THE SHELTER
"Pee-wee, you're a wonder," said Roy. "You're the only original Boy
Scout; how did you get next to that stunt? What do you think of him,
Tom?"
"Some wrinkle," said Tom.
"Crinkums!" said Pee-wee. "I'm mighty glad I got him. If it hadn't
succeeded I'd have felt cheap, sure; but when you're dealing with a
girl, you always want to act as if you're sure of yourself. Do you know
why?"
"Can't imagine," said Roy. "Break it to us gently."
"Because girls are never sure of themselves and they'll never take much
stock in what you say unless you seem to be sure of yourself. That's one
thing I've noticed. I've made a study of girls, kind of---- And you're
more apt to succeed if there's a girl watching you--did you ever notice
that?"
Roy laughed.
"It's so," urged Pee-wee. "And there's another thing about girls, too;
they're repulsive."
"What?" said Tom.
"_What?_" said Roy.
"They say the first thing that comes into their heads."
"_Im_pulsive, you mean," laughed Roy.
"Well, they're all right on good turns," said Tom.
"They don't have any good turns in the Camp Fire Girls," said Pee-wee.
"A girl might do a good turn and you'd never know anything about it,"
said Tom, significantly.
"Cracky," said Pee-wee, "she was tickled to get that bird back."
In a little while they were tramping along the main street of Nyack,
heading for the lordly Hudson. It was almost twilight, the shops were
shutting their doors, and as they came around the hill which brought
them face to face with the river, the first crimson glow of sunset fell
upon the rippling current. Across the wide expanse, which seemed the
wider for the little winding stream they had so lately followed, the
hills were already turning from green to gray and tiny lights were
visible upon the rugged heights. A great white steamer with its light
already burning was plowing majestically upstream and the little open
craft at the shore rocked in the diminishing ripples which it sent
across the water, as though bowing in humble obeisance to it.
"Gee, it's lonely, isn't it!" said Pee-wee.
"Not getting homesick, are you, kiddo?"
"No, but it seems kind of lonesome. I'm glad there's three of us. Oh,
jiminy, look at those hills."
The scene was indeed such as to make the mightiest man feel
insignificant.
The map showed a road which led to Haverstraw, and this the boys decided
to follow until they should find a convenient spot in which to bivouac
for the night. It followed the Hudson, sometimes running along the very
brink with the mighty highlands rising above it and sometimes running
between hills which shut the river from their view.
"Hark," said Tom. "What did I tell you! Thunder!"
A low, distant rumble sounded, and as they paused in the gathering
darkness, listening, a little fitful gust blew Pee-wee's hat off.
"We're going to get a good dose of it," said Tom. "I've been smelling it
for the last hour; look at those trees."
The leaves were blowing this way and that.
"We should worry," said Roy. "Didn't I tell you we might have to get our
feet wet? This is a risky bus----"
"Shut up!" said Pee-wee.
They had walked not more than a quarter of a mile more when they came
upon a stretch of road which was very muddy, with a piece of lowland
bordering it. It was too dark to see clearly, but in the last remnant of
daylight the boys could just distinguish a small, peculiar looking
structure in the middle of this vast area.
"That's a funny place to build a house," said Roy.
"Maybe it's a fisherman's shack," Tom suggested.
Whatever it was, it was a most isolated and lonesome habitation,
standing in the centre of that desert flat, shut in by the precipitous
hills.
"It would be a good place for a hermit," said Roy. "You don't suppose
anyone lives there, do you?"
"Cracky, wouldn't you like to be a hermit! Do you know what I'd like to
have now----"
"An umbrella," interrupted Tom.
The remark, notwithstanding that it shocked Pee-wee's sense of fitness,
inasmuch as they were scouting and "roughing it," was not inappropriate,
for even as Tom spoke the patter of great drops was heard.
"Maybe it's been raining here this afternoon," observed Tom, "and that's
what makes all this mud."
"Well, it's certainly raining here now," said Roy. "Me for that shack!"
The rain suddenly came down in torrents and the boys turned up their
collars and made a dash across the marshy land toward the shadowy
structure. Roy reached it first and, turning, called: "Hey, fellows,
it's a boat!"
The others, drenched, but laughing, followed him, scrambling upon the
deck and over the combing into the cockpit of a dilapidated cabin
launch.
"What do you know about that!" said Roy. "Strike a light and let's see
where we're at. I feel like a wet dish rag."
