RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL.
“He had better not try to use that nasty looking whip around here,
that’s all I want to say,” remarked Bud Morgan, who had joined Hugh and
Billy.
“Don’t talk quite so loud, Bud,” warned the leader of the Wolf Patrol,
who saw no reason why they should add fuel to the fire that seemed to be
raging in the heart of the countryman.
The farmer was a typical Yankee in looks, and in a city he would be
termed a “hayseed” by the boys; but Hugh knew very well that such a man
might be a well-to-do owner of much property, and respected in the
community where he lived. In the country it is not always a wise thing
to judge a man’s standing by the appearance of his overalls and jumper.
“They tell me yeou be the feller in charge o’ this outfit, mister,” was
the way he greeted Hugh as he arrived on the spot.
“Well,” said the boy, “we have a gentleman by the name of Lieutenant
Denmead who is the real scout master of the Oakvale Troop, but he was
called home by the sickness of his mother, and I am serving in his
place. What can I do for you, sir?”
Hugh said this with one of his winning smiles, but the old farmer
evidently felt in no humor to let himself be moved by such influences.
“I’m comin’ here tew enter a complaint,” he started to say; “and I want
it understood that we farmers ain’t agoin’ tew stand for any sech
pranks. Where yeou came from they c’n excuse boys’ keerlessness, but we
call it by another name up here. It’s agin the law tew trespass on a
man’s property where there’s signs warnin’ people off; an’ when boys
adds tew that by leavin’ the bars o’ a pasture daown so the cattle c’n
wander away, they’re takin’ right big chances o’ landin’ in the taown
lockup.”
There were some contemptuous snorts heard as the boys gathered around.
Apparently they did not take to the old farmer’s accusation very kindly.
Hugh knew them well enough to believe that there must be some mistake;
for scouts are as a rule too well trained with regard to the rights of
others to offend heedlessly in that manner.
“Did someone leave the bars of your pasture down, then?” he asked the
farmer.
“Jest what I said, and naow I got the job o’ huntin’ all over creation
tew find my keows and that ’ere prize Holstein bull that’s wuth a
thousand dollars. I’m givin’ yeou fellers plain warnin’ that this thing
ain’t tew be tolerated any more.”
“Let’s look into this a little closer, Mr.—Mr.——” said Hugh.
“Stebbins is my name, Uriah Stebbins, and I owns three farms araound
this section,” the other hastened to remark when Hugh paused.
“And my name is Hugh Hardin, Mr. Stebbins,” continued the scout master,
still looking pleasant, without appearing to smile too broadly; for he
realized that the angular old farmer might be sensitive and easily
believe he was being made an object of ridicule.
“All right, and I want tew say right naow that I doan’t b’lieve yeou
done the trick, but haow ’baout some o’ the rest o’ the boys?”
“I’d be very much surprised, Mr. Stebbins,” Hugh assured him, “if it
turned out that any of these scouts were guilty. They’re taught
differently in the organization to which we all belong. Scouts like fun
as much as any boys, but they try to have it without being mean, or
injuring others. Now, can you tell me when the bars of your pasture were
let down?”
“Sence high noon,” came the reply. “I know ’cause I was aout there
’raound that time, an’ everything was as it ought tew be. When I kim by
jest naow I seen every bar tuk daown an’ the cattle air missin’.”
Hugh turned to the scouts, now clustered around the spot.
“Who has been off since lunch time?” he asked quietly.
“I was for one!” came from Arthur Cameron without hesitation; and Hugh
fancied he saw something in the face of the speaker that made him think
Arthur could tell a story if questioned; though the expression did not
savor of guilt.
“No one else?” continued the scout master, firmly.
As there was no answer it seemed settled that Arthur must be the only
scout who had left the vicinity of the camp since the hour when they sat
around having their midday meal.
“Do you know anything about this matter, Arthur?” asked Hugh; while the
farmer fixed his small, piercing eyes on the eager, flushed face of the
scout as though he would bore him through, and read in advance what he
was expecting to reply.
“I’m not so sure, but I think I do,” Arthur started to say. “You see, I
came in only a short time ago, and meant to tell the queer thing I’d
seen, but somehow it slipped my mind. That’s why I haven’t spoken of it
up to now.”
