Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
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Transcriber’s Note: This book was originally printed with two Chapter
XVIIs and two Chapter XVIIIs; I chose not to renumber the chapters. A
table of contents has been added for the reader’s convenience.
[Illustration: Lieutenant Decker smilingly extended his hand to his
astonished friend.
“You did not expect either of us, but we are here all the same.”—Page
184.
—_The Young Scout._]
THE YOUNG SCOUT.
The Story of a West Point Lieutenant.
By EDWARD S. ELLIS,
_Author of “Adrift in the Wilds,” “A Jaunt Through Java,”
“A Young Hero,” etc., etc._
[Illustration]
NEW YORK:
A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER.
Copyright 1895, by A. L. BURT.
THE YOUNG SCOUT.
CONTENTS.
I. THE YOUNG CHAMPION. 1
II. A WELL EARNED REWARD. 10
III. DANGER IN THE AIR. 20
IV. GERONIMO. 32
V. COMPLIMENTS AT LONG RANGE. 40
VI. APACHE CUNNING. 48
VII. A SIGNAL. 56
VIII. MAROZ AND CEBALLOS. 64
IX. MENDEZ, THE SCOUT. 71
X. THE EAVESDROPPER. 78
XI. CAVARHO AND MENDEZ. 85
XII. A CALL AND A REPLY. 92
XIII. THE TROOPERS. 99
XIV. WAITING FOR DAYLIGHT. 107
XV. AN INTERRUPTED FLIGHT. 115
XVI. THE RANCHMAN’S HOME. 122
XVII. THE SHADOW OF DANGER. 130
XVIII. A CRUEL BLOW. 138
XVII. “NOW FOR IT.” 145
XVIII. “SEE DERE!” 157
XIX. AN APACHE SIGNAL. 170
XX. ON THE MOUNTAIN SIDE. 183
XXI. A GAME OF HIDE AND SEEK. 202
XXII. WHAT DOES IT MEAN? 211
XXIII. WHAT BEFELL MAURICE FREEMAN. 221
XXIV. THE REALITY. 231
XXV. A REMINISCENCE. 241
XXVI. A SURPRISE INDEED. 252
XXVII. CONCLUSION. 265
CHAPTER I.
THE YOUNG CHAMPION.
One warm summer afternoon, a half dozen boys on their way home from the
Burkville School, stopped to rest under the trees, which afforded a
grateful shade at the side of the dusty highway.
No matter how tired such a lot of youngsters may be, they are sure
to be brimming over with mischief, and on the alert for boisterous
amusement. To picture them seated quiet, thoughtful and well behaved is
to picture what was never seen. No such an occurrence is on record or
within the memory of the “oldest inhabitant.”
Among the group who reclined on the grass was little Almon Goodwin,
a cripple, with a withered leg, which compelled him to use a crutch
in walking and debarred him from the more active sports of his
playfellows. His sunny disposition, genial nature and scholarly ability
made him a favorite with the rest, who were always glad to favor him
and to accept playful annoyances at his hands which would have been
quickly resented on the part of the other lusty youths.
The largest boy of the group was Buck Kennon, a new pupil, whose folks
had lately removed to the neighborhood. He was two years older than the
eldest of the party, and in growth and appearance seemed to be fully
sixteen years of age. He was a rough, coarse, overbearing lad, who was
feared and disliked by the rest. Three of the boys, who resisted his
tyrannous conduct, had been beaten into submission, and every one felt
that a most disagreeable and unwelcome member had joined the school.
They would have been glad to be rid of him, but there he was and likely
to stay with all his detested qualities.
The party had been lolling on the grass in the shade for some minutes,
when Buck snatched off the hat of the crippled boy and dashed off with
it. Almon hobbled after him, but of course could not overtake his
persecutor.
“That isn’t fair; let me have my hat,” called Almon, halting in his
pursuit; “why don’t you take some one else’s hat?”
The bully, seeing he was not pursued, now picked up a stone, flung the
hat aloft and as it turned to descend, let fly with the stone, which
was aimed so well that it passed through the crown, leaving a jagged
hole. The owner crooked his arm and raised it to his face. His parents
were poor and he could not help crying over the damage done to his
property.
