THE BOY SCOUTS OF THE EAGLE PATROL
By
Lieut. Howard Payson
CONTENTS
I SCOUTS ON THE TRAIL
II A CRUISE TO THE ISLAND
III BOY SCOUTS TO THE RESCUE
IV SAM IN DIRE STRAITS
V THE BULLY SPRINGS A SURPRISE
VI AN ISLAND MYSTERY
VII SOME STRANGE DOINGS
VIII THE STOLEN UNIFORMS
IX THE HYDROPLANE QUEERLY RECOVERED
X WINNING THE CONTEST
XI A FORTUNATE DISCOVERY
XII JACK FORMS A PLOT
XIII THE "FLYING FISH" ON HER METTLE
XIV THE EAGLES IN CAMP
XV THE CHUMS IN PERIL
XVI LOST IN THE STORM
XVII ALMOST RUN DOWN
XVIII JOE DIGBY MISSING
XIX SAM REBELS
XX THE HUNT FOR TENDERFOOT JOE
XXI SAVED BY "SMOKE MORSE"
XXII THE ESCAPE OF THE BULLY
XXIII SCOUTS IN NEED ARE FRIENDS INDEED
XXIV A MEETING IN THE FOG--CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I
SCOUTS ON THE TRAIL
The dark growth of scrub oak and pine parted suddenly and the lithe
figure of a boy of about seventeen emerged suddenly into the little
clearing. The lad who had so abruptly materialized from the
close-growing vegetation peculiar to the region about the little town
of Hampton, on the south shore of Long Island, wore a well-fitting
uniform of brown khaki, canvas leggings of the same hue and a soft hat
of the campaign variety, turned up at one side. To the front of his
headpiece was fastened a metal badge, resembling the three-pointed
arrow head utilized on old maps to indicate the north. On a metal
scroll beneath it were embossed the words: "Be Prepared."
The manner of the badge's attachment would have indicated at once, to
any one familiar with the organization, that the lad wearing it was the
patrol leader of the local band of Boy Scouts.
Gazing keenly about him on all sides of the little clearing in the
midst of which he stood, the boy's eyes lighted with a gleam of
satisfaction on a largish rock. He lifted this up, adjusted it to his
satisfaction and then picked up a smaller stone. This he placed on the
top of the first and then listened intently. After a moment of this he
then placed beneath the large underlying rock and at its left side a
small stone.
Suddenly he started and gazed back. From the distance, borne faintly
to his ears, came far off boyish shouts and cries.
They rose like the baying of a pack in full cry. Now high, now low on
the hush of the midsummer afternoon.
"They picked the trail all right," he remarked to himself, with a
smile, "maybe I'd better leave another sign."
Stooping he snapped off a small low-growing branch and broke it near
the end so that its top hung limply down.
"Two signs now that this is the trail," he resumed as he stuck it in
the ground beside the stone sign. "Now I'd better be off, for they are
picking my tracks up, fast."
He darted off into the undergrowth on the opposite side of the
clearing, vanishing as suddenly and noiselessly as he had appeared.
A few seconds later the deserted clearing was invaded by a scouting
party of ten lads ranging in years from twelve to sixteen. They were
all attired in similar uniforms to the leader, whom they were tracing,
with but one exception they wore their "Be Prepared" badges on the left
arm above the elbow. Some of them were only entitled to affix the
motto part of the badge the scroll inscribed with the motto. These
latter were the second-class scouts of the Eagle Patrol. The exception
to the badge-bearers was a tall, well-knit lad with a sunny face and
wavy, brown hair. His badge was worn on the left arm, as were the
others, but it had a strip of white braid sewn beneath it. This
indicated that the bearer was the corporal of the patrol.
As the group of flushed, panting lads emerged into the sandy space the
corporal looked sharply about him. Almost at once his eye encountered
the "spoor" left by the preceding lad.
"Here's the trail, boys," he shouted, "and to judge by the fresh look
of the break in this branch it can't have been placed here very long.
The small stone by the large one means to the left. We'll run Rob Blake
down before long for all his skill if we have good luck."
"Say, Corporal Merritt," exclaimed a perspiring lad, whose "too, too
solid flesh" seemed to be melting and running off his face in the form
of streaming moisture, "don't we get a rest?"
A general laugh greeted poor Bob or Tubby Hopkins' remark.
"I always told you, Tubby, you were too fat to make a good scout,"
laughed Corporal Merritt Crawford, "this is the sort of thing that will
make you want to take some of that tubbiness off you."
"Say, Tubby, you look like a roll of butter at an August picnic,"
laughed Simon Jeffords, one of the second-class scouts.
"All right, Sim," testily rejoined the aggrieved fat one, "I notice at
that, though, that I am a regular scout while you are only a rookie."
