A FOURTEEN-MILE HIKE
SCHOOL let out Thursday, June 22, and it had seemed to us as if the day
never would come. Not that we don't like school because we
do--sometimes; but when the sap drips from the maples and bees buzz
around the pussywillows on the river bank and all the trees take on a
different look, as if there was going to be something doing right away,
then the time has come for us to get out our marbles and tops and to fix
up the cave for the summer.
Pretty soon the buds begin to throw off their overcoats, and Bob's Hill
grows green again in the warm sunshine; the woods are bright with wild
flowers, and the songs of birds and smell of spring fill the air.
Then the mountains and hills tease us away from our books, when we look
out of the window. The river, all swelled up with joy and melting
snows, shouts for us to come on, every time we cross the bridge. On
Saturdays the brook at Peck's Falls, grown big and noisy, roars out a
welcome and tries to say how glad it is to have us back at the cave
again.
Say, how can a boy sit quiet in school when all those things are going
on?
Last day finally came. It always does, no matter how slowly the time
seems to pass. The very next morning the Ravens met to do the final
stunts that would make us First Class Scouts.
For more than a week we had thought of little except the fourteen-mile
hike. It took several meetings before we could decide where to go. Our
first idea was to tramp up into the mountains somewhere, but that scared
our folks and we had to give it up.
"It isn't as if you were all going together," said Pa. "In that case, if
one should get hurt the others could take care of him and go for help.
If one of you alone should break your leg on the mountain we might never
be able to find you. I think you'd better stick to civilization and the
beaten paths. You are not mollie-coddles and probably would come out all
right, anyhow. At the same time, I should sleep better nights if I knew
that my boy wasn't off on the mountain somewhere, alone."
That left us only two directions to go, north and south, because on the
east and west there are mountains and the valley between is narrow.
South near Cheshire Harbor it narrows down so much that there is room
only for a wagon road, the river, and the railroad, side by side, but
there is another road part way up the hill on the east.
On that account we decided that all should not go on the hike the same
day, but to go four at a time, each taking a different road. There are
two roads leading north to North Adams, one on each side of the river,
and two leading south. One goes through Maple Grove and Cheshire Harbor
to Cheshire, where a lot of swell folks from New York spend their summer
vacations. The other, as I have said, is part way up the east hill and
goes through a place, called Pumpkin Hook. It's a queer name but we
didn't name it.
The plan that we finally decided on was for each to follow one road one
day for seven miles; then go up into the hills somewhere to make camp
for the night, and the next day to go back again by the other road. In
that way we should stand a chance of meeting two Scouts some time during
the trip, one on the morning of the second day, when we would be
crossing over to take the other road, and one when the first boys on
their way home would pass the second boys on the way out.
We drew cuts to see who should be the first four to go. Skinny, Harry,
Wallie, and Bill won the first chance. They were to start the next
morning at seven o'clock sharp from the bridge, two going north and two
south. Hank, Benny, Chuck, and myself were to wait until seven o'clock,
the second day, and then start. When we all had come back, we planned to
meet Mr. Norton and tell him about where we had been and what we had
seen and done.
Benny and I live nearest to the bridge. My house is only a stone's throw
north of it; Benny's is a little north of mine and on the other side of
Park Street. That made it easy for us to get to the bridge first, but
pretty soon the others began to come.
"Has anybody seen Skinny?" I asked, looking at Mr. Norton.
Skinny's house is near Mr. Norton's, and we had thought that maybe they
would come together.
"I stopped in as I passed," said he. "Mrs. Miller told me that he had
started."
Just then we heard a caw, sounding from over toward Plunkett's woods
somewhere. It didn't take us long to answer. Then we watched down the
railroad track, where it curves into town between the wooded hillside
and the river.
We didn't have long to wait. In a few minutes we saw Skinny put his head
out between the trees which line a high bank, fifteen or twenty feet
above the track. He looked carefully in every direction; waved one arm,
when he saw that we were watching, and then dodged back again out of
sight.
