HERO CABIN
The history of Temple Camp during that gala season of its opening would
fill a book; but this is not a history of Temple Camp, and we must pass
at once to those extraordinary happenings which shook the little scout
community to its very center and cast a shadow over the otherwise
pleasant and fraternal life there.
By the middle of July every inch of space in the pavilion was occupied,
and among the other troops which lodged there was the little troop from
down the Hudson, of which Garry Everson was the leader. Tom had tried to
procure cabin accommodations for these good friends, but the cabins had
all been spoken for before their application came and they had to be
content with the less desirable quarters. During the early days of their
stay the Bridgeboro Troop arrived in a blaze of glory; the Ravens, with
their pride and delight, Doc Carson, first aid boy; the rest of the
Silver Foxes with Westy Martin, Dorry Benton and others; and Tom's own
patrol, the Elks, with Connie Bennett, the Bronson boys, the famous
O'Connor twins, all with brand new outfits, for this was a new patrol.
Three small cabins had been reserved for them and in these they settled
down, each patrol by itself and flying its own flag. Tom, by reason of
his duties, which identified him with the camp as a whole rather than
with any troop or patrol, occupied the cabin with Jeb Rushmore, and
though he was much with the Elks, he had delegated Connie Bennett to
substitute as patrol leader for the time being.
Garry Everson was a general favorite. Not only had his stunt of
receiving the signal message and restoring the fugitive Pee-wee won him
high regard with the Bridgeboro boys, but his quiet manner and whimsical
humor had made him many friends throughout the camp. He was tall and
slim, but muscular; the water seemed to be his specialty; he was an
expert at rowing and paddling, he could dive in a dozen different ways
and as for swimming, no one at Temple Camp could begin to compete with
him.
Tom's friendship with Garry Everson had grown quite intimate. They were
both interested in tracking and made many little trips together, for
Tom had much time to himself.
One morning, as Tom, according to rule, was making his regular
inspection of the pavilion, he lingered for a few minutes in Garry's
corner to chat with him.
"You're not getting ready to go?" he asked in surprise, noticing that
some of the troop's paraphernalia had been packed.
"Beginning to get ready," said Garry. "Sit down. Why didn't you bring
your knitting?"
"I can't stay long," said Tom. "I've got to inspect the cabins yet, and
then I've got to make up the program for campfire yarns to-night. By
the way, couldn't _you_ give us a spiel?"
"Oh, sure," said Garry. "_The Quest of the Honor Medal_. I'll tell how
nobody ever gets into danger here--or imperils his life, as Pee-wee
would say. I'm going to put a notice up on one of the trees and get you
to read another at mess with the regular announcements: Wanted; by scout
seeking honor medal; someone willing to imperil his life. Suitable
reward. Apply Temple Camp pavilion. Signed, Would-be Hero."
Tom laughed.
"I'm like old What's-his-name, Cæsar. Ready to do the conquest act, but
nothing more to conquer. Believe me, it's no cinch being a would-be
hero. Couldn't you get bitten by a rattlesnake on one of your tracking
stunts? Get your foot on him, you know, and he'll be wriggling and
squirming to get his head free, and his cruel fangs will be within an
inch of your ankle and you'll just begin to feel them against your
stocking----"
"Don't," laughed Tom.
"When all of a sudden I'll come bounding out of the thicket, and I'll
grab him by the head and force his cruel jaws shut and slip an elastic
band around his mug. That ought to pull the silver cross, hey? And I and
my faithful followers would get three extra weeks in camp."
"Would you like to stay longer?" Tom asked.
"Foolish question, number three million. Haven't we had the time of our
young lives? I never knew two weeks to go so fast. Never mind, we've got
two days more--and two days _only_ unless I get some answers to my
'ad.'"
"Where's your patrol this morning?"
"Stalking; they've a date with a robin. I would have gone along except I
didn't see much chance of any of them imperilling their lives taking
snapshots of robins. So I stayed home to do a little packing--things we
won't need again. But no use thinking about that, I suppose; that's what
I tell them. We've had some good times, all right. Seems a pity we have
to go just when Mr. Temple and his daughter have come. You're a lucky
kid; you stay till the last gun is fired, don't you?"
"Yes, I'm going to stay till we close up. Come on, stroll up the hill
with me. I've got to raise the colors. If you've only two days more
there's no use moping around in here."
"All right, wait a minute and I'll be with you--dry the pensive tear, as
your friend Roy would say. He's an all-around scout, isn't he?"
"Yes, he came right off the cover of the Manual, Mr. Ellsworth says."
"You're a bully troop, you fellows. Gee, I envy you. Trouble with us,"
he continued, as they walked up the hill together, "is we haven't any
scoutmaster. I'm scoutmaster and patrol leader rolled into one. We're
going to get better organized this winter. There's only just the seven
of us, you know, and we haven't got any money. You might think that
because we live in a country village on the Hudson everything's fine and
dandy. But there's blamed little money in our burg. Four of our troop
have to work after school. One works all day and goes to night school
down to Poughkeepsie. I saved up two years to buy that canoe I was in
when I caught your message."
"Well, you caught it all right," said Tom, with a note of pride in his
usually expressionless voice.
"We'll come out all right, though," said Garry, cheerily. "That's what
I'm always telling them; only we're so gol-blamed poor."
"I know what it is," said Tom, after a pause. "Maybe that's what makes
us such good friends, sort of. I lived in a tenement down in Bridgeboro.
