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The Banner Boy Scouts
Or The Struggle for Leadership
By GEORGE A. WARREN
THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.
CLEVELAND, O. NEW YORK, N.Y.
Copyright, MCMXII
by CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
_Printed in the United States of America_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I A Meeting in the Barn
II What it Means to be a Boy Scout
III The Disappearing Coins
IV The First Scout Leader
V Checking a Coward
VI A Strange Suggestion
VII The Trap that Peleg Set
VIII Turning the Tables
IX "Well Done, My Boy!"
X An Unexpected Offer
XI Caught Napping
XII The Rival Troops
XIII "Fire!"
XIV Jack's Chance
XV The Honor Brand
XVI The Fire Test
XVII Clearing Skies
XVIII Carlo Does His Turn
XIX The Warning Over the Wire
XX Such Glorious Luck
XXI The Meeting
XXII Scouting in Earnest
XXIII The Red Car
XXIV A Call for Help
XXV A Camp in the Woods
XXVI What Woodcraft Told
XXVII Ted Finds Something
XXVIII Forced to Tell
XXIX The Capture
XXX Found Out at Last
XXXI Well Done, Stanhope Troop!--Conclusion
PREFACE
My Dear Boys:
Knowing that ninety-nine lads out of every hundred love outdoor life
above all else, I have taken it upon myself to give you a series of
what I hope will prove to be clean, wide-awake, up-to-date stories,
founded upon a subject that is interesting our whole nation--the Boy
Scouts of America. You know what a hold this movement has taken upon
the rising generation of our broad land. There never was anything like
it before--there never may be again.
At first many people made the mistake of believing that it was simply a
new military order, and that boys who joined were to be taught the duties
of soldiers, and learned how to fight. They know better now. It is really
the greatest movement for Peace ever started. Not only that, but the lads
who belong to this vast organization are taught how to be manly, self
reliant, brave, courteous, kindly and steadfast.
When you examine the roster of the officers who have loaned their names
to help along the good cause you will find such honored signatures as
those of President William Howard Taft, ex-President Theodore Roosevelt,
and many others dear to the hearts of our boys.
This glorious field opens up a very tempting opportunity for a series of
stirring stories concerning the fortunes of _real_ Boy Scouts, who have
gone into the movement heart and soul, with a desire to excel in all they
undertake; and at the same time enjoy themselves hugely. I only hope and
trust that you may be pleased with what you read in this book, about the
doings of the Red Fox Patrol, of Stanhope Troop, and that the story
will do you much good.
Yours faithfully,
George A. Warren.
THE BANNER BOY SCOUTS
CHAPTER I
A MEETING IN THE BARN
"All here now, Paul!"
"Call the roll, somebody, won't you?"
"Keep quiet, fellows, please!"
"Shall I strike a match, Paul?"
"Not on your life, Bobolink. That crowd of Ted Slavin's is out, looking
for us. Somebody must have leaked, or else Ted was tipped off. We've got
to be mighty cautious, I tell you, if we want to give them the slip."
"S-s-say, d-d-don't you k-k-know we've got a fi-fine b-b-barn on our
p-p-place, fellows?"
"For goodness sake; won't somebody please pound Bluff Shipley on the
back, and make him bite his twisted tongue, so he can talk straight?"
cried a pleading voice.
"Listen!"
There must have been a streak of authority in the tone used by Paul
Morrison when he spoke this last word; every one of the other six boys
crouched there, craning his neck, and listening to catch the unusual
sound that had apparently reached the trained ears of their leader.
The woods surrounded the boys on all sides, gloomy, and full of
mystifying noises.
Yet Paul knew full well just what every one of the sounds meant. An owl
called mournfully to its mate from a hollow tree. Katydids and merry
crickets added their shrill music to the chorus of that late summer
night. Even a colony of tree frogs solemnly chanted their appeal for
"more rain."
During the day just ended six fellows in the thriving town of Stanhope
had received urgent telephone calls from Paul, who was an only son of the
leading doctor in the place.
And each boy had promised to meet him at the Three Oaks by the time the
clock in the church steeple had struck eight.
It was even now booming out the hour.
When the last stroke died away, the most impatient among the gathered
boys moved restlessly.
"Follow me, fellows," said Paul, in a low, thrilling tone.
"Where are we heading for?" queried one, who had as yet failed to express
his feelings in the matter.
This was Wallace Carberry, the sober member of the pair known far
and wide as the Carberry Twins; his mate, William, being his exact
counterpart in every particular, when he chose to repress the
good-natured grin that usually marked his fate.
"To the Shipley barn; single file; and silence is the watchword!"
