"DANGER--COME"
IT was anxious work, standing around while Hank ran the film from his
camera through some kind of machine which he had, to bring out the
picture. After what seemed like a long time he took it out and looked
through it toward the light.
"Hurrah!" he yelled. "We've got 'em."
We all crowded around to look, and sure enough at one end of the film we
could see as plain as day two men standing up and looking toward us. And
there was the brook, too, and the ravine, so real that we almost could
hear the water pouring over the stones, which we think is the sweetest
music in the whole world. Away back in the picture was the bush, behind
which we boys were hiding when Hank took it. Only you couldn't see us at
all, for we had been careful to keep out of sight.
It is wonderful, isn't it? I don't know how it is done and I don't
believe that anybody else knows, but I know that it is so because I saw
it with my own eyes.
Hank washed the film, and after it was dry put it in a frame with some
paper which he had, and held it up to the gas jet. In a few seconds the
picture showed up on the paper fine, just like our writing does when we
do it in invisible ink and hold it up to a blaze.
We could tell who it was, all right. The big one had a scowl on his
face, as if he had put it there when Hank tossed the stone and hadn't
had time to smooth it out again.
"This picture is for the marshal," Hank told us. "Now I'll print another
for the patrol. We'll let them soak and wash a while, and then dry them
out. It'll take quite a long time, but we've got 'em all right."
When we finally went down to the marshal's it was evening. He was
tickled when he saw the picture. It made Skinny feel real chesty and we
all of us were proud.
"I tell you, Mr. Michael," said he, "the Band's the stuff. I mean the
patrol is. They don't get away from us very often. I only wish we'd had
a rope with us that time."
"You boys certainly did the trick," said the marshal, examining the
picture. "I don't know those men myself, but I know where they will know
them, and that is the next best thing. That is, if they are old crooks,
as I suspect they are."
"Where's that?" asked Skinny.
"At police headquarters in New York. They have a rogues' gallery there
that would surprise you. It contains the pictures and records of nearly
every crook in the country. If these men are among them they'll pretty
near know where to put their hands on them. I'll mail this down
to-night. I've telegraphed already. Come around to-morrow and I'll tell
you if I hear anything."
He met us with a broad grin the next afternoon and showed us a telegram.
This is what it said, for I put it down. Skinny thought it ought to be
in the minutes of the meeting.
"Men well-known crooks. Are under arrest. Got the goods and most of the
money."
* * * * *
"More than ten words are in that telegram," said Hank, counting them.
"There you go again," laughed the marshal. "I'll have to call the New
York chief down for being so careless. Anyhow, your robbers will go to
the penitentiary as sure as preaching."
"I don't know about it," Benny told us afterward, when we were talking
it over. "I'm 'most sorry that we did it. I shall always be thinking
that if it hadn't been for us those men wouldn't be locked up away from
birds and grass and trees. Maybe they didn't have such good folks as
we've got. You know that guy out in Illinois didn't have."
But after we saw Pa we felt better about it.
"I'm glad you feel that way," said he. "Still you did the right thing
after you found out about the robbery. I wouldn't advise you, however,
to go around taking photographs of burglars. You might get into trouble
another time. It surely is an awful thing to be in state's prison, but
being away from the trees and grass is not the worst thing about it. The
worst thing is being so bad that you have to be locked up in order to
make other people safe. It is a terrible thing to be a criminal, whether
you are in prison or not."
He was quiet for a minute; then went on:
"I can't think of a worse prison for a human soul than a human body that
does mean things, lies and steals or is vile in any way."
A few days later when Skinny and I went to the post-office together the
postmaster handed him a letter.
"I say," said he, "you have been promoted, haven't you?"
On the envelope was written, "Captain Gabriel Miller, Patrol Leader,
Raven Patrol, Boy Scouts of America."
It made us both excited.
"It's for the whole patrol," said Skinny, trying to look through it. "I
don't think I ought to open it until we are all together, and I hardly
can wait."
He rushed to the door as he spoke and whistled through his teeth, for he
saw Bill and Hank passing on the other side of the street, going to my
house.
"I could have cawed," he explained when they had come across, "but I
didn't think that I ought to when folks were looking."
We went over to Benny's and found him piling wood and glad enough to
quit.
"Never mind about the other boys," I told them. "They will be along
pretty soon. Whatever it is, we'll want to read it twice, anyhow."
Skinny opened the letter and looked at the writing.
"Jee-rusalem, fellers!" he shouted. Then he commenced to caw like some
crow that was crazy with the heat.
Bill cawed, too, but he didn't know what for. Then he tried to snatch
the letter out of Skinny's hand.
"Aw, cut it out, can't you?" said he, when Skinny dodged out of the way.
"Read it."
"I am readin' it," said Skinny. "It's great."
"Well, read it out loud."
Then Skinny started to read, and this is what the letter said, only it
doesn't tell how Skinny's eyes shone, nor how he stopped every few lines
to punch the enemy.
"_To the Boy Scouts of Bob's Hill:_
"I want to thank every boy in Raven Patrol, and
especially Henry Bates, for the recovery of my
property. But for you I should never have seen it
again and the burglars would still be at large. I
offered a reward for the capture of the thieves
and it rightfully belongs to you, but the marshal
has told me that, being Boy Scouts, you do not
want to be rewarded for good deeds. What I wish to
say is this: I like the Boy Scout idea and want to
help it along. Not as a reward but just because I
like boys, will you let me buy uniforms for your
patrol?
"Sincerely your friend,
"ROBERT GREEN."
That is how we happen to have such fine uniforms that make folks turn
around and look every time we pass.