I've got to thank Roy for everything--Roy and Mr. Ellsworth. They all
treat me fine and you'd never know most of them are rich fellows; but
somehow--I don't just know how to tell you---- but you know how a scout
is supposed to be a brother to every other scout. Well, it seems to me,
kind of, as if a poor fellow is a brother to every other poor
fellow--and--and--I understand."
"It's easy to see they all think a lot of you," said Garry. "Well, we've
had a rattling good time up here and I don't suppose we'll feel any
worse about going away than lots of others will. If you miss one thing
you usually have another to make up. We're all good friends in our
little troop--we have more fun than you could shake a stick at, joshing
each other about different kinds of heroic stunts, to win an honor
medal, and some of them have thought up the craziest things----"
"I wish you could stay," said Tom.
"Well, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, as some old duffer
said."
The wooded hill sloped upward behind the camp for a distance of some
hundred yards, where it was broken by a sheer precipice forming one side
of a deep gully. This was the work of man, having once been a railroad
cut, but it had been in disuse for many years and was now covered with
vegetation. You could walk up the hill till you came to the brink of
this almost vertical chasm, but you could no more scramble down it than
you could scramble down a well. On the opposite side of the cut the hill
continued upward and the bridging of the chasm by the scouts themselves
had been a subject of much discussion; but up to the present time
nothing had been done and there was no way to continue one's ascent of
the hill except to follow along the edge of the cut to a point where the
precipice was low enough to allow one to scramble down--a walk of
several miles.
Right on the brink of this old overgrown cut was a shack which had
probably once been used by the workmen. Although on the Camp property it
was rather too far removed from the other buildings to be altogether
convenient as a living place, but its isolated situation had attracted
the boys, and the idea of calling it Hero Cabin was an inspiration of
Roy's. Mr. Keller, one of the trustees, had fallen in with the notion
and while deprecating the use of this remote shack for regular living
quarters, had good-naturedly given his consent that it be used as the
honored domicile of any troop a member of which had won an honor medal.
Perhaps he thought that, honor medals being not so easily won, it would
be quite safe to make this concession.
In any event, it was quite enough for the boys. A committee was formed
with a member from each troop to make the shack a suitable abode for a
hero and his court. Impulsive Roy was the moving spirit of the plan;
Pee-wee was its megaphone, and in the early days of the Bridgeboro
troop's stay a dozen or more scouts had worked like beavers making a
path up through the woods, covering the shack with bark, and raising a
flagpole near it. They had hiked into Leeds and bought material for a
flag to fly above the shack showing the name, HERO CABIN, and they had
fitted it with rustic bunks inside.
The idea was a good one, the boys had taken a great deal of pride and
pleasure in the work of preparation, the whole thing had given rise to
much friendly jealousy as to what troop should be honored by residence
here and what fortunate scout should be escorted to this new abode amid
acclamations. Probably every troop in camp had dreams of occupying it (I
am sure that Pee-wee had), and of spending its "honor time" here.
But apparently Mr. Keller, who was not much given to dreaming, was right
in his skeptical conjecture for Hero Cabin remained unoccupied, though
Tom made it a point to tramp up and raise and lower the colors there
each day.
"Some day, maybe next season," said he as they stood on the brink and
gazed across the deep gully, "they'll bring somebody up here riding on
their shoulders. You can't win an honor medal every day in the week. I
think the bronze cross would be enough for _me_--let alone the silver or
the gold one. I'd be satisfied with that, wouldn't you?"
"Except that the gold cross gives you four extra weeks," said Garry,
"and, of course, the more risk a fellow takes, the greater the honor
is." He picked up a pebble and threw it at a tree across the gully. "I'd
rather have one of those medals," he said, "than anything in the
world--and I want a wireless outfit pretty bad, too. But besides that"
(he kept throwing pebbles across the gully and spoke half absently),
"besides that, it would be fine to have that extra time. Maybe we
couldn't use it _all_ this season, but--look, I can hit that thin tree
every time--but I'm thinking of the little codger mostly; you know the
one I mean--with the light hair?"
"The little fellow that coughs?"
"He doesn't cough any more. He did before we came up here. His father
died of consumption. No, he doesn't cough much now--guess it agrees with
him up here. He's---- There, I hit it six times in succession."
For a few minutes Tom said nothing, but watched as Garry, time after
time, hit the slender tree across the gully.
"I often dream about having an honor medal, too," he said, after a
while. "We haven't got any in our troop. Roy'll be the one, I guess. I
suppose the gold cross is the highest award they'll ever have, hey?"
"Guess so."
"There's nothing better than gold, is there?"
"It isn't because there's nothing better than gold," said Garry, still
intent upon hitting his mark. "It's because there's nothing better than
heroism--bravery--risking your life."
"Diamonds--they might have a diamond cross, hey?"
"What for?"
"In case they found anything that's better than heroism.[missing: "?]
"What?"
"Oh, I don't know. There might be."
Garry turned and laughingly clapped Tom on the back. "I might push you
over this precipice and then jump down after you, hey?" he laughed.
"You'd be crushed to death yourself," said Tom.
"Well, stop talking nonsense or I'll do it. Come on, get your chores
done and we'll go down and have a swim. What'd' you say?"
He ran his hand through Tom's thick shock of hair and laughed again.
"Come on, forget it," said he. "I've only got two days more here and
I'm not going to miss a morning dip. Come on, I'll show you the double
twist dive."
He put his arm through Tom's with the contagious gaiety that was his,
and started down the hill with him toward the lake.
"Come on, wake up, you old grouch," he said.