TRACKS AND TRAILING
When the engineer blew the whistle which the convict had heard with such
satisfaction and Pee-wee with such dread, it was by way of warning two
dark figures which were about to cross the tracks. Something bright
which they carried shone in the glare of the headlight.
"Here comes a freight," said Tom.
"Let it come, I can't stop it," said Roy. "Je-ru-salem, this can is
heavy."
"Same here," said Tom.
"I wouldn't carry another can of gas this far for a prince's
ransom--whatever in the dickens that is. Look at the blisters on my
hand, will you? Gee, I'm so hungry I could eat a package of tacks. I bet
Pee-wee's been throwing duck fits. Never mind, we did a good turn. 'We
seen our duty and we done it noble.' Some grammar! They ought to put us
on the cover of the manual. Boy scouts returning from a gasoline hunt!
Good turn, turn down the gas, hey? Did you ever try tracking a freight
train? It's terribly exciting."
"Keep still, will you!" said Tom, setting down his can. "Can't you see
I'm spilling the gasoline? Don't make me laugh."
"The face with the smile wins," Roy rattled on. "For he ain't no slouch,
but the lad with the grouch---- Pick up your can and get off the
track--safety first!"
"Well, then, for goodness' sake, shut up!" laughed Tom.
It had been like this all the way back, Tom setting down his can at
intervals and laughing in spite of himself at Roy's nonsense.
When they reached the boat Roy looked inside and called Pee-wee.
"Where is our young hero, anyway?" he said.
But "our young hero" was not there. They poured the gas into the tank
and then went inside where Roy discovered the note in the saucepan. He
read it, then handed it to Tom and the two stood for a moment staring at
each other, too surprised to speak.
"What do you suppose has got into him?" exclaimed Tom.
"Search me; unless he's mad because we left him here."
Tom looked about as if in search of some explanation, and as usual his
scrutiny was not unfruitful.
"It looks as if he had started to get supper," said he: "there's the
rice----"
A sudden inspiration seized Roy. Pulling out the recipe book from his
duffel bag he opened it where the letter to Mary Temple lay. "I thought
so," he said shamefacedly. "I left the end of it sticking out to mark
the place and now it's in between the leaves. That's what did the
mischief; he must have found it."
"You ought to have torn it up before we started," said Tom.
"I know it, but I just stuck it in there when I was brushing up my
memory on rice cakes, and there it's been ever since. I ought never to
have written it at all, if it comes to that."
Tom made no answer. They had never mentioned that incident which was
such an unpleasant memory to them both.
"Well, we've got to find him, that's all," said Tom.
"Gee, it seems as if we couldn't possibly get along without Pee-wee
now," Roy said. "I never realized how much fun it would be having him
along. Poor kid! It serves me right for----"
"What's the use of thinking about that _now_?" said Tom, bluntly. "We've
just got to find him Come on, hurry up, get your flashlight. Every
minute we wait he's a couple of hundred feet farther away."
For the first time in all their trip, as it seemed to Roy, Tom's spirit
and interest were fully aroused. He was as keen as a bloodhound for the
trail and instinctively Roy obeyed him.
They hurried out without waiting for so much as a bite to eat and with
the aid of their flashlights (and thanks to the recent rains) had no
difficulty in trailing Pee-wee as far as the railroad tracks.
"He'd either follow the track," said Tom, "or else the road we took and
hide somewhere till we passed. He wouldn't try any cross-country
business at night, I don't believe."