“What do you mean by calling it a queer thing?” questioned Hugh, while
all of the others pressed in closer so that they might not lose a single
syllable.
“I’ll tell you, Hugh. I started out to mosey around a bit, not meaning
to go so very far away. You know I’m getting to enjoy searching for the
tracks of small animals more and more, and keep a record of everything I
see connected with the trail of a rabbit or a fox or a ’coon.”
“Yes, we know all that, Arthur, so get down to business, please,” said
Hugh.
“I was just coming out of some woods into a side road when I heard loud
voices, and noticed three foreign-looking men passing through a pasture
where there was a bunch of cattle feeding. All at once they called out
in alarm, and I saw that one of the cattle, a Holstein bull marked black
with a white band about its body, was making headlong after the men, who
were running like mad for the fence.”
“Wow! Lucky Arthur to be the one to have such a free show!” Billy Worth
was heard to say, half under his breath.
“They managed to just get over the fence and no more,” continued the
narrator; “in fact, I’m not quite sure but what that bull helped the
last man over, for there was a lot of angry talk afterward when the men
were brushing themselves off. I wanted to laugh out loud the worst kind,
but they looked so black, and I’ve heard these dagoes always carry
knives with them, so I thought I would show my good sense in bobbing
back into the woods and continuing my hunt for tracks in another
direction.”
“You didn’t see anything more of the three foreign-looking men then,
Arthur?” queried the scout master.
“Not a thing,” came the ready reply, with a frankness that could not be
mistaken; “for I was soon taken up with a discovery I made, and trying
to make head or tail of some curious tracks I ran across. When I thought
to come back to the camp I was a little twisted in my bearings; but by
making use of my limited knowledge of woodcraft I finally managed to get
in all right.”
Hugh turned to the farmer, who had listened intently all this while.
“You heard what this scout said, Mr. Stebbins?” Hugh began. “I want you
to know that no one ever questions the word of Arthur Cameron. It looks
to me as if those three unknown men, possibly from the foreign
settlement over at the cement works, lowered the bars of your fence just
in revenge for the scare they got when your prize bull chased them.”
The farmer must have been impressed with the sincerity of these boys.
Perhaps, as a rule, he had little use for growing lads, and his
experience with such on his farm may not have prejudiced him in their
favor; but Arthur’s story was so simple, and the explanation so
convincing that he nodded his head slowly as if inclined to take back
his former angry charge.
“Wall, naow, mebbe that is what happened,” he said reflectively. “Nero
has got a rousin’ temper, an’ he ain’t agoin’ tew let any strangers
cross the pasture he’s feedin’ in. I guess naow he mout a run them
Eyetalians over the fence; an’ they’d be jest mean enough tew let daown
the bars. But haow in creation am I agoin’ tew get on the track o’ my
cattle?”
Hugh smiled now.
“Nothing easier, Mr. Stebbins,” he told the puzzled farmer, “if you
choose to let us help you. As scouts, we would like nothing better than
to find your herd for you; and while you may not know it, that sort of
work is one of the things we’ve been trained in—following a trail.”
“By jinks! I really b’lieve yeou mean it!” exclaimed the pleased farmer,
a grim smile flitting across his gaunt weatherbeaten face, as he looked
around at the eager countenances of that dozen khaki-clad boys.
“You’ve been unjust to accuse us without any evidence except our
happening to be camped near your farm, Mr. Stebbins,” said Hugh, meaning
that the other should have something to reflect on afterward, “but we
will let that pass. We’d like you to know boys better than it seems you
do. And if you say the word, I’ll pick out several of the best trackers
here to go with you to the pasture and follow your herd.”
“Wish yeou would, er—Mr. Hardy,” said the farmer, eagerly.
“Hardin is the name, sir, or plain Hugh. All right, we’ll start with you
now,” and the scout master turned to glance around him at the eager
faces of his chums.
Every fellow fairly held his breath in anticipation and suspense, hoping
that he might be fortunate enough to be selected among those who were to
take part in this little adventure.
