THE DUTY OF A SCOUT.
Hugh’s first act was to throw a reassuring arm across the shoulders of
Gus Merrivale. The action was intended to quiet his fears and revive
hope. Somehow it seemed as though mere personal contact with so magnetic
a fellow as Hugh Hardin was usually enough to generate a new feeling of
ambition in a despairing scout, for undoubtedly Gus immediately began to
show signs of fresh anticipation.
“What do you mean by saying your pal is a goner?” demanded Hugh, looking
down at the tramp as he spoke.
The man lifted one of his arms, though the effort caused him to groan
with pain.
“Hark to that howling blast, will ye?” he called out. “It’s by far the
worst storm I ever stacked up against, and I’ve seen some in my time.
The trees, they’re just goin’ over like ten-pins in a bowling alley.
It’s awful, that’s what it is, and there’s a mighty slim chance poor Sam
could pull through such a fiendish gale if it near did for a strong man
like me, and him that weak.”
“You deserted him then, did you?” demanded Billy, filled with
indignation.
If such a thing as shame could ever make its presence felt in so hard a
face as that of the so-called Casey, it did at that moment.
“Listen, gents!” he called out so as to be heard above the noise with
which the storm was beating against the end of the bunk-house. “I stuck
by Sam till I knowed it was no more use. I couldn’t lift a hand to help
him along any further. So I made up my mind I’d try to find me way back
here and get help for me pal. That’s gospel truth, every word of it.
Even then I believed I was sticking my own silly neck in danger comin’
back—well, never mind why I thought that way.”
Hugh was looking straight into the man’s face as he said this. Somehow
the scout master felt that Casey might actually be telling the truth.
Men like him have been known to do wonderfully fine deeds once in a
while, though no one would ever expect to find such a diamond in the
rough.
He remembered the famous poem of Jim Bludsoe, which only the other day
he had been reading—Jim, it may be remembered, was only a rough
Mississippi steamboat pilot who might be set down as a fair sample of
his kind, and looked upon as a swearing type of river man; yet when the
_Belle_ took fire he manfully stuck to his wheel and held the nose of
the boat against the bank until every “galoot” had jumped to safety on
the bank. Jim lost his own life, it is true, but the memory of his
glorious deed has thrilled tens of thousands ever since it was recorded
in verse.
Yes, somehow Hugh began to believe that Casey might be built something
along those lines. Such a man, to save a comrade, would even risk arrest
and imprisonment. He could have found shelter from the storm so far as
he himself was concerned. The sick pal, however, needed a safer refuge
from the howling gale that might yet turn into one of those dreaded
blizzards through means of which so many of his wandering kind have met
their fate.
“Tell us all about it,” was what Hugh said. “You hurried away from here
after you discovered the car coming along the logging road, headed for
the old camp, didn’t you, Casey?”
“Yes, because ye see I thought youse might be some people I wasn’t
carin’ much about meetin’ just now,” came the ready reply.
“Go on, then, from that point,” urged the scout master, persistently.
“Well, we went as far as Sam could stand it, and then pulled up, meanin’
to put in the night there. I reckoned that when mornin’ kim along I
could sneak back an’ find out the lay of the land, and whether you uns
had vamoosed or not. If ye had we meant to climb back here, an’ stay a
while longer.”
He stopped to rub his injured side softly and grit his teeth, evidently
to suppress the groan that Hugh could see welling to his lips; for the
man was undoubtedly in great pain, despite the ointment Arthur had
rubbed upon his bruises.
“Then the wind began to rise, and I knowed we was goin’ to have some
sort of a storm, which I tell ye I was sorry to see, ’cause bein’ out in
one with winter hangin’ fire close by wasn’t appealin’ none to me. We
snugged up closer when it got worse and worser. Sam he begged me to go
back to the cabin and try to get some help for him. I held out as long
as I could, and then I sensed that it’d be the only thing like as not
that’d save him, he was that weak, you see. So I says I’d go, an’ I left
Sam there among the fallin’ timber.”
“You must have been a pretty good woodsman to find your way back here in
the dark, and with such a storm blowing,” remarked Hugh, for the purpose
of drawing the other out still more.
“Oh! I used to be a lumberjack a long time ago,” explained Casey. “Once
ye larn the tricks o’ the woods they ain’t so easy forgot. I made a
bee-line back here, but all the same I came mighty near never arrivin’,
with that tree ketchin’ me when it came down with a smash.”
He gritted his teeth again at the recollection of his recent almost
miraculous escape. As a lumberman Casey must have been well acquainted
with the perils of falling timber. He could figure what small chances a
man would have should one of those tall pines topple over on him when
driven by a ninety-mile-an-hour gale.
Hugh was thinking seriously. What was their duty under such
circumstances? Should some of them risk going out into the stormy night,
and try to find the abandoned Sam Merrivale, so as to save his life? He
figured that if the erring brother of Gus, weakened by illness as he
was, should be left to the full and protracted rigor of the storm there
was small chance of his ever surviving the night.
Hugh never had a question to decide that worried him more than this one
did. He wanted to do his duty, yet wondered whether it would be right to
imperil the lives of himself and one or more of his chums in trying to
save so miserable a wretch as Sam Merrivale.
