BAD LUCK, AND GOOD
Andy looked again and rubbed his eyes. It was certainly the most
astonishing thing he could remember running across in all his
experience, and only went to prove how deceptive appearances may be at
times. But it gave him a shock to think that such a nice-looking old
party, with a ring to his laugh, could underneath the outer veneer be
such a desperate schemer as to want to blow up bridges and destroy
trains and all such horrible things, just because he happened to have
some German ancestors.
Really, Andy had already made up his mind that if he felt absolutely
compelled to use his weapon at all he would confine his attentions to
that swarthy chap, and leave the merry individual to others; for he felt
positive that if he did anything to injure that jovial party he would
never forgive himself. Which, under the circumstances, was exceedingly
thoughtful and kind of Andy; and doubtless, if ever he ventured to
confess as to what his magnanimous thoughts had been, he would find that
his resolution was much appreciated.
Possibly Rob, too, was staring wonderingly at the occupants of that camp
close to the border; for he must have been as much surprised as his chum
at the unexpected mild appearance of the two desperadoes. Before he
could find a chance to give vent to his feelings something came to pass
that prevented their exchanging opinions.
Andy tugged at Rob’s sleeve and whispered in an awed tone:
“Look there, will you, Rob; Zeb’s got rattled, and he’s bound to break
up the whole bully scheme!”
They suddenly saw the lanky Maine guide standing up beyond the camp. He
did not appear to care whether he was seen or not, judging from the
boldness of his actions. It grew worse instead of better, for even while
they looked what should Zeb do but start directly toward the fire!
At first Andy thought the other meant to attack the pair seated there,
without waiting for any signal, which might be a piece of boldness on
his part, but would also be disobeying the orders of the lieutenant.
Then Andy had reason to stare some more and change his mind, for to his
utter amazement Zeb trailed his rifle under his arm, when by rights a
careful man would certainly have held it in such a position that it
would be ready for quick work in case of necessity.
Would wonders never cease? Andy asked himself, as he continued to crouch
there. First, there was the astonishing appearance of the chief villain,
and now here was Zeb acting as though he had actually lost his head and
meant to commit suicide.
Straight along came the woods guide. He looked solemn enough; indeed,
Andy even thought Zeb had the appearance of a man who was up for
sentence before a judge, and meant to throw himself on the mercy of the
court.
Then Andy discovered that the dark-faced conspirator had discovered the
coming of Zeb, which would indicate that he possessed pretty keen
hearing. But how was this, that he did not instantly fly to where those
two guns rested against the trunk of the pine near by and prepare to
give the intruder a hot reception?
Andy saw that he must have said something to the larger man, for the
other quickly looked toward Zeb. Neither did he show any sign of sudden
and overwhelming alarm. Indeed, he even smiled broadly, and looked
_pleased_, which about completed Andy’s confusion. The mystery was
really too deep for him, though when he heard Rob chuckling close by, he
began to fancy that the scout master was able to read between the lines
better than he had been.
It grew even more mysterious when Andy saw Zeb, their friend Zeb,
actually hold out his hand and take the extended digits of the
solemn-looking dark-faced man, whose straight figure and black hair made
the boy suspect that he might well have some Indian blood in his veins.
Now Zeb was facing the large man, who still sat there and listened to
what the Maine woodsman might be saying. When he, too, finally reached
up his hand and Zeb eagerly pounced upon it, all at once the wonderful
truth broke in upon the bewildered Andy just as a flash of lightning
might dart from the clouds to the earth during a storm.
Why, these were not desperate conspirators they had discovered, at all.
Their work had been for nothing, save that it was good practice for
scouts to be given a chance to show what they could do in the way of
creeping up on a suspected enemy’s camp. That man with the bronzed skin
was Sebattis, the Penobscot guide, and the jovial party, to be sure, he
could be no other than Tubby’s Uncle George!
It was a pretty severe shock to Andy when this burst upon him so
suddenly.
“Well, what d’ye think of that, Rob?” he gasped. “After all, we’ve run
across Uncle George and his other guide; and Zeb’s in his good graces
again. Well, we’re certainly in hard luck one way, and in good another.
I’m sorry for you, lieutenant, but we’ve struck the wrong party. We know
this gentleman, who is a rich sportsman. If you look sharp you will see
a moose head over there, which shows that, after all, Uncle George
managed to get the big bull. Good for him!”
The soldier was keenly disappointed to learn that their fine plans had
been wasted; but as Rob expected, he was made of the right kind of stuff
and could take things as they came, the bitter with the sweet.
“We’re certainly stumped, boys,” was what the officer remarked, with a
short laugh, such as spoke of chagrin, “if, as you say, this party is
one of your friends; he certainly doesn’t look much like a desperado, I
must confess. I was trying hard to picture him in such a fiendish raid,
but couldn’t manage it, any way I figured. But let’s step up and meet
the gentleman. I imagine we stand no chance whatever now of being able
to cut off the flight of those cowardly curs.”
