ON GUARD
On the bald top of Old Scraggy stood a slender figure in khaki. The
broad-brimmed regulation Scout hat was tilted back, revealing a
sun-browned face which was good to see. The eyes were clear and
steady. The mouth might have been called weak but for a certain set of
the jaw and a slight compression of the thin lips which denoted a
latent force of will which would one day develop into power. It was,
withal, a pleasant face, a face in which character was written, a face
which denoted purpose and determination.
The boy raised a pair of field-glasses to his eyes and swept the
wonderful panorama of forest and lake that unfolded below him on every
side. Like mighty billows of living green the mountains rolled away to
fade into the smoke haze that stretched along the horizon. The smell
of smoke was in the air. Over beyond Mt. Seward hung a huge cloud of
dirty white against which rose great volumes of black, shading down to
dingy sickening yellowish tinge at the horizon. Through his glasses
the boy could see this shot through here and there with angry red.
There was something indescribably sinister and menacing in it, even to
his inexperienced eyes. It was like a huge beast snarling and showing
its teeth as it devoured its prey. On the back side of the Camel's
Hump another fire was raging. But neither of these seriously
threatened Woodcraft Camp, for a barrier of lakes lay between.
"I'm glad they're no nearer," muttered the watcher half aloud. He
swung his glasses around to the camp five miles away by the trail,
though not more than three and a half in an air line, and his face
softened as he studied the familiar scene. There was a song in his
heart and the burden of it was, "They have got some use for me! They
have got some use for me! They have got some use for me!" It was Hal
Harrison.
There had been a wonderful change in the boy in the few weeks since
his meeting with Walter Upton at Speckled Brook. It had been a hard
fight, a bitter fight; sometimes, it seemed to him, a losing fight.
But he had triumphed in the end. He had "made good" with his fellow
Scouts. He had friends, a lot of them. With only one or two was he
what might be called intimate, but on every side were friendly
greetings. From being an outcast he had become a factor in the camp
life. He was counted in as a matter of course in all the fun and
frolic. He had done nothing "big" to win this regard. It was simply
the result of meeting his fellows on their own ground and doing his
share in the trivial things that go to make up daily life.
He was thinking of this now and his changed attitude toward life,
toward his fellow men. In a dim way he realized that a revolution had
been worked within himself, and that his present status in the little
democracy down there on the edge of the lake was due, not so much to a
change in the general feeling of his comrades toward him, but in his
own feeling toward them. His present position had always been his, but
he had refused to take it.
[Illustration: THE BOYS WERE DRILLED IN WIG-WAG SIGNALING]
Somehow money, which had been his sole standard whereby to judge
his fellows, had dropped from his thought utterly as he strove to
measure up his comrades. It had even become hateful to him as he
gradually realized how less than nothing it is in the final summing up
of true worth, of character and manhood. And with this knowledge all
his old arrogance had fallen from him like a false garment, and in its
place had developed a humility that cleared his vision and enabled him
to see things in their true relations.
"My, what a cad I was when I hit Woodcraft, and how little I realized
what the Scout's oath means!" he murmured. "The fellows have been
awfully white to me. If--if I could only do something to show 'em that
I appreciate it, could only really and truly 'make good' somehow.
Seems to me this smoke is getting thicker."
He turned once more toward Seward. The wind was freshening and the
smoke driven before it was settling in a great pall that spread and
gradually blotted out mountain after mountain. The blue haze thickened
in the valleys. When he turned again toward Woodcraft it had become a
blur. The sun, which had poured a flood of brilliant light from a
cloudless sky, had become overcast and now burned an angry red ball
through a murky atmosphere. His throat smarted from the acrid smoke.
There was a strange silence, as if the great wilderness held its
breath in hushed awe in the face of some dread catastrophe.
Hal was on guard. It was Dr. Merriam's policy to always maintain a
watch on the top of Old Scraggy during dry weather that any fire which
should start in the neighborhood might be detected in its incipient
stages and a warning be flashed to camp. The boys were drilled in
wig-wag signaling, and in the use of the heliograph, the former for
use on a dull day and the latter on a bright day, the top of Old
Scraggy being clearly visible from camp, so that with glasses the
wig-wag signals could be read easily. At daybreak a watch was sent to
the mountain station, while another went on duty at the camp to
receive the signals. At noon both guards were relieved. Only the
steadiest and most reliable boys were detailed for this duty. This was
Hal's first assignment and, while he felt the responsibility, he had
hit the Scraggy trail with a light heart, for he realized the
compliment to his scoutcraft. And was not this evidence that he was
making good?
