smoke that would be safe.
“I’ve got it!” Billy shouted presently, and blew three blasts on his
whistle three times repeated, to herald the finding of an arrow.
No answer.
“We’ll have to write our message in bark chips, I guess.” Billy selected
one large smooth piece, placing it directly beside the path, with
another small round piece on top.
“What does that say?”
“This is the trail,” Billy answered. “And this means ‘Go to the right,’”
he continued, making a similar sign except that he put the small piece
at the right of the larger one, and scratched a rough “B” in the soft
forest debris.
A drizzling rain had begun, and the summer forest was dark and very
dreary to the plains-bred boy. “Golly! I’m glad I’m not alone. I’d be
dippy in an hour.”
“Why?”
“Oh, you can’t tell it in words. It’s like hearing and feeling things in
the dark; you could swear they were there just where they could touch
you; but light a match and you find every one of ’em on the hike.”
“Yes, I know the feeling. You almost think these ferns will rise and
strangle you. In California the forests are more open—” He stopped
suddenly. “Here’s a blaze!” He pushed away the ferns that almost
concealed a square cut in the bark of a tree, in the centre of the bared
space was a pencilled “S.” “These ferns have done a good job of growing
since Pop Streeter hid the flag two weeks ago. But it’s his mark all
right. No wonder the other boys missed it.”
They pressed on, not minding the rain now that the goal seemed near;
Billy’s enthusiasm warmed the other boy.
“It’s funny, ain’t it, how a fool bit of cloth can make a fellow work?
When we get it, it’s worth nothing.”
“Bob, I guess some of the things that seem useless are really worth the
most.”
“But we can’t sell it for anything, we can’t eat it, and it won’t pay
debts.”
“Well, how many debts would greenbacks pay if the American flag was
wiped out? And anyway those that do the biggest things seldom do get
paid in money.”
“Who, for instance?”
“The great artists; many of them starved in their own day, and now we
pay a fortune for one piece of their work. And who pays the mothers?
They do most of anybody.”
Bob was thoughtful. “Ye-s; I reckon lots of mothers get slim pay.”
The signs became more frequent now. They were written in broken twigs,
in bunched and tied grass, and once in a more open place in piled
stones. Presently the boys found themselves on the shore of Mow-itsh
Lake about two miles from the rendezvous. There, in front of a great
cedar, stood the notched and numbered staff with its well-known device
etched with knife and ink,—a mountain with a scout and a flag on its
summit. But the flag they had searched for was gone!
“I wonder what that means!” Billy shook the water from his hat and gazed
in all directions for an answer.
“Search me. I’m no more good at knowin’ things of this country than if
we were in Sahara.”
Billy looked at his watch. “Half an hour to get back to the rendezvous;
and then dinner.”
“Well, filling the hole in my stomach will be real pay for this hike;
enough for me, whether we get any glory or not.”
Back over their way they went to the main trail, with no delays, for
Billy had blazed the way carefully.
“Use your eyes, kid,” he admonished. “There are things in the woods
besides trees; and to-night we’ll have a gab to see how much six pairs
of eyes have been able to discover.”
They arrived to find Hugh alone, preparing to make a fire.
“Billy, I’m glad you’ve come. Now you can watch me,—see if I work
right.”
“You’re not going to try it by friction, are you? It will take too
long.”
“No, it won’t. I got fire in six minutes the other day by following Mr.
Seton’s directions.”
“That’s all right if you have dry wood and the right kind; but it’s been
raining.”
“Just the same I’ve found some fine cedar. You watch me.”
While he drilled out the fine wood-dust Billy was busy finding dry bark
fibre for tinder; and soon a tiny spark appeared, then a little glowing
coal upon which they placed the bunch of fibre, fanning it with their
hats till a flame answered, and soon they had a blazing fire with its
cheering warmth.
“Gee! I didn’t know it was easy as that.” Bob was a trifle contemptuous.
“Easy!” The Fairy rose, rather quickly for a fat boy. “If you think it’s
easy you just try it: I’ve been three months learning.”
“Three months?”
“Not all the time of course; but every time I could get the chance to
practise. The directions in books are as good as words can tell, but
there’s a lot you have to see with your eyes that can’t be told.”