The three boys were only too glad to avail themselves of the
opportunity. Of course, Rob’s and Andy’s first thought was of Tubby, and
how delighted the fat chum would be to learn they had run across his
relative. They would have something of importance to tell Uncle George,
too.
By now the big sportsman was on his feet, for he saw strangers advancing
toward his camp fire from two different directions; and, being a
hospitable soul, Uncle George’s first thought was to welcome them to the
genial blaze, in true sportsman style.
He looked keenly at the two boys in khaki.
“Hello!” he remarked with a chuckle. “I’ve got a nephew who’s proud to
be wearing that khaki cloth, and on his account I’m glad to see you.”
“How d’ye do, Uncle George?” Andy coolly remarked, as he shook hands,
and it was almost comical to see the gentleman stare at him as he
hastened to say:
“Well, you seem to know my name, all right, my boy, which strikes me as
rather singular. How do you explain that?”
“Oh, Tubby has talked so much about you that we’re all calling you Uncle
George, sir, begging your pardon for being so familiar,” explained
audacious Andy, with one of his widest grins.
“‘Tubby’!” exclaimed the gentleman. “Why, you must mean my nephew,
Robert Hopkins. I remember that his chums do call him by some such
outlandish name. You know him, then, which indicates that I was mistaken
when I placed you as Canadian Boy Scouts. I reckon you must live in
Hampton, down on Long Island?”
“Just what we do, sir,” Rob took occasion to remark. “I’m Rob Blake, and
this is Andy Bowles, both members of the same Eagle Patrol that Tubby
belongs to. You will be still more surprised, I take it, sir, when you
learn that your nephew is not over a mile or so away from this spot
right now.”
“You amaze me, my boy. Whatever brought him away up here in the
wilderness? Please explain the mystery, Rob.”
“I can do that in a few sentences, Mr. Hopkins,” said the scout leader;
and with that he told about the paper that it was so necessary for Uncle
George to sign before a certain date; and how school being dismissed for
two weeks, Tubby and his chums had been dispatched up into Maine to find
the sportsman.
This satisfied the gentleman, but there were other mysteries waiting to
be explained. He wondered how the boys had met the Canadian soldiers,
and why they should all be creeping up on his little camp in such a
stealthy fashion.
So Rob thought it just as well to tell him about the amazing things that
had happened. Swiftly Rob brought the story down to where the patriotic
chums, together with Zeb and Donald, had succeeded in severing the
necessary wire, and thus prevented the awful plot from being carried
out.
All of this must have been highly entertaining to Uncle George, to judge
from the smile on his face, and the many chuckles in which he indulged
from time to time. When Rob finished the account the sportsman shook
hands all around again and then freed his mind.
“It was excellently carried out, boys, most wonderfully executed, in
fact, and I’m certain this gentleman feels under heavy obligations to
you all. Donald never would have managed to get over in time to give
warning, only for you. Consequently the saving of the bridge, and the
munition train as well, lies at your door. I’m also proud of the fact
that you are loyal Americans, and that you considered it your bounden
duty to stand up for patriotism as you did. Robert will be dearer to me
than ever after this, for he seems to be a boy after my own heart.”
Then he turned to the lieutenant again, and went on to say in his
cordial way:
“I hope this will only be another cause for cementing the friendship of
the two great English-speaking races. We have thousands of our boys Over
There in the French war trenches, and in the aviation corps, as well as
with the Red Cross, doing their bit for humanity and the great cause of
a peace that will bless the whole civilized world for ages, and I
honestly believe that before long our country will be your ally in this
struggle. Now, sir, before you think of starting back to your duty allow
me to offer you a cup of hot coffee, and anything in the way of
refreshment my larder affords.”
The officer was anxious to return with as little delay as possible, for
he felt that he had a weighty responsibility resting on his shoulders;
but it was hard to resist that smile and those winning ways; so he
agreed to linger for, say, half an hour longer. Rob said he, Andy and
Donald also would return with him when he went, for they wished to
rejoin their chum.
Andy was soon seen examining the monster moose head with its broad
horns, and on observing his action the gentleman sportsman called out:
“I’ve been after that fellow for several seasons now, my boy, and this
year we looked for him over at the Tucker Pond; but he led us quite a
chase, and we only potted him here this afternoon, while swinging around
on the way back to the logging camp.”
“Well,” remarked Andy, laughing, “we weren’t even looking for him, but
he paid us a visit, all the same, we’ve got reason to believe,” and then
he related how their brush shanty had been partly demolished by the rush
of a giant moose, which account amused Uncle George greatly.