"Come on, cut out the conversation," exclaimed Corporal Crawford
hastily, "while we are fussing about here, Rob Blake must be halfway
home."
With a groan of comical despair from poor Tubby, the Boy Scouts darted
forward once more. On and on they pushed across country, skillfully
tracking their leader by the various signs they had been taught to know
and of which the present scouting expedition was a test.
Their young leader evidently intended them to use their eyes to the
utmost for, beside the stone signs, he used blaze-marks, cut on the
trees with his hunting knife. For instance, at one place they would
find a square bit of bark removed, with a long slice to the left of it.
This indicated that their quarry had doubled to the left. The slice to
the right of the square blaze indicated the reverse.
Suddenly Corporal Crawford held up his hand as a signal for silence.
The scouts came to an abrupt stop.
From what seemed to be only a short distance in front of them they
could hear a voice upraised apparently in anger. Replying to it were
the tones of their leader.
"Seems to be trouble ahead of some kind," exclaimed Crawford. "Come on,
boys."
They all advanced close on his heels--guided by the sound of the angry
voice, which did not diminish in tone but apparently waxed more and
more furious as they drew nearer. Presently the woodland thinned and
the ground became dotted with stumps of felled timber and in a few
paces more they emerged on a small peach orchard at the edge of which
stood Rob Blake and a larger and older boy. As Crawford and his
followers came upon the scene the elder lad, who seemed beside himself
with rage, picked up a large rock and was about to hurl it with all his
might at Rob when the young corporal dashed forward and held his hand
up to stay him.
"Here, what's all this trouble?" he demanded.
"You just keep out of it, Merritt Crawford," said the elder lad, a
hulking, thick-set youth with a mean look on his heavy features. "I'm
just reading this kid here a lesson. This orchard is my father's and
mine and you'll keep out of it in future or suffer the consequences,
understand?"
"Why, we aren't doing any harm," protested Rob Blake heatedly.
"I don't care what you are doing or not doing," retorted the other,
"this is my father's orchard and you'll keep off it. You and the rest
of you tin soldiers. I don't want you stealing our peaches."
"I guess you are sore, Jack Curtiss, because you couldn't get a boy
scout patrol of your own! I guess that's what the trouble is,"
remarked Tubby Hopkins softly, but with a meaning look at the big lad.
"You impudent little whipper-snapper," roared Jack Curtiss, "if you
weren't such a shrimp I'd lick you for that remark, but you're all
beneath my notice. All I want to say to you is keep away from my
orchard or I'll give you a trimming."
"Suppose you start now," said Rob Blake quietly, "if you are so anxious
to show what a scrapper you are."
"Bah, I don't want anything to do with you, I tell you," rejoined
Curtiss, turning away, with a rather troubled expression, however, for
while he was a bully the big lad had no particular liking for a fight
unless he was pretty sure that all the advantage lay on his side.
"It was too bad you didn't get that patrol of yours, Jack," called the
irrepressible Tubby after him as the big youth strode off across the
orchard toward the old-fashioned farmhouse in which he lived with his
father, a well-to-do farmer. "Never mind; better luck next time," he
went on, "or maybe we'll let you into ours some time."
"You just wait," roared the retreating bully, shaking his fist at the
lads, "I'll make trouble for you yet."
"Well," remarked Rob Blake, as Jack Curtiss strode off, "I guess the
run is over for to-day. Too bad we should have come out on his land.
Of course he feels sore at us; and I shouldn't wonder but he will
really try to do us some mischief if he gets a chance."
As it was growing late and there did not seem much chance of restarting
the "Follow the Trail" practice, that day at least, the boys strolled
back through the woodland and soon emerged on a country road about
three miles from Hampton Inlet, where they lived.
While they are covering the distance perhaps the reader may care to
know something about the cause of the enmity which Jack Curtiss
entertained toward the lads of the Eagle Patrol. It had its beginning
several months before when the boys of Hampton Inlet began to discuss
forming a patrol of boy scouts. They all attended the Hampton Academy,
and naturally the news that Rob Blake was going to try to organize a
patrol soon spread through the school.
Jack Curtiss, as soon as he heard what Rob--whom he considered more or
less a rival of his--intended doing he also forwarded an application to
the headquarters of the organization in New York. As Rob Blake's had
been received first, however, and on investigation he was shown to be a
likely lad for the leader, he was appointed and at once began the
enrollment of his scouts.
The bully was furious when he realized that he would be unable to
secure an authorized patrol, and he and his cronies, two lads about his
own age named Bill Bender and Sam Redding, had been busy ever since
devising schemes to "get even" as they called it. None of these,
however, had been effective and the encounter of that day was the first
chance Jack had had to work off any of his rancor on Rob Blake's patrol.