The smoke thickened. The smart in his eyes and throat increased.
Uneasily he paced the little platform that had been built on the
highest point. Suddenly it seemed as if his heart stopped beating for
just a second. Why did the smoke seem so much thicker down there to
the east at the very foot of Scraggy itself? With trembling fingers he
focussed the glasses. The smoke was rising at that point, not settling
down! Yes, he could not be mistaken, there was a flicker of red! There
was a fire on the eastern slope!
Hastily he sprang for the mirror with which to signal his discovery,
but even as his hand touched it he realized the futility of his
purpose. The sun was hopelessly obscured by the smoke. The flags! He
grasped them and turned toward the camp. Where was the camp? Vainly he
sought to locate it. The smoke had drawn a curtain over it through
which even his powerful glasses would not pierce. For a minute panic
gripped him. Then into the chaos of his mind broke the calm quiet
voice of Dr. Merriam in one of his weekly talks at the camp-fire: "The
man or boy to face an emergency is the one who keeps cool--who stops
to think."
Deliberately Hal forced himself to sit down on the edge of the
platform and review the situation. It was five miles to camp. By the
time he could get there and a party be organized and return the fire
would have gained such headway that there would be no checking it. To
the west, nearer by at least a mile and a half, lay the Durant camp.
But there was no broken trail there, nothing but a blazed trail which
he had never even seen and which at best would be slow following. But
hold on! The loggers were at work this side of the camp, not over two
miles distant in a straight line! Perhaps they would discover the
fire. A moment's reflection, however, convinced him that this was
unlikely, at least until it was too late. A shoulder of the mountain
intervened. Was he Scout enough to hold his course for two miles
through that tangle of wilderness?
It seemed the only thing to do if he was to get a warning through in
time. There was no time to lose! His lips tightened and he got up
abruptly and began to tighten his belt. He would try it. He would do
it! Turning for another look at the fire his glance was arrested by a
box half hidden beneath a corner of the platform. In a flash he was on
his knees, half sobbing with relief as he dragged it forth. Why hadn't
he remembered Jack Appleby's wireless outfit before?
Jack had been on Old Scraggy the day before experimenting with
wireless messages to camp, and had left his apparatus on the mountain,
intending to return this afternoon to continue his experiments. How
Hal blessed the good fortune that had led him to take an interest in
wireless and join the little group of boys who were continually
experimenting with it in camp! There were several outfits there, and
one or another was in use most of the time. He prayed with all his
soul that such might be the case now, as, with hasty fingers, he
adjusted the apparatus and sat down to the key. One after the other he
sounded the private calls of all the stations in camp, between each
call listening for a reply. Would they never hear? Click, click,
click, click, over and over and over again he repeated the calls,
while the cold sweat stood out on his forehead. Would they never hear?
Would they never hear? Should he give it up and make the plunge for
the Durant cutting? No, this was his best chance.
Click, click, click! What was the matter with them down there? Ha! Was
that Joe Brown's answering signal? With feverish haste he pounded out
in the Morse code, "Is this you, Brown?" The reply came promptly:
"Yes. Who are you?" With a sigh of relief Hal bent over the key and
forced himself to send his message slowly, that there might be no
confusion in receiving it: "This is Harrison, watch on Scraggy. Fire
just started on eastern slope. Warn Doctor."
"Warn Doctor of fire. All right," spelled the receiver at his ear.
Hal shouted aloud in his relief. Hastily repacking the apparatus he
turned to look down at the threatened danger. Already the fire had
gained great headway. Would the doctor be able to bring help in time?
A heavy stand of magnificent timber lay directly in the path of the
flames. It was one of the choicest holdings of the Durant company.
The boy looked down at the Durant cutting on the other side. If he
could at once warn the men at work there they might reach the fire in
time. He would try. Carefully noting the direction with his pocket
compass he headed straight for the cutting.
That trip down the mountain is a nightmare to Hal to this day.
Slipping, sliding down the steep upper slope, bruised by falls on
rocky ledges, crawling under and over fallen timber, struggling
through seemingly impassable windfalls, his shirt torn, his hat lost,
his face and hands bleeding from numerous scratches he struggled on,
running whenever the way was sufficiently open, stumbling, falling but
doggedly holding to the course set by the little compass in his hand.
