THE COURAGE OF A COWARD
Woodbridge was a profusion of bunting and streamers on Independence Day.
Almost every building, from the meanest little stores on Stone Street to
the big business blocks on Willow and State Streets, was gay with flags
and emblems. The thoroughfares were thronged with people, too. Summer
folk from the cities, mingled with the easily distinguished farmers who
had come to town for the celebration, and these with the residents made
the population of the town almost double its normal size.
Soon after the dinner hour the crowd all began to move in one direction,
for everybody was headed for the exhibition grounds.
Firemen's Field was an ideal place for the celebration. It was in a
broad unfenced stretch of valley bottom on the outskirts of town and a
grandstand had been erected there for the Firemen's Tournament in the
spring, so well remembered by the "smoke-eaters" of Quarry Troop. A deep
woods stretched along the west side of the field and Otter Creek formed
the southern boundary, while the highway to St. Cloud ran across its
northern extreme. There were several acres of broad green lawn in front
of the grandstand, and the only obstructions in the whole area were the
tall and short poles the scouts had erected. These, however, had been
placed so as not to interfere with the dancing and other events scheduled
for the day.
The grandstand was filled to capacity long before the hour set for the
beginning of the ceremonies, and by the time the Mayor and various other
officials had entered their special reviewing stand hundreds of people
were massed in a semicircle about the field.
To one side of the entrance was a group of gay colored tents or marquees,
about which were crowded hundreds of tiny tots, all arrayed in the gaudy
carnival dress. Some were ladies of the French courts, some were garbed
in Colonial costumes and some were masquerading as bears or as wolves.
One group was wearing the wooden shoes and frocks of Holland, another
group was costumed as Russian peasants and still others were dressed to
represent German, Swedish, Danish and Irish folk. The Campfire Girls
were there, too, in a special little marquee by themselves, and to the
right of their location was the Quarry Troop, every lad in full uniform,
and looking very important.
"Corking crowd, eh, Bruce?" said Nipper Knapp, who stood watching the
bank of faces in the grandstand.
"You bet it is. Say, we'll have to do our finest. Not a hitch to-day,
fellows," said Bruce.
"Right-o," asserted half a dozen members of the troop enthusiastically.
Then every one became silent, for the director of the carnival had taken
the center of the field. A moment he stood there and surveyed his
performers, then he gave the signal for the music, and presently the
grand march was under way.
Hundreds of youngsters ranging from tiny tots who were to take part in a
Mother Goose scene, to the stalwart scouts themselves, formed in line and
paraded around the field, passing in front of the stands.
A very impressive scene representing the signing of the Declaration of
Independence was the first number on the program. In this, several
academy boys took the parts of John Hancock, John Adams and John
Dickinson, and the members of the First Congress.
Immediately following came the folk dances, in which scores of pretty
girls in costumes executed the national dances of the various foreign
countries. These little maids tripped lightly to the fantastic dance
music of the people of the old world for fully twenty minutes and as the
last group began the final steps of a pretty Scotch fantasy Bruce stood
up and mustered the scouts in line.
"We're next, fellows. Now do your finest. Are the tents ready and the
rest of the equipment in order? How's 'Old Nanc'?" he called.
But it was needless to ask the question, for the lads had been ready for
fully fifteen minutes.
"How about the flag?" asked Bruce, as the little girls danced their way
off the field and the band changed to a martial air.
"All safe," said Romper, who had been appointed custodian of the precious
bunting.
"Fine!" said the leader of the Owl patrol.
Bugler Benson sounded the call, "Forward, scouts," and the brown-clad
column started toward the tall pole near the center of the field, where
Mr. Ford, in Scoutmaster's uniform, stood waiting. They marched in scout
order with "Old Nanc," laden with the wireless equipment trundling slowly
behind them.
For a moment the lads stood in line in front of the grandstand and
saluted, then at a word from Mr. Ford they broke ranks, and presently a
scout camp was growing before the surprised spectators' eyes. Tents were
erected in a jiffy, scouts were scuttling here and there with camp
equipment, cooking utensils and firewood. Some were mixing dough, some
frying bacon, some cutting wood and some carrying pails of water. Within
ten minutes a model scout camp had appeared in the center of Firemen's
Field.
But presently the spectators discovered that they were doing something
even more interesting than building camp. A half dozen scouts under the
direction of Bruce were unloading queer looking sections of electrical
apparatus from the troop's home-made automobile.
While this was being done, Bud Weir strapped on his climbing spurs and
began to climb the tall pole, carrying the end of a good strong manila
halyard. This he wove through the pulley at the top and soon the scouts
were hoisting one end of the wireless aerials up to him. This was
quickly adjusted, as was the machinery on the ground, and in a few
minutes the wireless station had been assembled and Bruce was at the key,
flashing crackling messages into the air.