Young Blake was the only son of Mr. Albert Blake, the president of the
local bank. His corporal, Merritt Crawford, was the eldest of the
numerous family of Jared Crawford, the blacksmith and wheelwright of
the little town, and Tubby Hopkins was the offspring of Mrs. Hopkins--a
widow in comfortable circumstances. The other lads of the Patrol whom
we shall meet as the story of their doings and adventures progresses
were all natives of the town, which was situated on the south shore of
Long Island--as has been said--and on an inlet which led out to the
Atlantic itself.
The scouts trudged back into Hampton just at twilight and made their
way at once to their armory--as they called it--which was situated In a
large room above the bank of which Rob's father was president. At one
side of it was a row of lockers and each lad--after changing his
uniform for street clothes--placed his "regimentals" in these
receptacles.
This done the lads broke up and started for their various homes. Rob
and his young corporal left the armory together, after locking the door
and descending the stairs which led onto a side street.
"I wonder if that fellow Curtiss means to carry out his threat of
getting even?" said Crawford as they made their way down the street arm
in arm, for their homes were not far apart and both on Main Street.
"He's mean enough to attempt anything," rejoined Rob, "but I don't
think he's got nerve enough to carry out any of his schemes. Hullo!"
he broke off suddenly, "there he is now across the street by the post
office, talking to Bill Bender and Sam Redding. I'll bet they are
hatching up some sort of mischief. Just look at them looking at us.
I'll bet a doughnut they were talking about us."
"Shouldn't wonder," agreed his companion. "By the way, I've got to go
and see if there is any mail. Come on over."
The two lads crossed the street and as they entered the post office,
although neither of them had much use for either of the bullies' two
chums, they nodded to them pleasantly.
"You kids think you're pretty fine with your Eagle Patrol or whatever
you call it, don't you," sneered Bill Bender, as they walked by. "I'll
bet the smell of a little real powder would make your whole regiment
run to cover."
"Don't pay any attention to him," whispered the young corporal to Rob,
who doubled up his fists and flushed angrily at the sneering tone Jack
Curtiss' friend had adopted.
Rob restrained his anger with an effort, and by the time they emerged
from the post office the trio of worthies--who, as Rob had rightly
guessed, had been discussing them--had moved on up the street.
"I had trouble with those kids myself this afternoon," remarked Jack
Curtiss with a scowl, as they wended their way toward a shed in the
rear of Bill Bender's home, which had been fitted tip as a sort of
clubroom.
"What did they do to you?" incautiously inquired Sam Redding, a youth
as big as the other two, but not so powerful. In fact he was used more
or less as a tool by them.
"Do to me," roared the bully, "what did I do to them, you mean."
"Well what did you do to them then?" asked Bill Bender, as they entered
the clubroom before referred to and he produced some cigarettes, which
all three had been strictly forbidden to smoke.
"Chased them off my land," rejoined the other, lighting a paper roll
and blowing out a cloud of smoke, "you should have seen them run. If
they want to play their fool games they've got to do it on the property
of folks who'll let them. They can't come on my land."
"You mean your father's, don't you?" put in the unlucky Sam Redding.
"Sam, you've got a head like a billiard ball," retorted the bully,
turning on the other, "it'll be mine some day, won't it? Therefore it's
as good as mine now."
Although he didn't quite see the logic of the foregoing, Sam Redding
gave a sage nod and agreed that his leader was right.
"Yes, those kids need a good lesson from somebody," chimed in Bill
Bender.
"I think we had better be the 'somebodies' to give it to them,"
rejoined Jack Curtiss. "They are getting insufferable. They actually
twitted me this afternoon with being sore at them because I didn't get
my patrol--as if I really wanted one. That Blake kid is the worst of
the bunch. Just because his father has a little money he gives himself
all kinds of airs. My father is as rich as his, even if he isn't a
banker."
"I've been thinking of a good trick we can put up on them, but it will
take some nerve to carry it out," announced Bill Bender, after some
more discussion of the lads of the Eagle Patrol.
"Out with it, then," urged the bully, "what is it?"
In a lowered tone Bill Bender sketched out his scheme in detail, while
Jack and Sam nodded their approval. At length he ceased talking and
the other two broke out into a delighted laugh, in which malice as much
as merriment prevailed.
"It's the very thing," exclaimed Jack. "Bill, you're a genius. We'll
do it as soon as possible. If that doesn't take some starch out of
those tin soldiers nothing will."
Half an hour later the three cronies parted for the night. Sam went to
his home near the waterfront, for his father was a boat builder, and
Jack started to walk the three miles to his father's farm in the
moonlight. His way took him by the bank. As he passed it he gazed up
at the windows of the armory on which was lettered in gilt: "Eagle
Patrol of the Boy Scouts of America."
"That's a slick idea of Bill's," said the bully to himself, "I can
hardly wait till we get a chance to carry it out."