“Halt!” The Boy Scouts were tramping forward, chatting and laughing and
paying less attention than at first to the varieties of trees which
constantly appeared before them. It was true, as Uncle Elk had seen,
that they were a wee bit tired of imbibing knowledge, and disposed to
think of the home of the old man which they knew could not be far off.
At the sound of his crisp command, the party halted and looked
expectantly at him. On his part, he calmly surveyed the array of bright
faces as if the sight gave him rare pleasure, as it undoubtedly did.
Pausing for a moment, he said, addressing the whole body:
“I wish you to separate and start on a hunt, each for himself. You must
not go more than a hundred yards in any direction from where I am
standing. Within that area you are to make diligent search for the trail
of some animal of the woods that has passed within the last twenty-four
hours.”
“Is that _all_?” asked Mike loftily.
“No; it will not be enough to discover his tracks, but you must tell me
his name and some of his peculiarities.”
“Suppose the spalpeen hasn’t got any name?” suggested Mike.
“There is no such creature, my lad; to the one who first succeeds I
shall give a handsome prize.”
There could be no mistaking this direct challenge. The boys looked at
one another for a moment and then fell apart as energetically as if a
smoking bomb had dropped among them. They were more anxious to win a
compliment from their Instructor than to gain anything in the nature of
a prize. They had formed not only a deep respect but a real affection
for the man; due to his lovable disposition and in a slight degree to
the mystery which overshadowed his life.
Had you been a spectator of the picture, you would have thought some
valuable jewel or treasure had been lost among the leaves, and every lad
was the owner of the same. Never did two score bright eyes scan the
ground more closely; the boys seemed oblivious of everything else in the
world, and as the minutes passed their earnestness grew tense.
Uncle Elk nodded to Scout Master Hall, and the two sat down on a broad,
flat boulder and watched proceedings. When they spoke to each other it
was in guarded undertones. That there was a vein of waggery in the old
gentleman’s makeup was proved by the fact that the Scout Master seemed
to be trying hard to repress his merriment over certain remarks which
Uncle Elk took pains that no one should overhear. Now and then when one
of the boys looked at the couple, Mr. Hall’s face assumed a sudden
gravity which vanished the instant the lad’s attention returned to the
task before him. The Instructor easily hid his emotions, since his heavy
beard served as a curtain, but his amusement was as great as that of the
younger man. In fact, the Scout Master more than once heard a distinct
chuckle.
It will be understood that the problem before the scouts was not only a
hard one but it grew harder as the search progressed. They could not
help disturbing the leaves as they passed to and fro, no matter how
careful they were, and this disturbance increased each minute, because
the diameter of the space was no more than two hundred yards. It was
interesting to observe the care used by each boy not to “jump the
reservation.” Every now and then, one of them would stop his work, raise
his head and locate his comrades. Rather than run the risk of wandering
too far, he would edge nearer to the two men seated on the boulder and
watching his actions.
Several times a lad uttered an exclamation, believing he had caught
sight of the footprints of some denizen of the woods. Instantly, several
ran to him and joined in the scrutiny, but in each instance the belief
of success became doubtful, finally vanished and the hunt went on as
before. Upon many the conviction gradually forced itself that they had
essayed that which was impossible.
It was natural perhaps that the attention of the couple on the boulder
should center upon Mike Murphy, who was the most ardent searcher of them
all. He examined the ground near the spectators, but soon shifted to the
periphery, as it may be called, of the big circle. With his buckthorn in
hand, he poked among the leaves, so rumpling and overturning them that
he would have obscured all the footprints that at first were visible.
Unlike the others, Mike made visual search through the branches of the
trees. After studying the ground for a while, he would straighten up and
peer here and there among the limbs, as if certain that the answer to
the problem would there reveal itself.
“I’ve an idea,” he said to himself, “that it’s a grizzly bear or a big
tiger that is prowling round, and scrooching among the leaves. If he
should drop down on me shoulder and begin clawing me head, it would be
as bad as when Terry Googan had the coort house fall on top of
him—whisht!”
Mike was thrilled at the moment by the discovery of that which he
believed was the lost trail. Suppressing his emotions, he first made
certain that none of the scouts was looking at him. He was vastly
relieved to note that all were so absorbed in their own work that for
the time they were oblivious. He did not glance in the direction of the
two spectators on the boulder, for they were “out of it.”
Devoting several minutes to a closer study of a depression near a
decayed stump, Mike poked the leaves gently apart with his cane. Then he
chortled, and turning about sauntered indifferently toward his friends,
swinging his cane as if it were a swagger stick, and humming softly to
himself.
“By the way,” remarked Scout Master Hall, as he and his friend heard the
soft musical notes, “Alvin and Chester tell me that Mike is gifted with
a marvelous voice. A prima donna on the steamer was so impressed by it
that she offered to educate him for the operatic stage, but Mike won’t
think of such a thing.”