"He's surrounding something," said Bill, giving a caw so loud it must
have almost scared the crows up in the Bellows Pipe.
"There are only four minutes left before leaving time."
Mr. Norton was looking at his watch. He had hardly spoken, when, with a
whoop and yell, Skinny slid down the embankment and was running like mad
up the track toward us, waving his hatchet in one hand and swinging a
rope around his head with the other.
"One minute to spare," said Mr. Norton, smiling as he put his watch back
into his pocket. "That's the way to do it. Be prompt. If you say that
you'll be somewhere at a certain time, be there."
"Say, Skinny," said Bill, winking at me and giving the Scout salute,
"did you get 'em surrounded?"
Skinny wouldn't answer, or even look at him except to return the salute.
He pulled out his own watch, held it a moment; then pounded on the
bridge with his hatchet.
"The meetin' will come to order?" said he.
As he spoke, the bell on the woolen mill began to ring and we knew that
it was seven o'clock and time to start.
Quite a little crowd had gathered by that time and there was a cheer
when the boys started, Skinny and Harry marching south on Center Street,
side by side, and Bill and Wallie, north on Park Street.
Pretty soon their ways branched off. They turned and waved to us; then
were gone. Once after that we heard some crows cawing in the distance,
and a little later I heard Bill yell from somewhere down the river. I
knew that he was doing his best, but I hardly could hear him.
It wasn't easy to wait until the next day, with the other boys gone and
knowing that we should have to do it, too, in the morning.
Pa said that maybe the time would pass more quickly if I'd hoe in the
garden a spell, but it didn't seem to make any difference. My mind was
following the boys, especially Skinny, on his long walk over a hilly
road to Pumpkin Hook.
"Scout's law says that we must be useful and help others," he had told
us, "and, bet your life, I am going to do things."
"Maybe," said he, after a minute, "I can rescue some fair damsel in
distress, like the knights used to do, even if there ain't any dragons
now-a-days. The road goes too far from the river for me to save anybody
from drowning; unless I come back by the river road."
In the evening Benny and I sat out on the woodpile, talking about it. We
wondered where the boys were making their camps, if anything would
happen to them and if Skinny had rescued anybody yet.
That night I dreamed that I was on the way. I met a little, old woman,
going to market, and carried her basket for her.
"Noble boy," said she. "Because of your kind act I'll change shoes with
you. Mine hurt my feet."
I didn't like to do it very well because her shoes were old and shabby,
but Scout law says to be courteous. So I thanked her as well as I could
and put them on.
And, say, they were magic shoes. I got to North Adams in about three
jumps and liked it so well that I went on to Boston. I was just going to
sleep on Boston Common when a big policeman grabbed me by one shoulder
and gave me a shake.
"Quit!" I said. "A Scout's honor is to be trusted."
"John! John!" came a voice. "It's time to be up and away."
I opened my eyes and there was Pa, laughing down at me.
"You're a pretty Scout," said he. "It's after six o'clock and you have
to start at seven."
Ma hated to see me go, knowing that I'd be out all night, but Pa didn't
care, or pretended that he didn't.
"He's all right," he said. "What's going to hurt him, I'd like to know?"
Before seven o'clock the four of us were at the bridge and, say, we
looked fine in our uniforms. Each one carried a little pan to cook in,
some bacon and other things to eat, and a blanket strapped on his back.
We also carried "first aid to injured" things, to be ready if we should
find somebody getting hurt.
When the bells rang for seven o'clock we started. This time it was
Benny and I who went north on Park Street, and Hank and Chuck, south.
"You watch my smoke," whispered Hank to me, when we were ready to start.
"I've got a new invention and I'm going to try it on somebody."
When we were passing Benny's house Mrs. Wade came out and waved to us.
"Benny Wade," she shouted, "if you are not home by nine o'clock
to-night, your mother will have a fit."
I knew from the look on Benny's face how hard it was for him to be
cheerful, when he wanted to stay out all night, like the rest of us.
