REVEILLE.
When Alec stole back to his cabin, noiselessly entered it, and climbed
into his bunk, half an hour later, it was not very clear in his mind how
he could contrive, even with Joe’s possible assistance, to bring Hugh
Hardin into the shadow of blame for the fire. Of course, he could admit
that he had caught Hugh and Billy in the act of putting out the flames,
and the fact that they had done it secretly, as it were, without
arousing the whole camp, would cast some suspicion upon them.
But their words would be worth exactly as much as his, and, moreover,
Hugh would have Billy’s testimony in support.
How much credence would be given to the halfbreed’s vague hints? Could
Joe be trusted to say anything? Or, might he not even say just the wrong
thing at the critical point, the right thing at the wrong moment?
These questions troubled Alec as he crept shivering between his chilly
sheets and drew his blanket around him closer.
“Wish I had primed Joe a little more,” he said to himself miserably,
“but perhaps I’ll get a chance to speak with him again to-morrow.”
With this comforting reflection he sank into uneasy slumber.
It was strange that a boy trained in the principles and spirit of
scout-craft, particularly a boy who had reached Alec’s position among
his mates, could be capable of feeling such jealousy as Alec showed in
his attitude toward Hugh. But young Sands was an unusual boy, and he had
always been over-indulged. Only with difficulty had he ever been able to
overcome an instinctive dislike of any rival, and in the case of Hugh he
had not tried to do more than comply with the rules of outward courtesy
that obtained in camp.
The rules of Pioneer Camp were few and simple, and every boy in the four
patrols that formed the troop was put on his honor and trusted to live
up to them. Faithfulness to duty, one of the scout virtues, was required
by Lieutenant Denmead, and scarcely a boy in the camp cared or dared to
shirk.
Reveille was sounded at six o’clock every morning, except Sunday, when
it was an hour later. At six-thirty on week-days and seven-thirty on
Sundays mess was served to two of the patrols, and half an hour later to
the other two, the patrols alternating in the order of service. Noon
mess was served from twelve to one o’clock, and evening mess from six to
seven-thirty. At nine o’clock came “taps” which meant “camp-fires
carefully extinguished, lights out, and every boy in bed.”
Every morning, also, a detail from each cabin was assigned to police the
camp; that is, clear up all rubbish, chop fire-wood, draw water from the
bubbling spring nearby, wash dishes, and keep the camp in order.
In the two log cabins, the beds were plain box bunks arranged in a
double tier down the sides, each containing a tick stuffed with straw.
Red blankets, sheets, and a thin pillow filled with aromatic fir balsam
completed the equipment. Of course each boy was expected to look after
the airing and making of his own bed.
Accordingly, when the bugle sounded before sunrise next morning, all was
hustle and activity at the camp, in strange contrast with the quiet lake
and the majestic calm of the mountains.
Hardly had the notes of the bugle call died away in impressive silence,
when new echoes were aroused to sudden life by the lusty shouts and
calls of forty boys, who, being thus musically wakened from the profound
sleep of healthy and vigorous youth, sprang from their bunks and
bestirred themselves about their morning duties.
It seemed to Alec, however, that he had slept scarcely an hour. He felt
tired and out-of-sorts with himself and everybody else, quite devoid of
any zest for the events which the day might bring forth. Wearily he
rose, partly dressed, and went outside the cabin, where, upon a bench,
stood a row of aluminum washbasins, each with a towel, soap, and brush
and comb to bear it company. While he and Dick Bellamy performed their
ablutions, envying those who were going down to the lake for a swim,
Alec “pumped” his comrade with leading questions, in an effort to find
out whether Dick knew anything about the fire. To his satisfaction, Dick
appeared wholly unaware that any accident to the mess-cabin had
occurred.
Dick was jubilant that morning, because it was the last morning of his
week of police duty. After this day he would be free to follow his own
devices and in various ways build up his record for election to the
signal corps.
“Fine day, Alec,” he remarked genially.
“Yes—for ducks!” retorted Alec, glancing up at the sun which now shone
ominously red through a veil of low, swiftly-moving clouds. “Looks like
rain,” he added, in explanation.
