THE WARNING
They talked late and their decision before turning in was that the three
patrol leaders, Roy, Connie Bennett and Arthur Van Arlen should go to
Bridgeboro late in the afternoon and tell their scoutmaster, Mr.
Ellsworth, of their discovery. They chose the emissaries with the
intention of putting the responsibility upon their leaders where it
belonged, and also with the thought of having the three patrols
participate equally in what seemed an odious thing, view it as they
would.
Pee-wee voiced the general sentiment when he said, "Gee, something is
all the time happening to prove he's the one they're after, and then all
of a sudden something happens so as to kind of make us like him and
trust him more. Anyway, I think he didn't know what he was doing, and I
like him and I'm not afraid to say so." And he added, "The Silver Foxes
are crazy if it comes to that."
"They're crazy about you, Kid," Roy said in forced good humor and
ruffling his hair for him.
In the morning, to their utter astonishment, Blythe arose as usual,
gathered chips for the breakfast fire, and sat among them, drinking his
coffee, and eating the bacon which Roy had cooked, as if nothing had
happened.
He seemed to expect the usual entertainment of wit and wisdom from Roy
and Pee-wee, and he smiled in his old way when Roy said with a poor
attempt at mirth, "Let's finish up the egg powder, we'll all scramble
for scrambled eggs." Blythe heard only the pleasantry, but to the others
the reminder that it was their last breakfast there was cheering.
Altogether they were not at all satisfied with themselves though they
knew that what they were going to do was nothing less than their plain
duty. Their new friendship, their fine plans of a helpful turn, bringing
pleasure and profit, had ended in a sordid mess. Duties are funny
things....
They had no heart for work that morning, but it was easier to work than
to do nothing. The three messengers wished not to go to Bridgeboro until
afternoon because their scoutmaster would be there then. They would feel
easier and less contemptible telling this thing to him than to the
authorities.
After breakfast Blythe was the first at work. His energy was never equal
to his willingness, but on this morning, perhaps because the others
seemed half-hearted, he was up on the roof of the third shack ripping
off boards before they were well started. Others followed him up working
at the edge of the roof. Roy began lifting and hauling away the loosened
floorboards below. Most of the troop busied themselves clearing up the
site of the second shack. The work proceeded silently, almost gloomily.
The work had been going on in this way for about an hour when one of the
scouts working down at the edge of the roof called to Blythe who was up
at the peak that the roof beneath him was sagging.
The fact was that the uprights within the shack had been too soon
removed, which put a strain upon the all too slender horizontal timber
which they had supported. This had been pieced mid-way, an instance of
hasty and flimsy construction, and the weight of Blythe at this point
caused the strip to sag.
The slanting timbers which formed the framework of the roof, running
from the peak down to the sides, were being dislodged at their lower
ends by the scouts, which operation, of course, withdrew their support
from the horizontal beam on which Blythe was working. He acknowledged
the warning by springing the beam with his weight, at which an ominous
sound of straining and splitting was heard.
"Look out up there," Roy called from below.
"Get off there Blythey they--_quick!_" another shouted.
"Climb down here," another suggested.
Perhaps Blythe did not think as quickly as others think. Perhaps he did
not value his poor life as others value their lives. Who shall say? In
any case he did not descend by one of the slanting strips. In another
moment the timber under him was splitting and giving way at the cleated
join, and sagging threateningly. Then came the loud sound of final
splitting and breaking away, and a deep sagging preceding the complete
break.
A few brief seconds remained for Blythe to decide what he should do. He
might still descend to safety as his companions had suggested. The
increasing sound of splitting, and the sagging, warned him to quick
decision. Instead of moving he looked directly beneath him where Roy
was.
"What's the matter?" he called down.
"My foot is caught under the flooring," Roy said.
A ripping and rending, and then the buckling of the broken pieces of
timber followed. The whole flimsy structure on which Blythe clung
trembling in air....