“Oh, what a baby!” called Buck, making ready to fling the hat up again
for another shot; “I ’spose your mother will give you a whipping for
not taking care of that purty head piece.”
Before the hat could leave the hand of the bully, a boy dashed forward,
snatched it from his grasp, and returned it to the sobbing owner.
“Buck Kennon, you are a mean coward! Why don’t you let him alone and
take _our_ hats?”
The boy who had the courage to do this was James Decker, two years
younger than the bully and of much slighter frame. He was the best
scholar in school and liked by playmates and teacher. Having handed
the property of the cripple to him, he turned about and confronted the
big lad, who stood a moment amazed at his daring. The face of Buck was
crimson with anger and all saw that trouble was impending.
“What business is it of yours?” he demanded; “I’ll do as I please
without asking you about it. I’ll teach you better than to interfere.”
He made a snatch at the young champion’s hat, but James dodged and
in a twinkling snatched off that of his assailant. James was much
more active than his bulky pursuer, and, dashing a few rods, suddenly
stopped, flung the handsome hat in air, and then with the accuracy of a
rifle-shot hurled a stone clean through it.
“There!” he said, “see how you like it yourself.” The other boys
laughed in their delight, and the bully boiled with rage. He never had
had the tables turned so completely upon him. It was exasperating
beyond endurance. Like a mad bull, he rushed upon young Decker, his
fists clenched and his eyes glaring. He meant to teach the audacious
youngster a lesson that he would remember all his life.
James was through running away from his enemy. He might have dodged and
eluded him, or sped down the highway and escaped him altogether, but
the bully would take his revenge upon the cripple, for it was just like
him. Besides, a fight for the supremacy, must come sooner or later, and
it might as well come now.
So Decker braced himself for the shock, and, when the big fellow was
upon him, he struck him twice quickly and with all his strength,
directly in the face. The shock, made the greater by the momentum of
his own body, sent Buck staggering backward and almost upon his back.
The blow was a fierce one for a boy, and big as was the bully he could
not help howling with pain. He stopped, put his hands to his face as
if to assure himself that it was still on his shoulders, while Decker,
cool and collected, with one foot thrust forward, his fists ready, his
face pale and his eyes flashing, awaited the next onset.
“You are a coward!” he called; “if there was a boy here of your size,
you would run like a rabbit, but I’m not afraid of you.”
The fury of the bully was greater, if possible, than before, but he
had been taught a lesson. He now approached more warily, but with the
resolve that he would hammer this audacious champion till he couldn’t
stand.
“Decker, do you want me to help you?” called Almon Goodwin, hobbling a
few steps forward; “I can give him one whack with my crutch.”
“No; keep out of the way and don’t bother me,” replied James, never
once removing his eyes from his assailant; “I’m not afraid of him.”
Eyes glaring, nostrils snorting, Buck Kennon began slowly circling
around the lad, looking for a chance to leap upon him unawares; but
James was alert. He turned so as to confront him all the time, and did
not intend to be surprised.
Suddenly the bully lunged forward. James met him as before, but in one
sense Buck was braced against the reception which awaited him. He knew
he would be struck and the blows that landed in his face were as severe
as before, but they did not check him. He plowed ahead, and while
Decker was trying to fight him off the latter retaliated several times
and then clinched with him.
Buck was stronger than his more youthful antagonist, and despite the
strenuous exertion of Decker, he went down on his back, with the bully
on top. In a flash Decker turned him, and over and over they went,
fighting like a couple of wild cats.
The probabilities are that, despite the courage and quickness of James
Decker, he would have come out second best in the furious struggle.
Could he have been able to hold his feet and prevent his foe from
closing in, he would have defeated him, but when it became a contest of
brute strength he must succumb.
Fortunately at this crisis, a newcomer appeared on the scene and
proceeded straightway to take a decisive part in it. The individual was
a portly, middle-aged gentleman, Mr. Elgin Willard, the most prominent
citizen in the neighborhood. He had lately been elected to congress,
and was taking a stroll, when he came upon the group of boys, all of
whom were so interested in the fight that they did not notice him,
until he made known his presence in what literally was a striking
manner.