“For fish, too,” said Bellamy. “You know they always bite better a
morning like this. I hope to get some big ones to-day.”
“Speaking of fish,” began Alec, “we’re going to have some broiled trout
for breakfast this morning, some that you and Don caught yesterday.”
“Broiled——! Oh, Alec, what time is it now?”
“Quarter past six.”
“Will those lucky chaps never come up from the lake? I’m almost starved!
Where, oh, where has my tummie gone?” warbled Dick, as he resumed his
dressing leisurely. “I’m ’most starved and I can’t pull my belt in
another hole. ’Cause why? There isn’t any.”
“Patience, Dickie, patience. Take courage, don’t worry.”
Dick Bellamy breathed a sigh.
“Worry!” he echoed. “It’s not worry that is troubling me, it’s want of
food. I’m ravenous! My insides are in such a state of emptiness that
they resound like a drum. I could eat every scrap of a five-pound
sirloin steak this very minute.”
“No, you couldn’t,” said Sam Winter, overhearing the remark as he passed
by, dripping water from his limbs and hair. “No, you couldn’t,” he
repeated, “not with me around! I’d defy you to get your lunch-hooks on
it!”
Dick cocked an eye in Alec’s direction.
“Think of it, fellows,” he urged maliciously. “Think of a nice juicy
steak an inch thick, cooked to a turn, and all covered with delicious
crisp fried onions! Doesn’t that make your mouths water?”
The swimmer moaned and clapped both hands over his stomach.
“Don’t,” he begged, “don’t speak of it! I can’t stand it! It makes me
feel faint!”
So saying, he went on into the cabin, followed shortly by his brother.
After Buck came a whirlwind of glistening white forms racing up the path
from the lake to the cabin door, piling through it, and scattering in
all directions to dry and dress themselves.
“Wonder where Spike and Shorty are going this morning?” said a lad.
“Oh, they’ll show up before lunch,” replied one of the Fox patrol
carelessly. “I heard them say they were going up-stream in a canoe, with
Joe.”
Alec pricked up his ears. So he would not have a chance to speak
privately with Joe that morning! The halfbreed would be away from camp,
perhaps taking Spike to some sylvan glade in the forest among the hills,
where he could take photographs of living wild animals, and where
“Shorty” McNeil could collect specimens of rare plants. Why had he,
Alec, not asked permission to enlist Joe’s instructive services on some
expedition yesterday, while waiting with the scouts on the summit of old
Stormberg?
“Evidently we’re not going to have signal practice to-day?” he said
wonderingly.
“Oh, yes,—if it doesn’t rain. If it does, I’ll vote for water-polo,
instead.”
“I’ll second that motion,” returned Alec. “Hurry up, now! It’s nearly
mess-time.”
Half an hour later, when the boys were seated at the long table in the
dining cabin, they heard the sudden patter of raindrops on the roof of
the building, at first soft and stealthy, then louder and faster, as the
drifting clouds relinquished their burden. There would be no games that
morning, it was feared; yet there was a hope that the heavy shower would
be over within a couple of hours. Meanwhile, there was always plenty to
do, and the small but well-selected library in Lieutenant Denmead’s
cabin was available at all times. Thither some went immediately after
breakfast, while others, donning bathing-suits, disported themselves in
the lake or on it in canoes.
Among the latter, those whose energies were not even dampened by the
rain, were Hugh Hardin and Don Miller, and they forthwith rounded up a
few followers from their respective patrols and proposed a game of
canoe-tag, at which Rawson consented to be umpire.
Hearing of the plan, Walter Osborne and Alec Sands summoned their
patrols, each with the appropriate patrol-call, and inquired who would
take part in the game.
“We can make it a game between the two cabins, with any number of
canoes,” said Walter. “The game is for one canoe to tag another by
throwing a cotton bag filled with corks _into_ it. It’s great sport, and
it gives you a chance to show what you can do with a paddle; you’ve got
to be so quick about dodging, turning, and chasing around! The rules are
just like those of ordinary cross-tag.”
“Instead of playing tag, merely, why don’t you get up a tilting-match?”
suggested the Scout Master, standing in the doorway of his cabin and
listening with interest. “Play it with the two larger canoes each manned
by four of you, four of a patrol from each cabin in one canoe tilting
with four of another.”
