TURNING BACK THE CLOCK OF TIME.
“Here they are!” cried Arthur Cameron, triumphantly, because it pleased
him to be the first one to discover the runaway herd.
“All there, Mr. Stebbins?” asked Hugh, as the little party stood and
looked at the feeding cattle.
“Seven keows, and Nero—that’s the full caount, Mr. Hardy; and naow if so
be yeou boys’d gimme a lift agettin’ the same back, I would like it fust
rate.”
“That’s what we expect to do, sir,” Hugh assured him. “You’ll have to
take the lead. They know you, and will be more apt to mind when they
hear you shout at them. Besides, the bull isn’t so apt to charge when he
knows his master is along.”
“Wall, I doan’t trust Nero too far, yeou understand,” the farmer
shrewdly remarked. “Bulls is queer critters and mighty sly. But so long
as the herd keeps alongside him I kinder guess as haow we won’t have
much trouble.”
It turned out that way. They passed around so as to head the animals
off, and then a gentle pressure was exerted to start them along the back
trail. Doubtless the cows understood that they were expected to return
to their corral, for they showed little inclination to balk or act
contrary.
Several times Nero was noticed turning to observe the advancing line of
herders with more or less disapproval. It was laughable to notice how
every scout edged toward some convenient tree, or looked anxiously
toward a fence when on the road, as though mentally calculating how
speedily he could make a safe exit from the scene in case of sudden
necessity.
On the whole, however, Nero acted decently, for he kept moving on
steadily; and in the end the herd was safely placed behind the bars.
“As slick a little job as you’d like to see!” remarked Billy Worth, when
the last bar had been put in place.
“And as easy as anything we ever tackled,” added Alec Sands; “but it’s
just as well. If those foreigners are going to roam around this part of
the country much more, you’ll have to nail up your gates, Mr. Stebbins.
Yes, and watch your crops a bit, too, because when their money gives
out, they’ll be apt to forage on the farmers for a living, as they have
families to feed.”
The farmer looked serious.
“I never did take any tew them foreigners,” he remarked, bitterly.
“Years back I had some hired help that came from acrost the water, and
they gimme a rough deal. I couldn’t understand them critters nohaow, an’
I had tew let ’em go. As luck would have it one o’ my barns burned daown
the next night, which I allowed was some queer. And yeou couldn’t git me
tew hire one naow if I hed tew quit raisin’ crops.”
“Well, we’ll start back to our camp, Mr. Stebbins,” said Hugh, offering
his hand to the other. “I’m glad you came to see us, and if you have
time, drop in some night and listen to the boys sing some of their
school songs.”
“I will, by jinks!” declared the farmer, taking the extended hand in his
own calloused palm. “I uster be summat o’ a singer myself in the old
days when I was acourtin’ Sally Jane. I’d jest like tew hear if boys air
improved any sense them times.”
“They haven’t changed much, you’ll find, sir,” Hugh told him, “though
the songs have, and none for the better, either, because in my mind
there’s nothing like those old tunes, so full of harmony. But drop
around and see us, to-night or any night. We hope to be here a week or
ten days longer.”
Mr. Stebbins went around and shook hands with every one of the four
boys. He was rather a different looking Mr. Stebbins from the
angry-browed farmer with a grievance who strode into their camp earlier
in the afternoon. And somehow the influence of these healthy boys had
seemed to make him more human.
After he had gone, turning to wave to them ere he passed around the bend
to follow the lane leading up to his own farmhouse, the scouts started
in the direction of the camp.
When they arrived they were met with a multitude of questions from those
who had not been so fortunate as to go on the tracking expedition. The
story was soon told, for there was not much to it; still, it seemed to
most of them that this coming of the angry farmer was a good beginning
to their outing.
“Our first day in camp,” remarked Billy Worth, as he assisted in getting
supper ready, “and already we’ve had two adventures. The signs look good
for a real lively time of it up here, seems to me.”
Others were thinking along similar lines. Indeed, it did seem as though
the members of the Wolf Patrol always did manage to be on hand when
anything worth while was taking place. At least it had been their good
luck to be connected with quite a number of lively episodes worth
keeping a record of.
When a party of fun-loving boys have gone into camp there is always more
or less humor abounding. High spirits are the rule, and everything is
taken in the light of a joke.
As they sat around and discussed that evening meal, with the three
dun-colored tents lending an air of business to the scene, as viewed in
the light of the crackling campfire, the utmost hilarity ruled the hour.
The camp cooks had done their work with credit, and were loudly praised;
though possibly there was a method in this flattery, since hopes were
entertained that it might induce the officiating cooks to keep on trying
to excel one another.
Just about the time they had finished everything in sight in the way of
cooked food, and Bud Morgan was trying to squeeze one of the two
coffeepots in the hope of extracting a few more drops of the beloved
amber fluid, Harold Tremaine, who chanced to be on his feet at the time,
sang out:
“Visitors coming, fellows! No, there’s only one, it seems, and I declare
if it isn’t our friend the farmer!”
“And he’s got some sort of basket along with him, too!” ejaculated Billy
Worth, unconsciously rubbing the pit of his stomach in anticipation; for
if the truth must be told, Billy was very fond of eating, and his first
thought seemed to be that possibly the grateful farmer might be going to
donate something worth while to their stock of edibles.