Paul Morrison had long enjoyed the confidence of his comrades in most
matters pertaining to outdoor sports. A healthy lad, both in mind and
body, he was never so happy as when studying the secrets of Nature in
wood and meadow; or in playing any of the various strenuous games to
which all boys with red blood in their veins are addicted.
And when he sent out his mysterious request that some of his most
intimate friends meet him on this night, as he had a communication
of importance to put up to them, the greatest curiosity made itself
manifest.
Paul never suggested ordinary things. More than once he had engineered
some game that brought honor and glory to the boys of Stanhope; and
remembering these satisfactory "stunts" of old, it was no wonder these
fellows had come to the place of meeting without a single exception.
With Bluff Shipley close upon the heels of the leader, and Robert Oliver
Link, whose name had long since been corrupted into Bobolink, bringing
up the rear, the seven lads trailed through the woods, following some
path with which they were evidently more or less familiar.
Several times Paul gave a recognized signal that caused every one of the
bunch to stop short, and turn his head on one side in the endeavor to
discover whether hostile footsteps could be heard in their rear.
But although there were doubtless many rustling sounds, the boys laid
these to the bright-eyed little denizens of that strip of woodland. Too
often had they watched the chipmunks and red squirrels hunting for nuts
under the already falling leaves, not to know that the forest was peopled
with these harmless animals.
After five minutes more there loomed up before them the dark outlines of
a huge barn that seemed rather out of place here on the border of the
woods.
This belonged to the father of Bluff, who, being a prosperous tobacco
grower in this valley, used the place to cure the product of his broad
fields, after it had been harvested in the fall.
Paul had been carrying some sort of package in his hand, and the boys for
some time amused themselves in guessing its nature. When he took off the
paper it stood revealed as a lantern, ready for lighting.
"Show us the way inside, Bluff. Then we'll have a little light on the
subject," remarked the leader, with a last anxious searching look around;
as though he still entertained suspicions that their march to the old
barn might have been observed by some of the hostile Slavin crowd.
Ted Slavin had long been known as the bully of Stanhope; for it seems
that there never yet existed a village or town without some big chap
exercising that privilege. He was a fighter, too, and able to hold his
own against the best. Besides, Ted had shown some of the qualities that
indicate a natural leader; though he held the allegiance of those who
trailed after him mostly through fear, rather than any respect for his
manly qualities.
His leading crony for the past year had been Ward Kenwood, son of the
wealthy banker who was also a leading real estate owner in the place.
Once upon a time Ward would have scorned the thought of associating with
Slavin and his crowd; but an occasion had arisen whereby he had need of
a strong arm to even up a score, and once he found himself indebted to
Ted he kept on in the bully's company.
His rivalry in many fields with Paul had much to do with his throwing his
fortunes in with the other fellows. And nothing pleased him more than to
be able to upset any calculations the latter entertained. That explained
why Paul was anxious to avoid a meeting with the Slavin crowd on this
particular night, when he was brimming over with a great idea.
Once the boys had entered the barn, Bluff secured the door, after which
a match was quickly lighted.
"Now, here we are, safe and sound, and not an enemy around. Suppose you
open up, Paul, and get this load off our minds," said Albert Cypher, who
seldom heard his own name among his friends, but was known far and wide
as Nuthin'.
But what else could a lad expect who was so unfortunate as to find
himself afflicted with such a name as A. Cypher?
"Yes, what's it all mean, Paul? You haven't even taken me in, you know,
and I'm as much in the dark as the next fellow," remarked Jack Stormways,
reproachfully; for being Paul's closest chum he might have expected to
share his confidence.
"Wait a bit. We might as well make ourselves comfortable while we're
about it. I'll sit down on this box, and the rest of you gather around on
the floor. I've got a big proposition to make, and you want to listen
carefully."
"T-t-take c-c-care of the lantern, f-f-fellows; my d-d-dad's w-w-wanting
this old barn f-f-for his t-t-tobacco crop, and he'd b-b-be some put out
if it b-b-burned just now!" came from Bluff.
Finding perches on various low piles of waste left over after the
shipment of the last crop, the six lads gathered around Paul, eagerness
stamped on every beaming face.
"Now, what's the idea that struck you this time, Paul?" demanded
Bobolink.
"I'll tell you without any beating around the bush, fellows. The thought
came to me that Stanhope was away behind the times. Other towns not
nearly so big, have one or more troops of Boy Scouts. Why shouldn't we
get up one here?" and Paul waited to hear what the response would be.
The six who sat in a ring looked at each other as though stunned by the
proposal. It was strange, indeed, that no one had up to this time taken
a lead in advancing such a thing.
"Bully idea, Paul!" ejaculated Jack, slapping a hand on his knee
enthusiastically, as though it appealed to him most decidedly.