“Great!” exclaimed Alec.
“That will be even more fun,” Walter agreed warmly, “I’ll run ahead down
to the lake, and put the plan up to Hugh and Don. Come on, fellows.”
He sped down the path, followed by several of his Hawks who were eager
to take part in the tilt.
“We’ll have to draw lots to see who shall man the canoe,” he said, as he
ran on. “There are more of us than can play at one time, but we will all
have a chance. Where’s Alec? Why isn’t he coming?”
“He stayed behind to collect his ablest Otters,” said Arthur Cameron, in
reply, “and I saw him talking with the Chief, just before we ran ahead.”
“Oh, well, I guess he’ll be with us in a few minutes. Hugh! Don! Come
here! I’ve got something to say to you.”
In a few words, he repeated the lieutenant’s suggestion, which the
others welcomed readily. Alec soon joined them, having satisfied himself
that no one as yet had noticed the carefully concealed damage to the
mess-cabin, and presently the four young patrol leaders were drawing
lots, while their followers were dragging the two “war canoes” out of
the boat house, making them ready to launch.
For each canoe four men were required: a spearman, who was also the
captain, a pilot, and two oarsmen. It fell to Hugh’s lot to be spearman
of the first canoe, of which Bud Morgan was one oarsman, Cooper
Fennimore the other, and Arthur Cameron the pilot. In the other canoe,
manned by the Otters, Alec was pilot, Dick Bellamy spearman, Sam Winter
and a tenderfoot being oarsmen.
Armed each with a light ash pole eight feet long with a soft pad on one
end, the spearmen took their places on a little quarter-deck or raised
seat in the bow of the canoe. On the other end of each spear was a hook
made of a forked branch about a foot long, one limb being lashed to the
pole, the other projecting out and slightly backward. Both ends of the
pole were wrapped in waterproof, to keep it from getting wet and heavy.
The padded end of the pole was intended for pushing the enemy from his
stand upon the deck of the canoe, while the hook could be slipped behind
his neck, if a quick change from pushing to pulling should be required.
“To push your opponent back into the canoe on one foot counts you five;
both feet, ten,” said Denmead. “If he loses his spear, except when he
may be pushed overboard, you count five. If you put him down on one knee
on the fighting deck, you count five; two knees, ten. If you put him
overboard, it counts twenty-five. One hundred points is a round, a
battle, we’ll say, is two rounds.”
A cheer broke out, as the two canoes dipped lightly into the water and
skimmed over its placid surface.
By this time, as luck would have it, the rain had ceased, and the lake
shone like polished steel under a gray sky. The figures in the canoes
were silhouetted sharply against it, as the light craft darted to and
fro over the waters. Sam was a better paddler than Bud, but Bud’s slight
clumsiness with the paddle was offset by Hugh’s superior deftness as a
spearman; indeed, at the first encounter of the canoes, Hugh almost
succeeded in pushing Dick Bellamy down on his knees, and was prevented
from doing so only by Alec’s quick turns and returns.
Alec would fain have had Dick’s place and felt the grim satisfaction of
contending with Hugh; but that was not to be, this time. Failing that,
he did his level best to “put it all over poor old Bud,” as he expressed
it to himself; and once he tried the trick of pretending to run his
canoe accidentally against the Wolves’ when Dick had succeeded in
hooking Hugh, thus making Hugh lose his balance and drop back into his
canoe.
But Rawson, the keen-eyed umpire, declared this move a “foul,” and so
the Otters did not win those ten points.
The battle lasted almost half an hour, at the end of which time the
Otters won, owing to Alec’s skill as a steersman and Sam’s strong, even
stroke which he so skillfully adapted to the tenderfoot’s. The next
battle, between the Hawks and the Foxes, was not so long; it ended with
Don’s laughable plunge into the bosom of the lake, a victory for the
Hawks.
Amid cheers and shouts of encouragement, the canoe warriors returned to
their cabins; and that afternoon the signaling games and practice were
resumed. And thus, with alternate recreation and instruction, the days
passed swiftly, bringing in their round the one eventful day when the
members of the signal corps were to be chosen.