“Glad to see you, Mr. Stebbins!” called out Hugh. “Move along there,
fellows, and make room for our visitor on that log. I invited him to
drop in and see us any time he found the chance, and that we would let
him hear some of our songs. Mr. Stebbins used to be something of a
singer himself long ago; so we’ll expect you to do your level best for
Oakvale High.”
“I fotched yeou over a few dozen o’ fresh aigs,” exclaimed the farmer.
“’Tain’t much after haow yeou helped me so fine tew git my herd back
this arternoon; but the missus she thought as yeou mout enjy knowin’
they was all laid sense yist’day.”
“That’s splendid of you, Mr. Stebbins,” Hugh told him as he saw the
clean eggs in the basket, snuggled in some hay; “and if only you’d take
pay for them——”
“Stop right there, Mr. Hardy,” interrupted the other, raising his hand
in expostulation, “we hain’t a-sellin’ them aigs, remember. They’s a
free-will offerin’ from the Stebbins, and I want tew say I’m right glad
I had a chanct tew meet up with yeou to-day. I kinder looks on boys a
bit different, and I guess they’s some truth in what I heard ’baout this
scout business amakin’ ’em act like they never used tew do ten years
back.”
“Then thank your good wife for the Boy Scouts of Oakvale Troop, will
you, Mr. Stebbins?” said Hugh. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy eating such fine
eggs. We brought a few with us, but even now they’re nearly all gone.”
“Mebbe if so be them Eyetalian strikers doan’t wring the necks o’ my
dominick fowls some night, when they’re aprowlin’ araound lookin’ for
food, they might be more o’ the same kind acomin’ this way from my
coops.”
Apparently Mr. Stebbins had been impressed by the behavior and cordial
ways of the scouts more than any of them had suspected. Here he was
opening his heart to them in a way that would have amazed those of his
neighbors who had known him all his life as perhaps a close-fisted
tiller of the soil. Hugh hugged to his heart the conviction that it paid
to make a friend out of one who seemed inclined to be an enemy.
Mr. Stebbins sat down there in front of the glowing fire and listened to
the lively talk that was going on. Occasionally he joined in, usually to
mention some episode of his past which came up in his mind under the
peculiar conditions surrounding him.
Mr. Stebbins must have been asking himself more than once whether he
could be awake or simply dreaming all these things. If friends had told
the crusty, grubbing old farmer a week before that he would presently be
found actually wasting precious time sitting on a log by a blazing
campfire, and enjoying himself to the limit listening to a pack of boys
chatter and sing, he would have informed them that they were crazy.
When Hugh started the crowd singing the farmer seemed to be quivering
all over with delight. Old half-forgotten memories must have awakened in
his brain. Once again, perhaps, he was taking a pretty red-cheeked lass
to “singin’ skewl,” and he might be even stealing a kiss on the road in
the bargain.
He even joined in some of the choruses, and while there could be no
doubt with regard to his good intentions, it was also a patent fact
that, in the long years since Mr. Stebbins had sung, his voice had
become wofully cracked. But then the boys cared nothing for that. It
tickled them to see him clapping his hands to keep time with the music,
and to notice how his wrinkled face fairly beamed with awakened
satisfaction.
That had certainly been a day to be marked with a red cross in the life
history of Uriah Stebbins; and it might be set down as certain that from
that time on he would try to get closer to the hearts of boys than he
had ever thought of doing before.
He could hardly tear himself away when the hour began to get late, that
is, for a hard-working farmer who was at work at peep of dawn, often
long before.
“I’m sure coming daown again tew see yeou, boys,” he said, as he went
the rounds and squeezed a hand of every scout; “and mebbe if it’s all
right I’d like tew fotch my Sally Jane along. I kinder think it would
make the missus feel ten years younger if so be she could hear some o’
that fine singin’. Haow ’baout that, Mr. Hardy?”
“We’d be only too pleased to have you bring her any time, sir. And let
me tell you, all of us have enjoyed this evening almost as much as you
did; isn’t that so, boys?” and Hugh turned expectantly to the rest as he
said this.
A chorus of approval answered him, and the old farmer went away in high
spirits indeed; they even thought he stood up straighter, and walked
with a more springy step than before.
“Of course we mean what we said,” observed Alec Sands after the old man
had vanished from sight; “but at the same time that insures us a supply
of dandy fresh eggs all the time we stay here. So things work out well
for us, it seems.”
“Oh! don’t be so mercenary about it, Alec,” remonstrated Billy. “Why, it
was worth a lot to me just to see what a remarkable change has come over
Uriah. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to learn the newest songs, or
even how to dance the tango with his wife if this new spirit keeps on
growing.”
They continued to sit there for quite some time—it seemed so cozy by the
fire.
Hugh was just thinking of saying that they had better be crawling inside
their tents and trying to get some sleep, when he noticed Ralph Kenyon
trying to attract his attention. Leaning forward, Ralph went on to say
in a low tone:
“Don’t anybody look just yet; but there’s a man watching us in those
bushes back of you, Hugh.”