It seemed an eternity before the sound of voices mingled with ringing
blows of axes and the crashing of trees told him that he was almost
there. A few minutes later he staggered out among the astonished
loggers. His message was soon told, and almost before he had regained
his wind the fire gangs were organized and with axes and shovels, the
latter kept at hand for just such emergencies, were on their way to
the scene of trouble.
Hal begged to go along, but the boss refused to let him. "You've done
your part, my boy," he said kindly. "You can be of no help there and
might be in danger. Rest here a bit and then you trot along down to
camp and tell Cookie to fix you up and give you something to eat. Son,
you may not know it, but you're all in."
Hal did know it. Now that the excitement was over he began to realize
for the first time how utterly weary he was. He was weak and
trembling. He felt the smart of his bruises and the ache of strained
muscles. The boss was right. His place was in the rear, not on the
firing line.
A long rest at the Durant camp and the friendly ministrations of
Cookie made him feel more like himself. Late in the afternoon he
hobbled into Woodcraft. The camp was nearly deserted, for all of the
older boys were on the fire line. Walter was the first to see him, and
hastened to congratulate him, for the whole camp knew by this time who
had sent the warning. Then others crowded around to shake hands and
insist on hearing his story from his own lips. This Hal told,
omitting, however, to mention his terrific cross country struggle,
explaining his bruises as the result of a tumble over a ledge.
As soon as Walter got a chance he drew Hal to one side. "Say," he
began eagerly, "the game warden and a deputy started for the haunted
cabin early this morning."
"What for? To get the 'hant'?" asked Hal.
"Exactly!" replied Walter. "And the 'hant' is Red Pete! Big Jim
figured it all out when he picked us up on the lake the other
afternoon. You know they couldn't find Pete up at Lonesome Pond. He
probably got wise that Jim would be on his trail after that shootin'
while we were in camp there, and promptly vamoosed. When we told Jim
about the cabin's being locked and the path to the spring he tumbled
in a minute. That was the safest place in the woods for Pete, and he
was probably right in the cabin when we tried the doors. Jim went up
there the next day and did a little scouting. He found a blind trail
down to the lake a lot shorter than the trail we took. Pete was
probably afraid that we'd tell about the locked cabin and some one
would get wise, so as soon as we were out of sight he made a quick
sneak down to the lake ahead of us and slashed the canoe in the hope
that we'd sink and get drowned. Jim sent word to the warden, and now I
guess there'll be something doing at the haunted cabin!"
"How did you find out all this?" asked Hal.
"Jim told me this morning. He was going in with the warden, but when
your message came he had to go fight fire. He told me just before he
started."
"Gee!" exclaimed Hal. "Some excitement to-day! Do the other fellows
know?"
"No. Jim said I could tell you, but that we're to keep it to
ourselves."
Just after sundown the fire fighters returned, weary but triumphant.
The fire had been gotten under control before serious damage had been
done, but this would have been impossible but for the timely arrival
of the Durant gang, who were trained fire fighters, and who had
reached the scene first. The boss had told the doctor of how he
received the warning.
The latter's first action on reaching camp was to issue orders for the
preparation of a huge camp-fire to be started after evening mess. When
this was lighted and the whole camp gathered round Dr. Merriam stepped
into the circle for what the boys supposed was one of his usual
camp-fire talks. He began by a brief review of Scout principles and
the need of coolness and clear thinking in the face of sudden
emergency, and then briefly and forcefully he sketched Hal's exploit
of the day, ending by expressing his personal indebtedness to the boy
who had, by using his head and supplementing this by a courageous act,
saved property of great value. "It would not be inappropriate if there
should be some expression of the camp's feeling at this time,"
concluded the doctor with a twinkle in his eyes.
In a flash Woodhull was on his feet. "The Woodcraft yell for the
Seneca who has made good!" he shouted, and beating time with both arms
he led the long rolling "Whoop-yi-yi-yi! Whoop-yi-yi-yi!
Whoop-yi-yi-yi! Harrison!"
Then despite his efforts to escape Hal was pushed to the center beside
the big chief while the four tribes circled the fire in the mad dance
of triumph.
But the thing that was sweetest of all to the tired boy was the
discovery that the Senecas had been credited fifty points for his
feat. At last he had done something to wipe out the old score. His cup
was full.