Presently Pee-wee's flashlight was poking its bright shaft this way and
that as they looked curiously about them. They were in a neglected and
disheveled, but very cosy, little cabin with sleeping lockers on either
side and chintz curtains at the tiny portholes. A two-cylinder engine,
so rusted that the wheel wouldn't turn over and otherwise in a dubious
condition, was ineffectually covered by a piece of stiff and rotten oil
cloth, the floor was cluttered with junk, industrious spiders had woven
their webs all about and a frantic scurrying sound told of the hurried
departure of some little animal which had evidently made its home in the
forsaken hull.
"Oh, but this is great!" enthused Pee-wee. "This is the kind of an
adventure you read about; _now_ our adventures have really started."
"It'll be more to the purpose if we can get our supper really started,"
said Roy.
"How do you suppose it got here?" Pee-wee asked.
"That's easy," said Tom. "I didn't realize it before, but the tide must
come up over the road sometimes and flood all this land here. That's
what makes the road muddy. There must have been a good high tide some
time or other, and it brought the boat right up over the road and here
it is, marooned."
"Maybe it was the same flood that did all the damage down our way," Roy
said. "Well, here goes; get the things out, Pee-wee, and we'll have some
eats. Gee, it's nice in here."
It _was_ nice. The rain pattered down on the low roof and beat against
the little ports; the boat swayed a little in the heavier gusts of wind
and all the delightful accompaniments of a life on the ocean wave were
present--except the peril.
"You get out the cooking things," said Roy, "while I take a squint
around and see if I can find something to kindle a fire in."
He did not have to go far. Sliding open the little hatch, he emerged
into the cockpit, where the wind and rain smote him mercilessly. The
storm had grown into a tempest and Roy wondered how it would be out on
the wide river on such a night. In the cockpit was nothing but the
shredded remnant of a sun awning and a couple of camp chairs, but a few
feet from the boat something on the mushy ground cast a faint glimmer,
and on going to it he found it to be a battered five-gallon gasoline
can, which he brought back in triumph. By this time Tom and Pee-wee had
the camp lamp burning and the supper things laid out. It was a very cosy
scene.
"See if there's a Stillson wrench in that locker," said Roy.
Among the rusted tools was a "Stillson," and with this Roy disconnected
the exhaust pipe from the engine. He next partly "jabbed" and partly cut
a hole in the gasoline can of about the circumference of the pipe. A
larger hole in the side of the can sufficed for a door and he squeezed
the end of the exhaust pipe into the hole he had made for it, and
presto! there was a very serviceable makeshift stove with the exhaust
system of the engine converted into a draught and chimney.
"The new patent Silver Fox cooking stove," said Roy. "A scout is
resourceful. This beats trying to kindle a fire outside, a night like
this. Chuck that piece of wood over here."
There was an old battery box knocking about and this Roy whittled into
shavings, while the others with their belt axes completed the ruin of
the awning stanchions by chopping them into pieces a few inches long.
"Guess they weren't good for much," observed Tom.
"Oh," said Pee-wee, "I'd just like to live in this boat."
It was no wonder he felt so. With the fire burning brightly in the old
can and sending its smoke out through the boat's exhaust, the smell of
the bacon cooking, the sight of their outer garments drying in the
cheery warmth, while the wind howled outside and the rain beat down upon
the low roof the situation was not half bad and an occasional lurch of
the old hull gave a peculiar charm to their odd refuge.
"Could you dally with a rice cake, kiddo?" asked Roy, as he deftly
stirred up some rice and batter. "Sling me that egg powder, Tom, and
give me something to stir with--not that, you gump, that's the fever
thermometer!"
"Here's a fountain pen," said Pee-wee; "will that do?"
"This screw-driver will be better," said Roy. "Here, kiddo, make
yourself useful and keep turning that in the pan. You're a specialist on
good turns."
Pee-wee stirred, while Tom attended to the fire, and Roy to the cooking.
And I might mention on the side that if you should happen to be marooned
in a disused boat on a blustering night, and are ingenious enough (as
Roy was) to contrive the cooking facilities, you cannot do better than
flop a few rice cakes, watching carefully that they don't burn. You can
flop them with a shoe horn if you've nothing better at hand.
They spread their balloon silk tent in the cockpit, holding fast to the
corners until enough water had fallen into it to fill the coffee-pot,
and they had three such cups of coffee as you never fancied in your
fondest dreams.
