TELLS ABOUT WHAT BERT TOLD ME
He seemed different from the way he was before. He was all excited when
he talked, and I could see he was just crazy about those new plans.
I said, "But tell us how you rescued Skinny."
"Don't bother your head about trifles," he said. "The passage came out
in the old creek bed in the high land east of the flood; I'll tell you
about it later. Listen, do you know what those fellows were doing? They
may be rotten scouts, Blakeley, but they're A-1 sports. They're having
a pennant made in Catskill. They're going to fly it over the tent. It
says Camp McCord."
"I don't see how you did all this so soon," I told him; "I wish you'd
tell me about the rescue."
"Row quicker," he said, "I've got to see my patrol and get some duds
and beat it back by the road. They'll understand. It'll only be a few
days."
"Bert," I said, "I'm going with you; Westy and I are--"
He said, "Now don't begin that. We've had one flood already; isn't that
enough? Do you want everybody leaving camp? The trustees won't stand
for that. I can speak to my scoutmaster, but _you_ can't because yours
is away. Now don't spoil everything, _please_. Come down and see us
to-morrow, both of you, and we'll give you a couple of home-made
doughnuts."
"Will the twins make them?"
"Never you mind. Come down to-morrow and give us the once over. Just
follow the shore up from Pike's Landing; you'll see a khaki colored
tent in among the trees. That's us. They're putting up the tent now."
"Have you got drainage?" Westy asked him, kind of funny.
"They're digging a regular Panama Canal around that tent," he said.
"Bert," I told him, "you know the rule--"
"Now don't begin about rules. Listen. Your scoutmaster is away. About
every fellow in Temple Camp thinks Skinny is just a miserable little
thief. He went over to see those fellows because--well you know why.
They took him in. And, by jinks, he's going to stay there and so am I--
till this thing is fixed up. Blakeley and Westy," he said, and I could
see he was pretty serious now; "I went into that passageway with that
kid on my back. I was ready to crawl a mile and drag him along if I had
to. As it turned out, the passage was about a couple of hundred feet
long and came out in the old creek bed, like I said--up above the flood
area. Blakeley, when I saw the light of day--or the light of night
rather, because anything was lighter than that black hole--and when I
laid that skinny little kid down--he doesn't weigh fifty pounds,
Blakeley--I just said to myself, '_By the great Eternal, I'm going to
stick to him like glue!_' That's what I said. Even then I didn't know
he had been over to plead with those fellows and ask them _please_ not
to believe he was a thief. When I heard that--"
[Illustration: I WENT INTO THAT PASSAGEWAY WITH THAT KID ON MY BACK.]
"I know, Bert," I told him, "you're right"
"I'm not thinking about myself," he said; "my troop understands me; and
they understand Skinny. He could bunk with us, or with you fellows. But
this is better."
"I hope nobody'll raise a kick," Westy said.
Bert said, "A kick? We're the ones to raise a kick. Haven't I got
anything to say about it? I _couldn't_ bring the kid here--I'm not a
horse. So I did the next best thing; I carried him down the old creek
bed a ways, to where the water flowed into it. It was flowing easy
then. I laced a couple of broken off branches together and made the
craziest raft _you_ ever saw. Then I laid the kid on it and held his
head and poled with the other hand and that way we got down to the
Hudson. I intended to get him to some house down there and then notify
camp. He was a little better by then and a fellow stayed with him near
the shore, while I rowed over to Catskill for some iodine and stuff.
Would you believe it? I ran plunk into the Gold Dust Twins in the drug
store; they were drinking sodas. They've got you beaten seven ways at
that game. Well, I told them all about the flood and how I found Skinny
and how their camp was carried away, and they didn't seem to take it
hard at all, they just laughed and said it was part of the game.
"Oh, Blakeley," he said, "then was when the fun started--telegrams! One
of them had to buy out a peanut stand for Skinny--and then for a tent.
We rooted out that old sail maker from bed, and made him sell us a
tent. They gave him an order for a flag--_CAMP McCORD_--mind you.
Laugh! I just followed them around. They're two of the gamest sports
you ever saw. We went back to the landing in a taxi with cans of food
rolling all over the floor. _'Go faster_,' one of them shouted to the
taxi man, 'or I'll fire a can of pickled beets at your head.' We hired
a motor-boat to take us over and then they retired from the game. Some
whirligig, take it from me!
[Illustration: map: "This map shows you how the water broke through
Frick's Cove and flowed into the old creek bed."]
"But they wouldn't pick out the place for a camp," Bert said; "they
made me do that. 'We don't want to be drowned out again,' they said.
Honest, Westy, those two fellows are down there now, digging a drain
ditch and carrying it way over to the Hudson. '_Safety First_--that's
what they said. And Skinny's sitting there with a bandage around his
head, eating peanuts."
As soon as Bert got out of the boat, he started right off up the hill
for Tigers' Den, as they called it. We could see him stumbling up the
path, limping to favor his leg.
"He'll go back by the road, I suppose," I said.
Westy and I just sat in the boat watching until we couldn't see him any
more. Then he said:
"_Some_ scout, hey?"