"Poor kid!" was all Roy could say. The thought of that note which he had
carelessly left about and of Pee-wee starting out alone haunted him and
made him feel like a scoundrel. All his gayety had vanished and he
depended on Tom and followed his lead. He remembered only too well the
wonderful tracking stunt that Tom had done the previous summer, and now,
as he looked at that rather awkward figure, kneeling with head low, and
creeping along from tie to tie, oblivious to all but his one purpose, he
felt a certain thrill of confidence. By a sort of unspoken
understanding, he (who was the most all-round scout of them all and
looked it into the bargain) had acted as their leader and spokesman on
the trip; and Tom Slade, who could no more talk to strangers, and
especially girls, than he could fly, had followed, envying Roy's easy
manner and all-around proficiency. But Tom was a wizard in tracking, and
as Roy watched him now he could not help realizing with a pang of shame
that again it was Tom who had come to the rescue to save him from the
results of his own selfishness and ill-temper. He remembered those
words, spoken in Tom's stolid way on the night of their quarrel. "_It's
kind of like a trail in your mind and I got to hit the right trail._" He
_had_ hit the right trail then and brought Roy to his senses, and now
again when that rude, selfish note cropped up to work mischief it was
Tom who knelt down there on the railroad tracks, seeking again for the
right trail.
"Here it is," he said at last, when he had closely examined and smelt
of a dark spot on one of the ties. "Lucky you let him clean the engine;
he must have been standing in the oil trough."
"Good he had his sneaks on, too," said Roy, stooping. "It's like a stamp
on a pound of butter."
It was not quite as clear as that, but if Pee-wee had prepared his
sneaks especially for making prints on wooden ties he could scarcely
have done better. In order to get at the main bearings of the engine he
had, with characteristic disregard, stood plunk in the copper drain
basin under the crank-case. The oil had undoubtedly softened the rubber
sole of his sneakers so that it held the clinging substance, and in some
cases it was possible to distinguish on the ties the half-obliterated
crisscross design of the rubber sole.
"Come on," said Tom, "this thing is a cinch."
"It's a shame to call it tracking," said Roy, regaining some measure of
his wonted spirits as they hurried along. "It's a blazed trail."
And so, indeed, it was while it lasted, but suddenly it ceased and the
boys paused, puzzled.
"Listen for trains," warned Tom.
"There won't be any along yet a while," said Roy. "There's one stopped
up there a ways now."
They could hear the shunting up the track, interspersed with faint
voices calling.
"Here's where he's put one over on us," said Roy. "Poor kid."
"Here's where he's been reading Sir Baden-Powell, you mean. Wait till I
see if he worked the boomerang trick. See that tree up there?"
It was amazing how readily Tom assumed that Pee-wee would do just what
he had done to elude pursuit.
"Tree's always a suspicious thing," said he; "this is a Boer
wrinkle--comes from South Africa."
He did not bother hunting for the tracks in the hubbly ground, but made
straight for the tree.
"Poor kid," was all he could say as he picked up a few freshly fallen
leaves and a twig or two. "He's good at climbing anyway." He examined
one of the leaves carefully with his flashlight. "Squint around," he
said to Roy, "and see if you can find where he stuck his staff in the
ground."
Roy got down, poking his light here and there, and parting the rough
growth.
"Here it is," said he.
Oh, it was all easy--too easy, for a scout. It gave them no feeling of
triumph, only pity for the stout-hearted little fellow who had tried to
escape them.
A more careful examination of the lower branches of the tree and of the
ground beneath was enough. Tom did not even bother about the prints
leading back to the railroad, but went back to the tracks and after a
few minutes picked up the trail again there. This they followed till
they came to the siding, now deserted.
Here, for a few minutes, it did seem as if Pee-wee had succeeded in
baffling them, for the prints leaving the ties ran over to the siding
and there ended in a confused collection of footprints pointing in every
direction. Evidently, Pee-wee had paused here, but what direction he had
taken from this point they could not see.
"This has got _me_ guessing," said Tom.
"He was tangoing around here," said Roy, pointing his flashlight to the
ground, "that's sure. Maybe the little Indian walked the rail."
But an inspection of the rail showed that he had not done that, unless,
indeed, the recent rain had obliterated the marks.
They examined the platform carefully, the steps, the one or two
hogsheads, but no sign did they reveal.