“Six minutes—that’s fair time. Oh, Billy! The flag-staff! Where did you
find it? Where’s the rest of it?”
“That’s what we want to know; this is all we found. Did you get
anything?”
“This.” Hugh took from his pocket a much worn shoe the size to fit a
child of seven or eight.
“Heavens! A lost kid!”
“A little girl, too.”
“How do you know that, Fairy?”
“See the little buckle business? Boys don’t wear that sort.”
“Where is Mumps?”
Billy scowled. “That’s against the rules, you two being separated.”
“We aren’t. He’s in earshot.” Hugh sent a musical “hoo-hoo” into the
distance, which was immediately answered.
“Is there water so near?” Bob questioned incredulously, while Hugh went
on with his calls, singly, in groups, and by spaces.
“Mumps has four fish,—bass.”
“Well, how in jiminy do you know that?”
“Oh, it’s a little set of signals we decided before he set off.”
“Trust the Fairy for talking by signal; he’s a cracker-jack at that,”
Billy explained.
Sydney came up with the fish cleaned for broiling; and presently the
others came in. It had stopped raining, and the sun though not shining
still warmed and brightened the air.
Their luncheon was a quick affair of coffee, fish, and bread and butter;
for they were too excited over the “finds” to take much time for eating.
If there was a child lost what better “kind act” could they do than to
search for her? Redtop and Bump had passed a farmhouse some distance
back, which was the only hint of human life any of them had seen.
Billy decided to start immediately, and keep together till they came to
the house. They would make that headquarters, to which any one finding
any trace of the child should report.
“Perhaps there is no lost child; maybe the shoe was just thrown away,”
Bump ventured.
“Who would carry a shoe into a forest to throw it away?” Redtop jeered.
“A dog might,” Billy returned, and the others laughed at Redtop.
They broke camp and hurried on, spurred by the apparent seriousness of
the situation. The quest of the flag lost all zest beside the mere
possibility of human life in danger.
Half a mile on, or more, they came to a comfortable-looking house where
a woman was washing on the back porch. To their question she shook her
head. No child was missing. She had one, and she had gone home from
school the night before with her cousin to stay over Sunday. But when
Hugh showed her the little shoe she caught at it and turned pale.
“That’s hers. Where did you find it?”
Hugh told her, and she became hysterical with fear. The men of the place
were away on business, and the boys had to plan their search without
help. Billy managed to learn from the excited mother the name of the
cousin’s family and the direction of their ranch, where he sent Redtop
and Bump to find out if the little girl had left, and when; and to
arouse the few neighbors to the hunt.
Billy took the other three with him and set out to the spot where Fairy
had found the shoe. This was near the lake shore; and as they noted the
steep banks and how the green things grew close down and hung into the
water, they chilled with apprehension.
Carefully they worked through the afternoon, peering into every opening,
following every slightest path, calling every few minutes that they
might not lose one another, and with the added hope that a little voice
might answer.
Later they came upon the neighbors and learned that the child had left
the cousin’s home early that morning unseen by any one. There were not
many hunters, less than a dozen, including two or three school-boys.
Three or four small ranches were all the settlements on that side of the
lake; the few children rowed across the narrow inlet to the school on
the other side.
A fear that the scouts had not voiced was yet present in every
heart,—the wild creatures, cats and bears. Billy asked of this, under
his breath that the smaller boys might not hear. The answer was
reassuring. There was such a fulness of wild young growth that animals
would not be hungry, and a little thing that did not attack them was
comparatively safe.
The men had taken out several dogs; but they were untrained, and the
rain had washed away what scent there might have been. They did nothing
but start up small game and go baying off on their own quest.
Till nearly dark they all beat the woods but with no success. The boys
were worn. The men believed the search useless and discussed among
themselves the advisability of dragging the lake. However when dark fell
they ate hastily of food brought to them by some of the women, and set
out again with lanterns into the woods.
Billy was anxious. He was responsible for getting his scouts home not
only safe but in good order; and he believed that to continue the hunt
without rest would utterly exhaust them. Though his own desire was to
push on, and on, through the night and the awful forest till it was
compelled to give up its secret, he ordered them to make camp.
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