THE CHOSEN FEW.
Up to that day the records were fairly equal, the honors well
distributed. The Otters had scored heavily by Alec’s winning the
trail-finding contest and the stalking event, and Sam the long-distance
swim. The relay-race had been won by two Foxes; the high and broad
jumps, the pole-vault, and the fifty-yard dash by the Hawks; while Billy
Worth, for the Wolves, had captured the rope-climb, and he and Hugh
together had distinguished themselves in the two-mile cross-country hike
without compass or trail.
Even more important than these athletic events were the various ways in
which the winners as well as the losers had made good individual
records. For example, one lad had completed a really remarkable set of
flashlight photographs taken in the heart of the woods at night; another
had “rigged up” a wireless instrument and built an aerial; a third had
carried out some signal-tests with a heliograph; and Arthur Cameron had
established a camp weather bureau, running up a set of flag signals each
day in communication with the nearest United States Weather Bureau,
which, upon request, sent daily bulletins to Pioneer Camp. Arthur, in
charge of this weather bureau, found it full of personal interest as
well as an opportunity to render the camp a real service. He made a
weather vane of an old arrow which Joe gave him, posted a daily
bulletin, kept a record of temperature, and measured the rainfall and
the velocity of wind. For this achievement he received so many points
that his election to the corps, like that of Walter and Hugh, was a
foregone conclusion.
Again and again, in the various signal practice games, Walter, Alec, and
Hugh had proved their ability to send and receive messages, in all
codes, at the prescribed rate of sixteen letters per minute; so they
were sure of making the corps.
At last, after much deliberation, the Scout Master and his assistant
decided upon the following scouts for the corps:
From the Wolf patrol, Hugh Hardin and Arthur Cameron (no longer a
tenderfoot).
From the Hawk patrol, Walter Osborne and a lad named Blake Merton, who,
toward the end of the trials, showed unexpected skill as a signaler.
From the Otter patrol, Alec Sands and Sam Winter.
From the Fox patrol, Cooper Fennimore and his chum “Spike” Welling.
Strangely enough, neither Don Miller nor Billy Worth qualified for the
corps; the former, because his chief energies had gradually been drawn
into another channel of interest; the latter, because he was absorbed in
the study of forestry. Billy hoped to obtain a merit badge for forestry,
so his disappointment was but slight in comparison with his zeal.
On this account, however, and because he wanted to become thoroughly
familiar with the surrounding country, he was given permission to
accompany the members of the corps, guided by Joe, on a ten-mile
cross-country hike, which was planned as a final test to see who the
leader should be. Of course, the Scout Master joined the hikers. A day
and a night were allowed for the expedition.
So on the same day the corps was formed it set forth from camp, bound
for Oakvale, where the National Guard maneuvers were soon to take place.
“There will be two divisions of the Guard,” explained Denmead, “the Red
Army and the Blue Army. Within a day or two I expect a visit in camp
from my old friend Major Brookfield, of the National Guard, who will
give us further details.”
“How many miles are we supposed to cover to-day?” inquired Blake Merton,
as the corps were descending the further slopes of Stormberg, and
threading their way through a ravine or gulch that presented only a
broken path between jagged rocks and moss-grown boulders, along the
dried bed of a stream.
“About three miles in one group,” was the Scout Master’s reply. “When we
come out at the end of this ravine, we’ll separate; Joe will lead some
of you northward as far as Rainbow Lake, and the rest will follow me in
an easterly direction until we meet at the lower end of the valley, near
the town of Oakvale. That will be about the middle of to-morrow morning.
Then, by pretty steady ‘hiking,’ we ought to be in camp again by
to-morrow night, as we’ll return by a shorter route.”
Emerging presently from the shadows of the narrow gulch, the corps
halted to rest and to draw lots for a division of their number. Half an
hour later they were again on their way, separately; and, at twilight,
Joe’s party came in sight of a small lake set like an emerald in the
darker green of the hills.
“Rainbow Lake, hurrah!” cried Hugh.
“Hurro!” shouted Billy, the odd number.
“Don’t be too sure it is,” Alec advised scornfully; then, turning to the
guide: “Is that Rainbow Lake, Joe?”
“Sure, him Rainbow,” grunted the halfbreed.
“I thought there could be no doubt,” said Hugh, politely. “The route
which brought us to this spot was clearly marked on my map, and it
opened up as we proceeded. For the last hour or more, in spite of Alec’s
opinion, I’ve felt sure we were following the right course. Joe knows
this country, trust him for that!”
“You bet he does!” put in Billy.
Hugh’s compliment was not without effect on the guide, who was already
growing weary of Alec’s continued rudeness to the Wolf leader.
They were some three or four hundred feet above the lake, and behind
them lay the notch amid the mountains through which they had come.
Although the descent to the lake was steep in places, they would have
very little trouble in getting down.
“It’s great up here,” remarked Spike Welling. “I say, Hugh, what’s that
little white mist blowing away from us down there above those trees? It
looks like an Indian smoke signal, but if someone were lost in the woods
there’d be two of them.”
“Joe, what do you make of that?” asked Hugh.
The guide was leaning against a projecting point of rock, gazing down at
the lake without the least sign of emotion. Suddenly he straightened
himself and sniffed the air.
“Hunters down there, make fire, cook bacon,” he announced solemnly.
“You mean to say you can smell frying bacon, at this distance?” queried
Blake. “Joe, that nose of yours is sure a wonder!”
Joe grunted and grinned. “Hungry,” he explained. “Nose good; better when
hungry.”
“Come on, let’s have some grub, ourselves,” suggested Billy. “Then we——”
“No. Wait till we get down little way. Then make camp for night; then
eat.”