"All right, Ma," said he. "Don't worry. I'll come back, if I live."
"If you live!" I heard her yell; but Benny was turning the corner to
take the east road and in another second was out of sight.
At first I hardly could believe that I really was on the way. I took Mr.
Norton's message out of my pocket and looked at it, to make sure,
several times. He had given each of us a message to some one at the end
of the line and told us to bring back a receipt or an answer. Mine was
to a man in North Adams.
The Bob's Hill boys are used to walking. That didn't bother me any. But
somehow this was different from any other walk that I ever had taken. I
suppose it was because it was so important and because I was all alone.
I walked along at pretty good speed until I had almost reached the
Gingham Grounds. Then I slowed down and kept my eyes open for the Gang,
hoping that I should see Jim Donavan somewhere. Jim was their captain
and one of our best friends, but some of the others had it in for us.
I had begun to think that I was going to get through all right, without
any trouble, when I saw one of them coming toward me. He was one of the
best fighters in the Gang, too, and he had a dog with him. Jim was
nowhere in sight.
Isn't it queer what things will come into your head when you are scared?
Pa says that I can't remember twenty-five cents' worth of groceries from
our house to the store; but that is something else.
I was scared, all right, and wanted to run, because fighting always is
scary until after you get started. Then, all of a sudden, I thought of
something that Pa had once read to me about General Grant. Grant was
marching up a hill once, expecting to find the enemy on the other side
and wanting to run all the time, only he was too proud. Then when he
reached the top, where he could see down into the enemy's camp, he found
that they had been more scared than he was and not so proud, for they
had run away.
"So," said he, or something like it, "no matter how frightened you are,
or how much you want to run, remember that the other fellow probably is
just as badly scared as you are."
When I thought of that I braced up and walked along fast, pretending
that I was in a hurry and didn't see him, but keeping one eye on him,
just the same, and the other on a stone which lay in the road, near
where the dog stood whining. The boy was patting his head and trying to
coax him along.
He pretended that he didn't see me, too, until I was passing. Then he
spoke.
"Hello, you village guy," said he.
"Hello, yourself," I said, stopping and edging toward the stone.
"Where do you think you are going?"
"North Adams."
"What for?"
"Oh, just for fun."
"Huh!" said he. "Ain't the trains runnin'?"
"I've got something that's better than trains. It's legs."
"What's the uniform for?"
"Anything the matter?" I asked, after I had told him that I was a Boy
Scout, for I could see that he was feeling badly about something.
"It's my dog," he told me, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes. "Somebody
broke his leg with a stone and I've got to kill him. He's all I have."
"A Scout should be kind to animals," I said to myself. "A Scout is a
friend to all." "A Scout should be useful."
Then I answered myself back.
"What's the use? This ain't any damsel-in-distress business, like Skinny
is going to do. Besides, if I hurry maybe I'll get a chance to signal to
Benny from the turn in the road on ahead."
"Come on and help me kill him," said he.
Just then the dog gave such a pitiful whine that I couldn't stand it,
Benny or no Benny. So I took out my bandage.
"I think I can fix his leg, if you'll help me," I told him. "Get me a
couple of sticks."
I told him what I wanted, and when he had brought them and I had
whittled them into shape to use as splints, I fitted the broken bones in
place and bandaged the leg, just as Mr. Norton had taught us, while the
boy held the dog. The dog yelped a little, but seemed to know that I was
doing it to help him.
"It will soon grow together," I said, when I had finished, "and then it
will be almost as good as new."
It made me feel kind of queer and happy to see how glad he was. The dog
licked my hand, too, and seemed to be trying to say something. I wish
dogs could talk.
"How did you come to know so much?" he asked. "Is your father a doctor?"
Then I told him all about the Scouts and our hike and what Mr. Norton
had said about wanting the Gang to join.
"Bully!" said he. "We'll do it. The others went up on the mountain this
morning after berries. I'd have gone, too, only for the dog. But I'll
tell them when they get home to-night."