"Well, I declare, to think that nobody ever mentioned such a grand
movement before. Count me in right from the start!" said Wallace
Carberry--sober Wallace, who usually measured his words as though they
were golden.
"And me too," observed Bobolink.
"Ditto for William!" called out the other Carberry Twin, grinning with
delight.
"G-g-guess I'd make a bully good t-t-tenderfoot!"
"That's the best thing you ever thought up, old chap," came from Nuthin'.
"Hurrah! every county heard from, and not one contrary word. It looks
as if there might be something doing right soon around this region,"
declared Paul, naturally pleased because his proposition had met with
such unanimous satisfaction.
"Tell us more about it, please. I've read about the Boy Scouts; but my
mother would take a fit if she thought I was practicing to become a
soldier. You see, I had an older brother, who enlisted to go out with
some of the boys when we had our little fuss about Cuba and the
Philippines; and poor Frank died in camp of typhoid fever. I'll have a
hard time winning her over, and the dad, too," remarked Bobolink, sadly.
"Well, that's where you make a big mistake, Bobolink. Over in England,
where the Boy Scout movement started, it has some connection with the
army, because there, you see, every fellow expects at some time to serve
his country as a soldier, or on board a naval vessel. But here in
America, the movement is one for peace."
"Then what's all the doings about?" asked Nuthin', as if puzzled.
"I know, and Paul is right about it," came from Wallace Carberry, always
quite a reader of newspapers and magazines.
"Let him tell then. I'm for the game, no matter what it means," cried
Bobolink.
"And I think Bluff knows something about it, for he said he would do for
the lowest grade of scout, which is the tenderfoot. But I don't think any
of you are qualified to take even that degree; for a tenderfoot must
first be familiar with scout law, sign, salute, and know what his badge
means; he must know about our national flag, and the usual forms of
salute due to it; and be able to tie some seven or eight common knots.
How about that, Bluff?"
"N-n-not guilty!" promptly answered the one addressed.
"Say, that sounds interesting any way. Tell us some more about this,
Paul!" exclaimed William, always eager to hear of anything that smacked
of novelty.
"Well, there are two more degrees a fellow can climb up to, a
second-class scout, and a first-class scout, full fledged. After that, if
he wants to keep right on there are merit badges to be won for excelling
in angling, athletics, camping, cooking at the campfire, taxidermy, first
aid to the injured, handicraft, life saving, path-finding, and a lot
more."
"Now you've got me stuck on this new game," cried Bobolink, excitedly.
"The more you explain the better I like the idea. Me for the Boy Scouts,
fellows!"
"Hear! Hear! Paul, the idea is yours, and we vote unanimously that you
occupy the exalted position of scout master--I know that every troop has
to have such a head, and you're better fitted for the job than any fellow
in town!"
"Yes," laughed Paul, "but unfortunately, I believe a scout master has to
be over twenty-one years of age."
"Who knows the ways of the open like our Paul? He's the right man in the
right place. Say, are there any books on the subject, that we can get,
and learn more about this thing?" asked Wallace, who seemed to be
particularly well pleased.
"I've already sent for a manual, and expect it by to-morrow; when we can
find out all about it. But wishing to be posted when I put the question I
went over the river to Aldine to-day, and saw some of the boys there who
belong to the Scouts. They made me more anxious than ever to start a
patrol in our home town."
"But I've seen something about a troop?" remarked Jack Stormways, who,
Paul thought, seemed unusually sober for a boy ordinarily light-hearted.
"Yes, a troop takes in say, three local posts called patrols, each of
which has eight members. It is known by a number, as Troop One of Boston;
and each minor organization takes a name of some animal, such as wildcat
or fox. If it is called Fox, every boy belonging to it is supposed to be
able to bark like a fox, so as to be able to signal a comrade while
scouting in the woods."
"Ginger! but that does sound interesting," declared William.
"It's j-j-just immense, that's w-w-what!" was Bluff's opinion.
"Listen! I heard a laugh as sure as anything!" exclaimed Paul, lifting a
hand to indicate silence; and every one of the group assumed an attitude
of expectancy.
As they waited there suddenly came a tremendous crash, as some object
landed forcibly against the wooden side of the old barn. It was instantly
followed by a second bang, and others came quick and fast, until the
noise might be likened to a bombardment from a hostile battery.
"It's the Slavin crowd!" called Bobolink, excitedly jumping to his feet.
"They followed us here after all, and have been listening to every word!"
"All hands to repel boarders!" shouted Paul; and with a cheer the
seven boys rushed over to the door, out of which they sprang, bent
on retaliating on their tormentors.