For dessert they had "Silver Fox Slump," an invention of Roy's made with
chocolate, honey and, I think, horse-radish. It has to be stirred
thoroughly. Pee-wee declared that it was such a _table d'hote_ dinner as
he had never before tasted. He was always partial to the scout style of
cooking and he added, "You know how they have music at _table d'hote_
dinners. Well, this music's got it beat, that's one sure thing. Gee,
I'll hate to leave the boat, I sure will."
The boisterous music gave very little prospect of ceasing, and after the
three had talked for an hour or so, they settled down for the night, two
on the lockers and one on the floor, with the wind still moaning and the
rain coming down in torrents.
When they awoke in the morning the wind had died down somewhat, but it
still blew fitfully out of the east and the rain had settled down into
a steady drizzle. Tom ventured out into the cockpit and looked about
him. The hills across the river were gray in the mist and the wide
expanse of water was steel color. He could see now that there was
another road close under the precipitous cliffs and that the one which
divided this lowland from the river was almost awash. Through the mist
and drizzle along this higher road came a man. He left the road and
started to pick his way across the flat, hailing as he came. The three
boys awaited him in the cockpit.
"Don't nobody leave that boat!" he called, "or I'll shoot."
"Dearie me," said Roy. "He seems to be peeved. What are we up against,
anyway?"
"Don't shoot, mister," called Tom. "You couldn't drag us out of here
with a team of horses."
"Tell him we are Boy Scouts and fear naught," whispered Pee-wee. "Tell
him we scorn his--er--what d'you call it?"
"Hey, mister," called Roy. "We are Boy Scouts and fear naught, and we
scorn your what-d'you-call it."
"Haouw?" called the man.
"What's that he's got on?" said Tom, "a merit badge?"
"It's a cop's badge," whispered Pee-wee. "Oh, crinkums, we're pinched."
The man approached, dripping and breathing heavily, and placed his hands
on the combing.
"Anybody here 'sides you youngsters?" he demanded, at the same time
peering inside the cabin.
"A few spiders," said Tom.
"Whatcher doin' here, anyway?"
"We're waiting for the storm to hold up," said Roy; "we beat it from
that road when----"
"We sought refuge," Pee-wee prompted him.
"Any port in a storm, you know," Roy smiled. "Are we pinched?"
The man did not vouchsafe an immediate answer to this vital query.
Instead he poked his head in, peered about and then said, "Don' know's
ye are, not fur's I'm concerned. I'd like to hev ye answer me one
question honest, though."
"You'll have to answer one for us first," called Roy, who had
disappeared within the little cabin. "Do you take two lumps of sugar in
your coffee?"
The man now condescended to smile, as Roy brought out a steaming cup and
handed it to him.
"Wall, ye've got all the comforts uv home, ain't ye?"
"Give him a rice cake," whispered Pee-wee in Roy's ear. "He's all
right."
"Won't you come in?" said Roy. "I don't know whose boat this is, but
you're welcome. I guess we didn't do any damage. We chopped up a couple
of broken stanchions, that's all."
"I guess we'll let ye off without more'n ten year uv hard labor," said
the man, sipping his coffee. "But I'll give ye a tip. Get away from here
as soon's ye can,--hear? Old man Stanton owns this boat an' he's a bear.
He'd run ye in fer trespass and choppin' up them stanchions quick as a
gun. Ye come oft'n that outer road, ye say? Strangers here?"
"I can see now that road is flooded," said Tom. "Guess it isn't used, is
it?"
"This is all river land," said the man. "In extra high tides this here
land is flooded an' the only ones usin' that thar road is the fishes.
This rain keeps up another couple of days an' we get a full moon on top
o' that the old hulk'll float, by gol! Ye didn't see no men around here
last night now, did ye?"
"Not a soul," said Roy.
"'Cause there was a prisoner escaped up yonder last night an' when I see
the smoke comin' out o' yer flue contraption here I thought like enough
he hit this shelter."
"Up yonder?" Tom queried.
"You're strangers, hey?" the man repeated.
"We're on a hike," said Tom. "We're on our way to Haverstraw and----"
"Thence," prompted Pee-wee.
"_Thence_ to Catskill Landing, and _thence_ to Leeds and _thence_ to
Black Lake," mocked Roy.
"Well, thar's a big prison up yonder," said the man.
"Oh, Sing Sing?" Roy asked. "I never thought of that."