"Say," I called out, after I had started on. "You know Benny Wade, don't
you?"
"The kid what always goes around with youse?"
I nodded.
"Yes, I know him when I see him. Why?"
"He'll come through here this evening some time, on his way back from
North Adams. Let him look at the dog and see if he is all right. He
knows as much about those things as I do. Bill Wilson ought to be along
some time during the day on his way back. He started yesterday. Say, you
ought to see Bill do up a leg."
Nothing happened after that, although I kept close watch of the river,
hoping that I might find somebody drowning. Some boys were in swimming
at one place, but they were not drowning nor anywhere near it.
I could have reached North Adams easily long before noon, if I had
wanted to, but I had all day to do it in, so loafed along, expecting to
meet Bill every minute. I rested in the shade whenever I felt like it.
But although I did a lot of cawing every few minutes and kept a sharp
look-out, I didn't see Bill, and I didn't hear him, which I couldn't
understand, unless he had taken the east road home to keep away from the
Gingham Grounds.
At noon I went down by the river, cut a pole, and fished a little,
although I didn't catch anything. I didn't build a fire and cook because
I had a good lunch in my pack. It seemed sort of lonesome, being there
so far away and knowing I couldn't go home when night came.
After a long rest I walked on until I came to a bridge, and then,
feeling sure Benny must be in North Adams by that time, I crossed over
to the east road, where I knew some folks, and went up into the hills to
where Hoosac Tunnel begins. It was fun to see the trains dart in and out
of that great hole which reaches four miles through the mountain, and I
sat there a long time watching.
Four o'clock came before I found my man in North Adams and delivered the
message. By that time I was tired enough to go into camp for the night.
He smiled when he saw me coming in my Scout uniform.
"This letter," said he, when he had read it, "says for me to buy you a
life size ice cream soda? Do you want it?"
There isn't anything in Scout law, is there, which says a Scout mustn't
eat ice cream soda? And the tireder and hotter you are the better it
tastes, doesn't it? I guess yes. Only I wished that Benny was there,
eating one with me.
That night I camped on the bank of a brook, part way up the mountain and
a mile or more beyond the city. The water was clear as crystal and
seemed kind of company, for it gurgled as it poured over the stones,
making music that was great.
I hardly could wait to build a fire and fry my bacon, I was so hungry.
But what is the use of carrying bacon and a pan seven miles, unless you
fry the stuff after you get there? I tell you it tasted good and so did
the wild strawberries that I picked afterward for dessert.
But when it began to grow dark and lights shone out down in the city and
in the sky above, and queer sounds came from the mountain and woods back
of me, I'd have given fifteen cents to have been at home, or at any
rate, to have had somebody with me.
After a while I heard a voice say:
"A Scout should smile and look pleasant."
"Who--who--is that talking?" I asked.
"It's your friend, the brook," came back the answer, in a sweet, gurgly
voice. "I'm a Scout, too. Hear me sing."
"So am I," came the deep voice of the mountain back of me. "A Scout
should be brave. Sleep, my brother. I'll watch over you."
"So are we Scouts," came in whisperings from every side, through the
darkness, and I knew that the trees were talking to me. "We'll take care
of you."
Then I grew brave all in a minute and started up to go to them. As I did
so, the darkness fled, leaving me there lying on the ground in broad
daylight, while the brook sang its loudest and all the trees waved
good-morning. Would you believe it? I had slept all night long and
dreamed that about the brook and the mountain.
On the way home, I came in sight of the houses of the village before ten
o'clock, tired but happy because I had done the last test and now could
be a First Class Scout.
Benny met me outside the village, and he looked scared when he saw that
I was alone.
"Have you seen Bill Wilson?" he shouted, as soon as he could make me
hear.
"I missed him somewhere," I called. "He must have come back by the east
road. Why? What's the matter?"
He already was hurrying home so fast that I hardly could catch up with
him. As he ran he shouted back over his shoulder something that set my
heart to beating and made me forget how tired I was.
"Bill hasn't come back."