On the day we first wore the uniforms we were made real Scouts; not
First class ones but Second class. You see, there are three kinds. First
you have to be a Tenderfoot. That doesn't mean that your feet are
tender, but that you are new to the business. To get to be a Second
Class Scout, you have to do all kinds of stunts and you have to be a
Tenderfoot at least a month.
We knew how to build fires and cook things out in the woods and things
like that, which Scouts have to do, and the way we tracked the burglars
showed that we knew something about that.
The hardest things we had to do were to learn the Morse alphabet of dots
and dashes for signaling and to learn what to do when folks get hurt,
how to put on bandages and things like that and how to bring folks back
to life when they are nearly drowned. We learned them all right, and it
is a good thing we did.
Signaling was the most fun of all. We could do it with flags like they
do in the army; by waving our arms like a semaphore, and by smoke from
fires like the Indians do. We also could spell out things with smoke in
the Morse alphabet, which was something the Indians couldn't do, by
making the smoke go up in puffs like dots and dashes.
Part of us would go up on Bob's Hill and part on the hill opposite,
beyond the Basin where we go swimming, build fires, and signal to each
other. It was hard at first, but after a while we could spell out 'most
anything and understand some of it.
It came in handy, too, because one afternoon, after we had been playing
in our yard, we decided to practise our signaling. Just after all the
boys had started for the east hill, except Skinny and me, who were going
up on Bob's Hill, Ma came out and wanted to know where the other boys
were.
"It is too bad that they have gone," said she. "I was going to ask them
to stay to supper."
"Maybe they'll come back," said Skinny, winking at me.
"We are not going to have much, but I thought you boys would enjoy
eating together and we should like it, too. We do not often have the
honor of sitting down to the table with young gentlemen who have
uniforms on."
"We'll stay," said Skinny, "if you will let us do something to help.
According to Scout law, a Scout must try his best to do somebody a good
turn every day. I haven't done it now for 'most two days."
"If that is the case," Ma told him, "my woodbox seems to be getting
empty."
That is the greatest woodbox I ever saw for getting empty. We filled it
so full that the wood fell off all over the floor; then started for the
hill.
"Now is our chance," said Skinny. "We've just got to make them
understand this time. We never have had anything much to tell the boys
before, but this is important."
We climbed to the very top of Bob's Hill and soon had a fire going. When
it was well started we threw on some green stuff that made a big smoke.
Pretty soon we saw smoke going up across the valley and knew that the
other boys were ready.
"They are there," I said. "Now we'll tell them."
"Wait," said Skinny. "First let's give the danger signal. That'll fetch
'em."
"But there ain't any danger," I told him. "What's the use of lying, even
with smoke?"
"You bet there's danger," said he. "There's danger of losing your
mother's supper, ain't there?"
So I gave him one end of a wet blanket which I was carrying, and I
grabbed hold of the other end. We covered the fire with it, stopping all
of the smoke; then took it off and let a big puff go up; then covered it
again and sent up a little puff, and kept doing that until I was sure
the boys would be most crazy, for that sign means danger.
After we had done it a while, we spelled out the word "come." We did
that by using the blanket to make a short puff of smoke for a dot and a
long puff for a dash, like this:
... C .. O -- M . E
We waited and spelled it out twice more to make sure, and then went down
the hill to the house.
"Shall I set the table for the others?" Ma asked, when she saw us
coming.
"They will be here in a few minutes," said Skinny, looking at his watch.
We were not sure of it, but we hoped they would and, as Skinny said, it
wouldn't do any hurt to get the table ready.
We were beginning to be afraid that they had not understood and were not
coming, when we heard a faint cawing, a long way off somewhere. It
seemed from beyond Summer Street.
Skinny answered, while I ran into the house to tell the folks that it
was all right. Then we went out in front and waited.
The first we saw of them was when Bill Wilson turned into Park Street in
a cloud of dust and came tearing up the middle of the road on a jump.
The other boys were close behind, running to beat the band, and every
mother's son of them was carrying a big club.
They didn't even yell when they saw us, they were so nearly winded, but
Bill, being corporal, ran up to Skinny, gave the Scout salute, and then
whirled his club around his head three times.
It was great to see them come up that way, every Scout whirling his
club and all out of breath. Skinny's eyes shone like stars, he was so
proud, and I saw Ma looking out of a window, surprised some, I guess.
"Show 'em to us!" yelled Bill, as soon as he could speak. "We'll eat 'em
up."
"You'll get all the eating you want in about five minutes," Skinny told
him.
"Where are they?" yelled Bill again, while the other boys marched up and
stood in a row, each with his club in the air.
"You are crazy," said Skinny. "Where's who?"
"The Gingham Ground Gang. Didn't you tell us the Gang was after you and
for us to come quick?"
"Not much. I said supper was ready and that if you didn't get a move on
yourselves you would lose out."
"Ain't there going to be a fight?"
Just then Ma came out and it was a good thing she did, because there
might have been a fight, after all.
"Boys," said she, smiling at us, "you are all invited to stay to supper,
and you will just about have time to wash up and cool off a little. We
are having supper early to-night. I was so disappointed when I found out
that you had gone that your patrol leader, Captain Miller, told me that
he would signal to you and that Corporal Wilson would get you here on
time if he had to run his legs off. I don't exactly see how he did it
but you are here, that is certain. I've let your folks know, so you can
stay just as well as not, unless you don't like my cooking."
When she said that the boys set up a shout, for they knew all about Ma's
cooking.
"I wish you would tell me how you do it," she added, turning back as she
was going into the house. "If your secretary would come like that when I
call him, I should be the proudest woman in the village."