The Boy Scouts’ Badge of Courage
[Illustration: “Careful how you step on that dynamite!” warned Rob.]
THE BOY SCOUTS’ BADGE OF COURAGE
BY
LIEUT. HOWARD PAYSON
AUTHOR OF “THE MOTORCYCLE SERIES,” “THE BOY SCOUTS OF THE
EAGLE PATROL,” “THE BOY SCOUTS AND THE ARMY AIRSHIP,”
“THE BOY SCOUTS WITH THE ALLIES IN FRANCE,”
“THE BOY SCOUTS ON BELGIAN BATTLEFIELDS,”
“THE BOY SCOUTS’ CAMPAIGN
FOR PREPAREDNESS,”
ETC., ETC.
With Illustrations by
ARTHUR O. SCOTT
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY, Inc.
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1917,
BY
HURST & COMPANY
CONTENTS
I. Four Chums in Khaki
II. First Aid Arouses Ralph’s Curiosity
III. The Young Fur Farmer
IV. The Black Fox Pen
V. An Uninvited Visitor
VI. Peleg Pinder’s Heavy Load
VII. Turning It Over to Rob
VIII. A Great Day for Water Sport
IX. The Scout Law
X. A Wild Grapevine Rope
XI. The Rescue of Little Caleb
XII. How the Test Panned Out
XIII. When the Circus Came to Town
XIV. The Rising Wind
XV. The Clang of the Fire Bell
XVI. Fighting the Flames
XVII. A Wild Race Against Time
XVIII. Back to the Burning Town
XIX. Behind the Broken Door
XX. The Struggle to Save the Town
XXI. After It Was All Over
XXII. Laying Plans
XXIII. Just Between Boys
XXIV. The Answer to the Puzzle
XXV. Lucky Peleg!
XXVI. Headed for Home
Chapter I
Four Chums in Khaki
“We’re nearly there, fellows!”
“Glad to know it, Sim. For one, I’m tired of this stuffy railroad
car.”
“That isn’t all our trouble by a long shot, Andy Bowles. You must
remember that two shavings of railway lunch-counter sandwiches don’t
go _very_ far toward satisfying a growing boy’s appetite.”
“I thought we would soon hear that cry for help from Tubby. His mind
seems to run along the eating groove most of the time. A _growing_
boy, eh? If he keeps on expanding much more, he’ll be as big as a
hogshead, I reckon.”
“Oh! well, one consolation is you’ll all have to quit calling me
Tubby, then. Say, we must be getting somewhere near that town of
Wyoming,--how about it, Rob?”
There were four of them occupying seats that faced each other,--all
wearing the well-known khaki suits that mark scouts pretty much the
whole world over these modern days.
The very stout chap with the freckled, good-natured face was Tubby
Hopkins. Sim Jeffords was of rather lean build, with a shrewd look
in his keen eyes; Andy Bowles was the one whose cheeks every now and
then expanded as though in imagination he might be practicing some
new bugle call, for Andy had long been recognized as the official
“reveille” and “taps” manipulator of the troop; and last, but far
from least, was Rob Blake, the determined leader of the Eagle
Patrol, who sometimes acted also as assistant master to the Hampton
Troop.
These four comrades, tried and true, came from Long Island, and they
had been riding for some hours on a train heading up into the
interior of New York State. Part of the Eagle Patrol had passed
through rather remarkable adventures in various parts of our own
country and abroad as well. Those who are making their acquaintance
for the first time in these pages, and who would like to know more
concerning their aims and ambitions, as well as some of the stirring
things that came their way, are advised to secure recent volumes of
this series, where they will find tales of many lively happenings
well calculated to please them.
Lately, the boys of the Eagle Patrol had been concerned in the
question of national preparedness, and in their role of scouts
proved considerable help to Government officials who were wrestling
with a number of serious problems.
The vacation season was wearing on after their return home from New
Jersey, and things around Hampton had begun to assume their habitual
mid-summer stagnation when Sim Jeffords broached an idea to the
patrol leader that rather fascinated Rob.
It seemed that Sim had a Cousin Ralph who lived up in the State not
far from the heart of the famous Adirondack region, where his father
owned a large farm of hundreds of acres a few miles from the
bustling manufacturing town of--well, let us call it Wyoming, because
for certain reasons it might not be wholly advisable to locate it
positively.
This cousin appeared to have a “grouch,” as Sim called it,
concerning the subject of Boy Scouts. He believed they were an
overrated lot of boys who somehow managed to advertise themselves in
the newspapers, but who, after all, could not begin to “hold a
candle” to some outside fellows of practical experience.
Some of the correspondence between the cousins when shown to Rob
amused him; and at the same time he could not help feeling just a
little annoyed at the “jabs” which the said Ralph continued to give
the movement.
More than once he had said he would like to know the Adirondack boy,
because he believed he could manage to convert him and influence him
to join a scout troop.
The more Rob heard about several activities on the part of Ralph
Jeffords, the greater his interest grew. If the farm boy could show
such surprising aptitude in Nature study and so wide a knowledge of
the habits of wild animals as his interesting letters indicated, Rob
felt sure he would make a most valuable addition to the ranks of the
khaki-clad scouts.
Hence, when Sim came and read how his cousin had actually invited
him to fetch several of his chums along up to the farm and see what
a fellow who made no pretense to publicity could accomplish in
several lines of outdoor work, Rob “fell” for the scheme instantly.