"Feller scaled the wall last night an' made off in a boat."
The boys were silent. They had not realized how close they were to
Ossining, and the thought of the great prison whose name they had often
heard mentioned sobered them a little; the mere suggestion of one of its
inmates scaling its frowning wall on such a night and setting forth in
an open boat, perhaps lurking near their very shelter, cast a shadow
over them.
"Are you--are you _sure_ you didn't see a--a crouching shadow when you
went out and got that gasoline can last night?" Pee-wee stammered.
"I'm sorry," said Roy, "but I didn't see one crouching shadow."
"His boat might have upset in the storm," Tom suggested. "The wind even
shook this boat; it must have been pretty rough out on the river."
"Like enough," said the man. "Des'pret characters'll take des'pret
chances."
"What did he do?" Pee-wee asked, his imagination thoroughly aroused.
"Dunno," said the man. "Burglary, like enough. Well now, you youngsters
have had yer shelter'n the wust o' the storm's over. It's goin' ter keep
right on steady like this till after full moon, an' the ole shebang'll
be floppin' roun' the marsh like enough on full moon tide. My advice to
you is to git along. Not that you done no damage or what _I'd_ call
damage--but it won't do no good fer yer to run amuck o' Ole Man Stanton.
'Cause he's a reg'lar grizzly, as the feller says."
The boys were silent a moment. Perhaps the thought of that desperate
convict stealing forth amid the wind and rain still gripped them; but it
began to dawn upon them also that they had been trespassing and that
they had taken great liberties with this ramshackle boat.
That the owner could object to their use of it seemed preposterous. That
he could take advantage of the technical "damage" done was quite
unsupposable. But no one knows better than a boy how many "grouchy" men
there are in the world, and these very boys had once been ordered out of
John Temple's lot with threat and menace.
"Does _everybody_ call him 'Old Man' Stanton?" Pee-wee asked. "Because
if they do that's pretty bad. Whenever somebody is known as 'Old Man' it
sounds pretty bad for him. They used to say 'Old Man Temple'--he's a man
we know that owns a lot of railroads and things; of course, he's
reformed now--he's a magnet----"
"Magnate," corrected Roy.
"But they _used_ to call him 'Old Man Temple'--everybody did. And it's a
sure sign--you can always tell," Pee-wee concluded.
"Wall, they call _me_ 'Ole Man Flint,'" said the visitor, "so I
guess----"
"Oh, of course," said Pee-wee, hastily, "I don't say it's always so, and
besides you're a--a----"
"Sheriff," Mr. Flint volunteered.
"So you got to be kind of strict--and--and grouchy--like."
The sheriff handed his empty cup to Roy and smiled good-naturedly.
"Where does Old Man Stanton live?" asked Tom, who had been silent while
the others were talking.
"'Long the Nyack road, but he has his office in Nyack--he's a lawyer,"
said the visitor, as he drew his rubber hat down over his ears.
"Can we get back to Nyack by that other road?"
"Whatcher goin' to do?"
"We'll have to go and see Old Man Stanton," Tom said, "then if we don't
get pinched we'll start north."
Mr. Flint looked at him in astonishment.
"I wouldn't say we've done any damage," said Tom in his stolid way, "and
I believe in that about any port in a storm. But if he's the kind of a
man who would think different, then we've got to go and tell him, that's
all. We can pay him for the stanchions we chopped up."
"Wall, you're a crazy youngster, that's all, but if yer sot on huntin'
fer trouble, yer got only yerself to blame. Ye'll go before a justice uv
the peace, the whole three uv year, and be fined ten dollars apiece,
likely as not, an' I don't believe ye've got twenty-five dollars between
the lot uv yer."
"Right you are," said Roy. "We are poor but honest, and we spurn--don't
we, Pee-wee?"
"Sure we do," agreed Pee-wee.
"Poverty is no disgrace," said Roy dramatically.
The man, though not overburdened with a sense of humor, could not help
smiling at Roy and he went away laughing, but scarcely crediting their
purpose to venture into the den of "Old Man Stanton." "They're a queer
lot," he said to himself.
Within a few minutes the boys had gathered up their belongings, repacked
their duffel bags and were picking their way across the marsh toward the
drier road.
"We're likely to land in jail," said Pee-wee, mildly protesting.
"It isn't a question of whether we land in jail or not," said Tom,
stolidly; "it's just a question of what we ought to do."
"_We_ should worry," said Roy.