"It gets me," said Tom, as they sat down on the edge of the platform,
dangling their legs.
"He swore he wouldn't go near a railroad--remember?" said Roy, smiling a
little wistfully.
Tom slowly shook his head.
"It's all my fault," said Roy.
"Meanwhile, we're losing time," said Tom.
"You don't suppose----" began Roy. "Where do you suppose that freight
stopped? Here?"
Tom said nothing for a few moments. Then he jumped down and kneeling
with his light began again examining the confusion of footprints near
the siding. Roy watched him eagerly. He felt guilty and discouraged. Tom
was apparently absorbed with some fresh thought. Around one footprint he
drew a ring in the soil. Then he got up and crept along by the rail
throwing his light upon it. About twelve or fifteen feet along this he
paused, and crossing suddenly, examined the companion rail exactly
opposite. Then he straightened up.
"What is it?" asked Roy. But he got no answer.
Tom went back along the rail till he came to a point twelve or fifteen
feet in the other direction from the group of footprints, and here he
made another careful scrutiny of both rails. The group of footprints was
outside the track and midway between the two points in which he seemed
so much interested.
"This is the end of _our_ tracking," he said at length.
"What's the matter?"
"Come here and I'll show you. See that footprint--it's only half a
one--the front half--see? That's the last one of the lot. That's where
he climbed into the car--see?"
Roy stood speechless.
"See? Now come here and I'll show you something. See those little rusty
places on the track? It's fresh rust--see? You can wipe it off with your
finger. There's where the wheels were--see? One, two, three, four--same
on the other side, see? And down there," pointing along the track, "it's
the same way. If it hadn't been raining this week, we'd never known
about a freight car being stalled here, hey? See, those footprints are
just half-way between the rusty spots. There's where the door was. See?
This little front half of a footprint tells the story. He had to climb
to get in--poor kid. He went on a railroad train, after all."
Roy could say nothing. He could only stare as Tom pointed here and there
and fitted things together like a picture puzzle. The car was gone, but
it had left its marks, just as the boy had.
"You put it into my head when you mentioned the train," said Tom.
"Oh, sure; _I_ put it into your head," said Roy, in disgust. "_I'm_ a
wonderful scout--_I_ ought to have a tin medal! It was you brought me
that letter back. It was Pee-wee got the bird down and won a boat for
us--and I've turned him out of it," he added, bitterly.
"No, you----"
"Yes, I have. And it was _you_ that tracked him, and it was _you_
spelled this out and it's _you_--it's just like _you_, too--to turn
around and say I put it into your head. The only thing _I've_ done in
this whole blooming business is try to insult Mary Temple--only--only
you wouldn't let me get away with it," he stammered.
"Roy," interrupted Tom, "listen--just a minute." He had never seen Roy
like this before.
"Come on," said Roy, sharply. "You've done all _you_ could. Come on
back!"
Tom was not much at talking, but seeing his friend in this state seemed
to give him words and he spoke earnestly and with a depth of feeling.
"It's always _you_," said Roy. "It's----"
"Roy," said Tom, "don't--wait a minute--_please_. When we got back to
the boat I said we'd have to find him--don't go on like that,
Roy--please! I thought I could find him. But you see I can't--_I_ can't
find him."
"You can make these tracks talk to you. I'm a----"
"No, you're not; listen, _please_. I said--you remember how I said I
wanted to be alone with you--you remember? Well, now we are alone, and
it's going to be you to do it, Roy; it's going to be _you_ to bring
Pee-wee back. Just the same as you made me a scout a year ago, you
remember? You're the only one can do it, Roy," he put his hand on Roy's
shoulder, "and I'll--I'll help you. And it'll seem like old times--sort
of--Roy. But you're the one to do it. You haven't forgotten about the
searchlight, have you, Roy? You remember how you told me about the
scout's arm having a long reach? You remember, Roy? Come on, hurry up!"