“Have you ever heard him sing?”
“No, but I intend soon to do so. He is modest with his gift, but is
always ready to oblige. He seems to have learned something.”
Mike had ceased his humming, and halting a few paces in front of the two
made a quick half salute. The Scout Master’s face became serious and the
manner of Uncle Elk could not have been graver.
“Have you come to make your report, Michael?” he asked.
“I hev, sorr.”
“I hope you have been successful.”
“I hev, sorr; I’ve found the futprints of the cratur that is trying to
steal into the camp and ate us all up.”
“That’s fine; but remember you must tell me what kind of a wild animal
it is.”
“I’m prepared to do the same.”
“Well, Mr. Hall and I are listening.”
“It’s an elephant.”
Noting the start of the two, Mike made haste to add:
“I knowed it would astonish ye, but I’m as sartin, as was me mither’s
second cousin whin he was accused of being the meanest man in siven
counties.”
“What reason have you for thinking the creature is an elephant?”
“The futprint is the biggest iver made; the elephant is the biggest
animal that roams these woods; _therefore_ the track is that of one of
them craturs.”
“Your logic is ingenious, Michael, but you do not produce the elephant.”
“I’ve an idea that he’s hiding somewhere in the branches of the trees,”
was the imperturbable reply of the Irish youth, who glanced up among the
nearest limbs as if he expected to see the giant quadruped lurking
there.
“Mike,” interposed Scout Master Hall, “the elephant is not found in this
country; you have made a mistake.”
“Why, there isn’t a traveling circus that doesn’t have a half dozen more
or less of ’em; what’s to prevint one from bidding good bye to his
frinds and starting out to have a shindy with a lot of Boy Scouts?”
By this time, it dawned upon the two men that the whole thing was a jest
on the part of Mike. Convinced that neither he nor his companions could
find the trail for which they had been searching, he yielded to his
waggish propensity, as fully aware of the absurdity of his words as were
those to whom he submitted his theory.
The fact that the three persons by the boulder were discussing some
interesting question had been observed by the other lads, who began
strolling in that direction. Uncle Elk and Mr. Hall kept their seats and
looked smilingly up into the expectant faces.
“I am afraid,” said the Instructor sighing as if with disappointment,
“that you have not been successful in your search.”
The unanimous nodding of heads answered his query.
“Shall I tell you why you failed?”
The same response followed.
“It is because you have been hunting for something which doesn’t exist;
there is no animal’s trail within a hundred yards of this spot.”
Scout Master Hall made no further effort to restrain his merriment. He
turned partly on one side and laughed till he nearly fell off the
boulder. Uncle Elk’s shoulders bobbed up and down and from behind the
thicket of snow white whiskers issued sounds such as are made by water
gurgling from the mouth of a bottle. The scouts like sensible lads
enjoyed the joke none the less because they were the victims. They
slapped one another on the shoulder, several flung up their hats and
shouted, and two of them gave a fine imitation of a Scotchman dancing
the Highland Fling.
As might be expected, Mike Murphy was the first to regain his wits. The
tempest of jollity had hardly passed, when he said:
“It minds me of the time when I was snoring on board the launch
_Deerfut_, draaming of watermelons and praties, whin a spalpeen, without
asking me permission, picked me up and flung me overboard where the
water was ’leven miles deep and I had niver swum a stroke in me life.”
“Did you drown?” asked Isaac Rothstein in pretended dismay.
“I s’pose I oughter done so, but I changed me mind and swum to shore.”
(You will recall that, incredible as this may sound, it is precisely
what occurred.)
“I don’t see the similarity between that incident and this,” remarked
Chester Haynes.
“For the raison that there isn’t any, which is why I call it to mind.
Don’t ye obsarve that ye have been looking fur that which isn’t, as
Uncle Elk has explained, and which is the same in me own case? The
stoopidity of some folks is scand’lous, as Mickey Shaughnessy said whin
his taycher expicted him to know how much two and two make whin the same
are added togither.”
“Well, boys,” spoke up the Instructor as he rose to his feet, “there’s a
time for all things. We have had our jest and now must get down to
business again. I suspect you know a little more about our native trees
than you did when we left the bungalow, and you may digest that which
you have swallowed. As the expression goes, the incident is closed. My
next requirement is that you shall join forces and start a fire.”
The request was so simple that the boys suspected the old man was
indulging in another bit of pleasantry, noting which he added:
“I am in earnest; I wish you to unite your skill and kindle a blaze
right in front of the boulder where Mr. Hall and I have been sitting.”
Gerald Hume of the Eagle Patrol laughed. “Nothing can be easier. All we
have to do is to gather some dry leaves, pine cones and twigs, and touch
them off with a match. We are allowed to use no more than two matches,
and in a case like this one ought to be enough.”
“A condition that I insist upon is that you shall not employ even a
single match.”