The mental combat was short-lived. Hugh could not evade the issue which
was presented so squarely to him. He believed that it would be possible
to rescue the miserable Sam, providing the other tramp would direct them
to the scant refuge where the prodigal son of Mr. Merrivale was
doubtless cowering beneath a scanty shelter that served to protect him
from the chilling blasts.
Of course they would have to accept a certain amount of risk in carrying
out this plan. Hugh felt that for them to remain there in their
comfortable quarters, all through the long night, knowing that a fellow
human being, and poor Gus’ brother at that, was perishing close by,
would be something that would haunt them with shame and regrets as long
as they lived.
So he turned again to the tramp, who may possibly have guessed what had
been passing through the boy’s mind, for he immediately called out:
“I kin direct ye to the place, all right, mister, and it ain’t so very
fur away from here, either; but better think twict afore ye starts to
try it. Chances are three to one ye’ll be sorry when ye git a hundred
yards away, with them pines a fallin’ like hail all around ye.”
Gus held his breath, and kept those eloquent eyes of his glued fast upon
the features of Hugh. It seemed to Gus just then as though the life of
his erring brother were hanging by a slender thread. In fact, it
depended upon the decision of the scout master. If Hugh decided they
would try to find him perhaps Sam might yet be saved; but if the
decision were adverse there was scarcely any hope for the lost one.
Hugh did not fail his comrade. He quickly made up his mind where the
path of duty led as seen by a scout’s eyes. Doubtless, Gus was thrilled
to the bone when he caught the reassuring glance Hugh shot in his
direction, for it told what was coming even before a single word had
been uttered.
“Suppose you tell us, then, Casey,” said Hugh, soberly, “just how to
reach the place where you say you left your pal?”
Gus did not utter a word—he was really too full for that; but he allowed
a hand to steal out and clasp that of the scout leader, which he
squeezed again and again in a way that told of his gratitude more than
mere words could ever have done.
“Ye have got to foller the crick down,” began the injured tramp, “till
ye come to where it makes a second bend, turnin’ to the right. It might
be all o’ a quarter o’ a mile from here. Then strike out as the rocks
run. When ye come to a dip in the same ’tis there ye’ll find Sam alyin’,
dead or alive, I can’t say which. But no matter, ye’ll have to fetch him
back between ye, ’case he’s too weak to walk.”
“You’ll let me go along, of course, Hugh?” pleaded Gus, still clinging
to the other’s hand.
Hugh hardly knew what to do about that. Some one must stay with Casey,
and under ordinary conditions he would have detailed Billy and Gus to
perform that duty. But he knew how the poor fellow was fairly hungering
to be able to do something personally for the brother whom his mother
had sent him out to find.
His decision was quickly made. It was very hard to say no when Gus was
looking so appealingly into his eyes. After all, three might be better
than just a pair of them. And surely Billy ought to be able to take care
of the camp while they were away.
“Yes, you can keep company with us, Gus,” he told the other.
“Then I suppose you mean for me to stay behind, and not Arthur?”
ventured Billy.
“Arthur will be of more help to me in case we find Sam than you could,
Billy,” Hugh told him frankly, “because I depend so much on his
first-aid knowledge. And Gus ought to go because you must remember it is
his brother who’s out in all that storm.”
So it was settled, considerably to the chagrin of Billy, who was to stay
behind; but then he knew the scout master too well to dream of argument
when once the other had laid down the law. Obedience to authority and
discipline is one of the fundamental rules which every member of a
patrol learns early in his career as a scout; it is one of the finest
things taught by the organization, and calculated to be of great
assistance to boys in later life.
Accordingly, Hugh, Gus and Arthur immediately commenced making
preparations looking to sallying forth. They went about this in a
matter-of-fact way, just as though they did not know they would
literally be taking their lives in their hands by braving that fearful
storm.
Hugh did not neglect a single thing, for he was always thorough. He even
made sure they carried plenty of matches along, and some food as well.
“Goodness gracious! I hope now you don’t expect to get lost in the
woods, and wander around ever so long,” ventured Billy, when he saw
this, although secretly he must have also commended the wisdom of the
move.
“There’s no telling what may happen in a case like this,” Hugh replied.
“Besides, we might find Sam pretty well exhausted, and chilled to the
marrow. Then if only we can build a bit of a fire, and warm up this can
of soup, it will give him a whole lot of new strength.”
“Wait a minute, Hugh!” cried Billy, excitedly; “here’s a can of soup of
new-fangled make. It’s meant to be used when a fellow isn’t able to have
_any_ fire, if only he can get a little water. You cut a hole in the
outer can, for there are two, one inside the other. The space between is
filled with unslacked lime, I guess. Anyhow, as soon as the water gets
to it a heat is generated, and in a few minutes you take out the inside
can, open it, and you’ll find the contents steaming hot!”
“I’ve read about those modern sportsmen’s supplies,” said Arthur, “but
never tried anything along those lines. I’d say it might be a splendid
thing for an occasion of this kind. I’ll report to you how it goes,
Billy, in case we have to make use of it.”
“Wish you would,” said Billy, eagerly.
Presently the three who were to brave the storm announced themselves
ready. There was a hearty hand-shake all around. Then Billy carefully
opened the door part way, holding his breath in very awe as the others
pushed through the stingy gap.