“Alec, you for one; then Arthur, as you’ve had a hand in the game
already, and are making a hobby of tracking, you can be the second. The
other two are Billy Worth and Ralph Kenyon.”
The rest of the boys looked downcast, for they were in just the humor to
welcome some diversion of this sort. However, they had been too well
trained to give voice to their feelings of disappointment.
Hugh and the farmer hurried away, with the others tagging close at their
heels. Reaching the road, which was not far from the camp on the river
bank, they presently turned into a smaller thoroughfare, and in the end
came to where there lay a dense wood on one side with a wide pasture on
the other.
The bars of the fence lay on the ground. It was the easiest thing in the
world for the scouts, because of their training, to see that someone had
taken the pains to toss every bar aside as it was drawn from its
sockets; and this would dispose of any suspicion that the cattle had
broken the barrier down.
“Here’s the way they started off, you can see, Mr. Stebbins,” said Hugh,
as he pointed to the plain impression of many split hoofs in the road,
and which led in an opposite direction to the one they had come from.
It was no trouble at all to follow that broad trail; why, Billy Worth
declared that even the greenhorn, Harold Tremaine, might have done it
with only a few hitches.
“There’s one thing we want to remember, fellows,” remarked Arthur
Cameron, after they had been moving along for some little time, and
apparently getting closer to where the cattle would be found.
“What’s that?” demanded Alec Sands.
“You remember the old cry they say folks used at the time of the Spanish
war: ‘Remember the Maine!’ Well, we want to ‘remember the bull!’”
“I should say we do,” admitted Bud Morgan. “For one I’ve had the
delightful experience of being tossed by a bull, when I was a kid. I
landed in a tree, and held on like fun, so I wasn’t hurt very much. But
I’ll never forget how that old critter pawed the ground and tossed the
dust up with his wicked short horns; and how I suffered all sorts of
tortures for a whole hour, till my father heard the racket and came to
the rescue.”
“And if you’d seen how Nero chased after those foreigners, you’d never
hanker after making his acquaintance at close quarters, let me tell
you,” remarked Arthur; while the farmer chuckled as though he thought he
should be proud to own such a progressive animal.
All this while the cattle seemed to have been moving along the country
road, no doubt stopping now and then to nibble at some particularly
tempting bunch of green grass; but making steady progress nevertheless.
“Well, here’s where they turned aside and entered the woods, you can
see, sir!” Hugh presently said, pointing to the marks at his feet, which
seemed to change their course.
A minute later and the trackers were passing through the forest. Each
boy tried to follow a different trail as much as possible. This was done
at Hugh’s suggestion, for it gave them the advantage that if one series
of tracks became faint and difficult to see some of the others would be
plain enough to be easily followed.
“We’re pulling up on them fast now!” Arthur Cameron declared. “Why, I
just saw a little weed that had been pressed down by a hoof right
itself. That means the animal can’t be far ahead of us.”
“Here’s another pointer,” remarked Alec Sands. “Where this cow is
walking there’s considerable moisture in the ground, and some of the
tracks are partly filled with water. It’s oozing in still, and will fill
them up inside of five minutes. Judging from that I’d say this cow
passed along here not more than five minutes ago.”
“Likely enough we may find them just beyond that line of bushes ahead,”
ventured Ralph Kenyon, who had once been quite a trapper, and knew the
signs of the woods better than any fellow in the whole Oakvale Troop.
“Wait a minute,” said Hugh, impressively, and then turning to Billy and
Alec he added: “I’d advise both of you to pocket the red bandanas you’ve
got knotted around your necks cowboy style. A bull will charge anything
red, as Mr. Stebbins here will tell you.”
“That’s right,” agreed Bud Morgan, who believed he knew considerable
about the habits of bulls in general, especially their “lifting” powers.
“And another thing,” continued Hugh, striking while the iron was hot,
“it’s no disgrace for a scout to shin up a convenient tree if an angry
bull charges at him. You want to remember that, all of you. ‘An ounce of
prevention is better than a pound of cure,’ isn’t it, Bud?”
“Well,” replied the other, with a whimsical shrug, “you just watch my
smoke if ever he really starts for me, that’s all.”