WE COOK THE DUCK
“Rescued by a brave, heroic little girl,” I said, as we went tramping
off into the road.
“Let’s be sure that we’re headed in the right direction,” Warde said.
“After what happened I don’t trust myself at all. Is this the end of the
bridge we got on at, or is it the other end?”
“It’s one end or the other,” I said.
“One end’s as good as the other if not better,” Hervey said. “Come on,
follow your leader——”
“Have a heart,” I said; “wait a minute. Let me collect my senses.
_That’s_ north and _that’s _south, and the Hudson is over that
way—east. This creek flows into the Hudson. All right, we’re supposed
to go in the opposite direction from the direction that little girl is
taking. We’re on the right end of the bridge.”
“Right,” Warde said.
“That means that the piece of tin that Pee-wee saw is across the
bridge,” Bert said.
“I’ll go back and hunt for it,” said Pee-wee. “Here, hold the fish.”
“At last we’re going to have something to eat,” I said; “I’m so hungry I
could eat the piece of tin and all.”
“You’re not going to tell them at camp that we were saved by a little
girl, are you?” Pee-wee wanted to know.
“Yes, and I’m going to tell them that a cow laughed at us,” I said.
“Hurry up, go and hunt up that piece of tin; I’m starving.”
You see how it was, we were at the north end of the bridge and our way
was north. I’m telling you because everything was so mixed up on that
crazy hike that maybe you don’t know where you’re at. This is chapter
Seventeen and it’s called, “We Cook the Duck” but you can’t always go by
names. Don’t get worried, if you lose your way just follow me.
After that terrible adventure the principal thing about us was that we
were hungry; we were a kind of a walking famine. I don’t know if that
fish shrunk, but anyway it didn’t look as big as it had looked before. I
guess it was because our appetites were bigger.
Pee-wee started back across the bridge to hunt for the piece of tin he
had seen in the woods, and the rest of us began gathering twigs and
pieces of wood for a fire. Oh boy, but that fish looked good! He was
dead by that time but he was good and fresh just the same. We ran a
forked stick through his gills and hung him in the water where it was
cool and sat around waiting for Pee-wee. We had everything all ready to
start the fire.
Pretty soon along came our young hero with the piece of tin, tiptoeing
across the bridge, very excited and mysterious.
I said, “What’s the matter now? Are we supposed to follow your lead when
you do that? Wait till we have something to eat first.”
“Don’t talk about anything to eat,” he whispered; “we’re going to have a
feast, we’re going to have a banquet, we’re going to have roast duck.
Shh! Here, take this tin. Look over there in the marshes. See? Almost
under the end of the bridge? Do you see that streak of white? Shh!
That’s a duck. He’s caught in the branches of that—shh!”
We all tiptoed very softly about half-way across the bridge and leaned
way over the railing at the place that he pointed out to us under the
other end. There was an old fallen tree there and some of its branches
were sticking out of the water. In among them was a duck. I guessed he
must have been caught there. It seemed as if he didn’t see us or hear
us, so I thought he must be caught there in some way because ducks are
so suspicious.
“Mm-mmm!” I said. “I can just taste him.”
“Looks good to me,” Garry said.
“Talk low,” said Bert.
“Go back and wait, I’m going to get him,” the kid said. “I was the one
to discover him.”
“I don’t care who gets him as long as I can eat him,” I said.
“We’ll roast him, hey?” the kid whispered. “Go back and wait.”
“Look out you don’t scare him away,” Warde said; “even if he’s caught
there he might break loose. Go easy and stalk him.”
“You leave it to me,” the kid said. “You go back and have everything
ready. Maybe you think just because Roy and Hervey can lead us in a lot
of crazy stunts that they’re the only scouts here. But you have to thank
me for roast duck, so you see?”
“You’re so smart you can even find a sign post——”
“Shh-h!” he said, starting off.
“If there’s any cranberry sauce down there bring it along, too,” I said.
He waved his hand behind him for us to keep still, and went tiptoeing
back across the bridge. We went back to the place where we were going to
make our fire. We could see him take off his khaki shirt (so he wouldn’t
get it wet, I suppose) and hang it over the railing of the bridge.
Pretty soon we could see him down below, across the creek, crawling over
that fallen tree.
Warde said, “This will be a big feather in Pee-wee’s cap.”
“It will be a big helping on my plate you mean,” I said.
“What do you mean, plate?” Bert wanted to know.
“Look! What do you know about that? The little codger’s got him!” Garry
shouted.
“Mm-rn!” I said. “We’ll fry the fish and eat him while we’re waiting for
the duck to cook.”
“Let’s not bother with the fish,” I said: “Luck seems to be coming our
way at last.
“Have you got him?” I shouted to Pee-wee as he climbed up over the
railing at the other end of the bridge.
“Yop,” I heard him say.
“We’ll only have to clean the fish and scale him,” Warde said, “and
it’ll be a nuisance. Let’s fry the duck instead. There’ll be plenty for
all hands because that’s a good big one. Fish only makes you thirsty,
anyway. I’m not so crazy about fish—not when there’s duck. Mmm!”
“We should worry about the fish,” I said, and I went over to the water
and threw the fish into the water, stick and all. “He only brought us
bad luck anyway,” I said.
“Sure,” Garry said; “give me duck any day. Look at the size of that one,
will you?”
“I think it’s a goose,” Bert said.
“I think it’s a swan,” Hervey said.
“It’ll be much easier to eat a duck without any plates or knives or
forks,” I said; “we should worry about fish. We can just take the duck’s
legs and wings and—oh boy—we can just pick them dry.”
“Hurry up with the duck,” Hervey called to Pee-wee; “we’re not going to
bother about the fish. Come on, we’re hungry.”
By that time Pee-wee was about half-way across the bridge. “It’s a decoy
duck,” he panted out; “it’s—it’s—just made of wood——”
“What?” I shouted.
“What are you talking about?” Garry hollered at him.
“This is no time for joking,” Hervey said. “Hurry up.”
Pee-wee just came along with a kind of a shamefaced look, and I could
see that the duck didn’t hang limp.
“It’s made of wood, it’s a decoy duck,” he said.
None of us spoke, we just looked at him.
“Here, take it and see for yourself,” he said to me.
I said, “Scout Harris, alias Raving Raven, alias Animal Cracker, you
have done one good turn. You have brought your starving comrades a
wooden duck just after they threw the fish into the creek. You have done
your worst.”
“What are you talking about?” he yelled.
“It is true,” I told him; “the plot grows thicker. This is a funny-bone
hike and nothing happens right. Sit down and starve with us. Here, give
me the wooden duck. If we should catch a pig on this hike it would turn
out to be pig iron. If we caught a cow it would turn out to be a
cowslip. Don’t blame me, blame Hervey Willetts, he started it.”
[Illustration: HERVEY WAS IN THE CREEK, SWIMMING FOR DEAR LIFE.]