This expedition was the result of his growing desire to meet Ralph
Jeffords on his own heath and convince him that scouts were not at
all overrated, as he seemed to believe.
With this short but necessary digression, we can go back again to
the four boys whose lively talk will doubtless explain many other
things connected with their enterprise.
“Well,” Rob Blake observed in answer to Tubby’s question, “according
to this railroad folder which I got hold of before leaving New York
City, we are right now at a little way-station called Jupiter, and I
figure that Wyoming lies just seven miles further along the line. At
the rate we are going we should be there in ten or twelve minutes.”
“It ought to be a paying trip for us, I should say,” observed Andy,
thoughtfully. “First of all there’s that stump-blowing business by
the use of dynamite, which I’ve always wanted to see done. Ralph
says they have cleared many acres in that way; and, besides, his
father, being an advanced scientific farmer, is meaning to make use
of dynamite to break up the soil. They say pulverizing it many feet
down has resulted in wonderful crops of grain and garden sass.”
“For my part,” added Sim, “and I think I speak for Rob, I’m
interested in what my cousin has been doing with his fur farm. You
know, his father fenced in a hundred acres of his wildest land, and
for a year or two now Ralph has been experimenting in raising black
foxes for the market. He hasn’t told me a great deal about it, but
what little I know has excited me a heap.”
“Then he’s actually succeeded in raising litters of pups, has he?”
asked Tubby.
“I understand he has succeeded more than fairly well,” answered Sim,
proudly, for it was his own cousin of whom they were speaking,
bearing the family name of Jeffords, too, which counted for a lot
with a boy. “Lately he’s branched out some, and I believe he’s not
only started a skunk farm in a fenced-in corner of his ‘preserves,’
but is going to try raising mink and otter, something that has
really never been done before.”
“My stars! but that cousin of yours is ambitious!” gasped Tubby,
though, not much given to energetic movements himself, could at
least admire any one who showed a disposition that way. “The only
thing I ever thought I’d like to raise in that fashion was frogs,
because frogs, you know, have dandy shanks that taste just like
spring chicken. I never could get enough of ’em when we camped out.”
“Oh! maybe you will up at my cousin’s place,” said Sim,
indifferently, “for he used to have a pond just _swarming_ with
husky bull-frogs as big as your hat. You’ll have a jolly old time
knocking ’em over and fixing ’em for all of us, Tubby.”
“I agree to handle the job, and would like nothing better,” snapped
the stout boy, his face one broad grin of expectancy, as though an
ambition he had cherished for many a moon was in a fair way of being
realized at last; they could also see Tubby work his jaws as though
his mouth fairly watered at the anticipation of the feasts in store.
A short time afterward the train was drawing close to Wyoming.
Clouds of smoke told that there was considerable manufacturing done;
and when finally they found themselves going into the station, Rob
made up his mind that the mountain town was a pretty lively place.
He wondered how it ever came that it had never had a scout troop
started; and began to suspect there must be something of the feeling
Ralph Jeffords had voiced impregnating the entire community.
To himself Rob was saying that it certainly looked as though these
benighted people needed some sort of practical demonstration of the
value to any community an efficient scout troop was always bound to
be. He secretly hoped that before he and his comrades of the Eagle
Patrol left that region an opportunity might arise whereby they
could give these folks an object lesson calculated to bear fruit an
hundred fold.
Nevertheless, little did Rob Blake suspect just then what a
wonderful chance to prove their worth was destined to be offered to
himself and three chums; but in good time all that will be set
before the reader.
“There’s Ralph!” suddenly ejaculated Sim, as with their luggage in
hand they prepared to leave the car platform, for the train had now
stopped at the station.
A sturdily built young chap, whom Rob instantly liked at first
sight, advanced toward them. If Ralph was a farmer’s son, he did not
look very countrified; but, then, the fact of his father being
well-to-do had enabled the boy to attend high school, and secure all
the advantages that go with an education.
Sim grasped him by the hand, though immediately wincing under the
pressure Ralph unconsciously put into his warm welcoming grip. In
turn Sim introduced each of his three chums, who were also given a
sample of country cordiality, Tubby rubbing his fat hand for several
minutes afterwards.
“I’ve got the old one-horse shay handy here to carry you all up in,
and your duffle ditto,” laughed Ralph, pointing to a rambling car
that looked capable of holding half a dozen passengers, and a
quantity of stuff besides. “She isn’t to be wholly relied on for
stability, because she rocks like a ship in a storm; but that engine
is all right, for I look after it myself.”
So Rob understood that besides his many other good qualities Ralph
Jeffords must be something of a mechanic, which added to his
interest in the tall country lad. He made up his mind on the spot
that he was going to like Ralph; and more than ever determined he
would win him around to have a much higher opinion of scouts in
general, and those of the Eagle Patrol in particular, before he left
Wyoming for Long Island again.
They had managed to stow away their suitcases and overcoats, as well
as what fishing tackle they had thought to fetch along in hopes of
having some sport while up there in the mountains, when something
came to pass that for the moment made them forget all their various
plans.
Tubby was just settling down in a corner of the rear seat, and
trying to get his feet clear of the traps that littered the bottom,
when he suddenly threw out one of his hands and pointed excitedly,
as he cried shrilly:
“Oh! look, boys, look there at that horse acting crazy! One of the
cinders from the engine must have fallen on his back and burned him.
There, he’s broke loose and is coming this way like a house afire!
Somebody get hold of the reins and stop him!”