Mr. Willard always carried his gold-headed cane with him. It was a
present from his admiring constituents and he was very proud of it. It
pleased them, and it pleased him, to take it with him to church, to his
office and wherever he went.
He arrived at the moment that Buck Kennon by sheer strength had twisted
James Decker off his breast and swung himself over upon him. Decker
held his assailant as close down as he could, so as to prevent his
doing too much execution, but Buck was savage and was forcing matters.
He was one of those boys who grow so fast that their clothing is always
too tight for them, so he was peculiarly exposed to the new attack that
was now made in hurricane fashion.
“Bless me! this is shameful!” exclaimed Mr. Willard striding forward;
“two boys fighting, and one of them twice as big as the other! He will
beat the life out of the little fellow! It was providential that I
arrived when I did! There!”
The uplifted cane whizzed through the air and came down with a whack
like the report of a fire cracker. It landed where it was intended,
and Buck Kennon, with a yell of pain, leaped to his feet, vigorously
rubbing the wounded portion of his body, caught up his hat and still
insisting in a loud voice that he had been killed, disappeared down the
road in a cloud of dust.
Now that he was out of the way, the Honorable Mr. Willard turned upon
young Decker, who was climbing to his feet and brushing his clothes.
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, young man? What do you mean by
fighting that boy?”
“I was trying to prevent his licking me,” replied James so demurely
that the gentleman smiled in spite of himself.
“You ought to know better than to attack a boy of that size.”
“I guess he’ll know better than to attack me next time; I’m not afraid
of him.”
“Did he begin this fight?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The coward! if I had known that I would have caned him harder than
ever,” exclaimed the congressman, turning and looking at the yelling
youngster, who was far down the highway, as if he meditated starting
after him; “why did he attack you?”
“Please, Mr. Willard, I’ll tell you.”
It was Almon Goodwin who came limping forward. Everybody knew the
cripple, and Mr. Willard said kindly:
“Why, Almon, I didn’t see you before; are you mixed up in this shameful
business?”
“The only shameful part of it is what that big boy did. He took off my
hat and threw a stone through it. Look what a hole he made, and it’s
the only hat I have; I cried and asked him to give it back, but he
laughed at me and was going to throw another stone through it, when
Decker there called him a coward, served his hat the same way, and
then Buck Kennon went for him. My! didn’t Jim let him have it! He must
have loosened all his teeth and made his nose flatter than it ever
was before. If he hadn’t got down, he would have given him the worst
licking he ever had.”
Mr. Willard turned toward young Decker, who had replaced his hat,
brushed his soiled garments, and was so well over his rough usage that
he smiled at the words of little Almon Goodwin.
“Young man, is that so?” demanded the gentleman in a stern voice.
“Did that bully attack you because you were defending Almon from his
persecution?”
“Yes, sir,” modestly replied Decker.
“Young man, come here, sir,” thundered the congressman.
James stepped forward, wondering whether he, too, was to feel the
weight of that black, shining cane.
“Give me your hand, sir; I’m proud of you, sir.”
And warmly clasping the hand of James, the happy Mr. Willard shook
it with fervor, while the other boys looked on and felt that it was
deserved.
“What is your name?” asked Mr. Willard, releasing the hand and looking
down into the handsome face of the boy.
“Decker.”
“The son of Herbert Decker?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, now, I must shake your hand again; your father is one of my
best and oldest friends; he did more than any other one man to bring
about my election to congress; I suspect it was he who started the cane
presentation business to me. Is he proud of you, James?”
The boy laughed outright at the overwhelming manner of the portly
congressman.
“I don’t think he is; at least I never heard him say so; when he
believes I need a switching, he doesn’t forget to give it to me.”
“He does, eh? Well, I shall see him about that at once. It must be
stopped; I won’t allow it; I don’t believe such a manly fellow as you
ever deserves it. How old are you?”
“Thirteen years.”
“Thirteen years,” repeated Mr. Willard musingly, and then with great
impressiveness he added:
“Young man, I’ve got an idea regarding you—an idea; yes, sir, and it
shall be carried out—yes, sir, it shall be carried out—yes, sir.”