Applause came from the grandstand, but before the clapping died away, the
lads lined up in front of the taller of the two poles again and Romper
produced a roll of shining red silk from one of the tents. With this
under his arm he took his place before the flagpole and waited, one hand
upon the new halyard, which still remained in the pulley. At this sign
Mr. Ford stood out and, removing his campaign hat, faced the spectators
and the reviewing stand.
"Honored Mayor, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "the boys of Quarry Troop
No. 1 have been granted the privilege by the Town Council to present
Woodbridge with a city flag. It is our--"
The Assistant Scoutmaster paused here. In the crowd before him he saw
scores of frightened faces. He saw men pointing and heard women cry out
in terror. He saw children cower and scamper for the protection of the
grandstand.
Instantly all turned and looked across the field toward the strip of
woods that bordered it, and what they saw paralyzed them with horror.
There on the edge of the wood that bordered the west of the field,
shaking his massive head menacingly and pawing the ground, stood Ponto,
the great black and white bull of the Lyman stock farm. The most savage
animal in Woodbridge had broken through his barrier and, attracted by the
applause of the people, had wandered through the woods to Firemen's
Field. And the wrath that kindled in his wicked eyes as he stood and
watched the assemblage made even the bravest scout shudder. For a moment
the lads stood as if robbed of their presence of mind by the unfamiliar
emergency. But the next instant they were stirred to action by the rush
of some one running and a cry:
"Quick, scouts, take care of the children. Get these year kiddies out o'
danger. I'll 'tend to the bull."
This was from a stocky lad with legs slightly bowed, who pushed through
the group of boys and laid hold of the halyard of the flagpole. In an
instant he had whipped out his jack-knife and severed the rope. Then he
began to haul it out of the pulley overhead, meanwhile shouting for the
scouts to quiet the already panic-stricken crowd and hurry the children
out of danger.
Bruce gave one look at the boy from Arizona and in his eyes saw something
that told him he was master of the situation. Then he turned to the
scouts.
"He can handle the bull, boys," he cried; "come, work fast, get the
children back."
And the next instant the scouts, armed with their staffs, began to herd
the tiny tots behind the grandstand, leaving Dick Austin alone in the
center of the field.
The lad from Arizona was working frantically. With his knife he cut the
flag from the rope and with the line thus freed began to weave a bowline
knot into one end. This he made to serve as the ring for a lariat, and
presently he had a fifteen-foot loop spread out before him on the ground.
Then with his eyes on the enraged bull he coiled the rest of the rope
into his left hand. And all the time he worked his plucky face wore a
grim smile.
As for the bull, he stood there grunting and pawing the sod furiously,
his fiery eyes fastened on the lone figure.
But it was not in Dick Austin's make-up to flee from a bull. Instead, he
shouted:
"Come on, you old son-of-a-gun," and he actually kicked the red silk flag
into the air to tantalize the animal. This was too much for the beast.
When he saw the red flag flaunted at him by this puny human he let out a
bellow and charged.
Dick was on his toes in an instant. With a twist of his hand he started
the loop circling about his head, while his eyes were fastened on the
enraged animal charging toward him with lowered head.
Nearer he came! Dick could see the red in his distended nostrils; he
could see the cords and arteries in his massive neck and shoulders
standing out under his velvety skin. He could feel the ground tremble
under the pounding of his heavy feet. The next instant those short,
ugly, black tipped horns might be buried into his flesh and he would be
tossed into the air. And if he dropped limp and helpless he would be
stamped to death. The beast was twenty feet away now. His head dropped
lower for the final plunge. He lunged his great body forward.
But the boy was not there! Like a panther, Dick had leaped behind the
flag-pole, but not until he had hurled the whistling loop straight at the
charging animal's feet. Then with a quick turn he snubbed the line about
the pole.
The next instant the great beast's legs were jerked out from under him
and with a roar of rage he turned a complete somersault and crashed to the
ground, every bit of his wrath jarred out of him by the stunning impact.
In a twinkle Dick came from behind the pole and with the lariat still in
his hands rushed toward the prostrate animal. Two dexterous twists were
all he made and the hind legs of the bull were lashed as fast as the
front ones and savage Ponto was helpless.
After the members of the Quarry Troop had viewed the municipal fireworks
in front of Town Hall that night they gathered at headquarters to discuss
the day's events before going home. But there was only one event to be
discussed, and that was on the lips of every individual in town.
"By Jove, I called him a coward," said Bud Weir. "But if there's a
fellow among us who has as much sand as he had--I--I---well, by cracky,
there isn't any."
"Well," said Bruce thoughtfully. "It's this way--ah--er--I mean-- Aw,
shucks, I can't express it the way I want to, but he surely didn't shirk
the duty for which he was prepared. He told me this morning that
lassoing cattle (roping he calls it) and riding horses is part of a day's
work where he comes from."
"I don't care if he is skittish about machinery," said Romper Ryan
emphatically, "I'm going to see that Dick Austin becomes a scout before
he leaves Woodbridge; he's the kind of a chap we need."