As they could plainly see, the shores of the lake were deeply indented
by many inlets and coves. Even from this height, it was impossible to
survey the entire surface of the lake. Afar to the eastward there seemed
to be a portion of it hidden amid some hills.
“Gee! it certainly is pretty!” said Billy, noting the great variety of
trees, shrubs, and plants that clothed the hills with verdure. “Where do
you intend to pitch camp, Joe?”
“Where you say, Alec?” was Joe’s question.
“On that little plateau we’re coming to,” said Alec confidently.
“Where you say, Hugh?”
“I marked a spot on my map where I thought would be a good place for a
one-night camp,” said Hugh. “It’s right here where we can be in signal
communication with Uncle Sam’s weather bureau, and thence with camp,—in
case anything happens,” he added, with a glance at Joe.
For a few minutes they trudged on in silence. Then:
“Good!” grunted the halfbreed, as they reached the spot Hugh had pointed
out. “We camp here.”
The greater part of the next two hours was consumed in gathering
branches suitable for a lean-to shelter, building a fire-place of flat
stones and cooking the evening meal. Finally, when the lean-to was
constructed, and a goodly fire was blazing cheerfully in front of it,
they chatted and laughed as they ate supper.
After supper, Blake Merton, who had a very agreeable voice, entertained
them by singing a number of Irish melodies. The others, with the
exception of Joe,—who strolled to and fro, sniffing the breeze,—joined
in the choruses. But soon Hugh lapsed into silence, listening to the
plaintive airs, feeling a strange, indescribable thrill.
“I wonder what’s worrying Joe?” he remarked, during a pause in the
singing.
Alec looked up quickly.
“He told me he didn’t like the way those hunters left that fire over
there,” said he, then added in a louder tone: “You can’t be too careful
of fires, you know, Hugh!”
If this observation was intended to reach the ears of Blake and Spike,
it failed utterly, and only Billy heard it—with a start of surprise. The
next moment Blake’s youthful tenor warbled out, “I’ve been workin’ on
th’ railroad, all th’ livelong day.”
Now, lounging somewhat apart from the others, Joe betrayed amazing
interest in Blake’s singing. He listened with his thick lips parted and
a surprising expression of animation upon his usually stolid and
immobile features. Once when the others clapped their hands vigorously
in applause, he actually clapped his also.
“Gee!” exclaimed Billy, nudging Hugh with his elbow. “That Injun has an
ear for music. Just look at him! I never saw him perk up this way
before.”
“Yes,” murmured Hugh, “all his people love music. They have their own
wild, sad songs. Perhaps Joe might sing. I’ll ask him, in a moment.
Joe,” he added, “won’t you sing for us? We’d like to hear——”
“Sing? No!”
At first Joe refused, shaking his head almost sullenly, and regarding
Hugh with suspicion. But when, after a little, he seemed somewhat
satisfied that he was not being made sport of and that Hugh really
wished him to sing, he reluctantly consented.
That song was one which none who heard it ever forgot. It was wild and
weird and full of unspeakable pathos. It was more of a chant than a
song, more wailing than tuneful, and to Hugh it seemed that Joe was
lamenting the lost power and greatness of his people. This, however,
Hugh knew could not be possible, for he had often talked with the
halfbreed and had found that Joe knew no more of Indian history than a
child might learn at school.
The singing of the guide seemed to bring a spell upon them, for
thereafter, that night, they talked little and laughed less. Yet this
was undoubtedly because they were tired and sleepy and more than ready
to seek their beds of piled leaves.
All were astir early the following morning. Immediately after breakfast
they continued the descent to the lake, and, following the shore,
encountered many obstacles, being compelled more than once to enter the
water in order to avoid climbing over precipitous rocks. And as they
went along, each one made careful notes of things seen and done; for it
had been decided that the scout who showed the most knowledge of
woodcraft and who wrote the best—that is, the clearest, fullest, yet
most concise—report of the hike should be appointed leader of the signal
corps.
In the course of the morning, as they were almost upon level ground
again, not very far from Oakvale meadows and the town itself, Joe
suddenly disappeared into the woods.
This was strange conduct, indeed, and they marveled at it no less than
at his uncanny ability to slip from sight like an animal of the forest.
They called and sought for him in vain, and Hugh and Spike were growing
decidedly uneasy, when Joe was seen running toward them through the
underbrush, apparently in great excitement.
“See um, see um?” he gasped, pointing through the trees and across the
narrow valley, where, on the brow of a hill, Lieutenant Denmead’s party
could be seen, with the aid of Alec’s field-glasses, making their way
down.
“Yes, yes, we see. They got here before us, Joe.”
“Good t’ing! Good t’ing we get out of de woods. Woods a-fire! See!” He
pointed up the hill they had just descended, and they saw a column of
dark smoke rising against the sky. “Wind blow fire dis way. Comin’ soon,
quick!”
“Je-ru-salem!” exclaimed “Spike” Welling.
“That’s so, that’s true!” Billy added excitedly. “What are we going to
do now?”
“Hugh!” cried Alec, grabbing his rival’s arm. “See that old farmhouse
over there?”
“Yes, I see it. What of——?”
“It’s right in the path of the fire that’s sweeping down this hill!”
Hugh sprang forward.
“Boys, it’s up to us!” he shouted. “Thank fortune, we’ve got our signal
flags and heliograph with us! When the other half of our party starts
for the town on the run, we’ve got to signal to them, telling them just
where the fire is; then they can tell the firemen in Oakvale what to
do.”
“Save that farmhouse!” yelled Alec. “Come on, boys! Out here on this
high rock with me! Now, get out your flags!”
The crack of Joe’s rifle burst upon the warm morning air.
“That’ll attract their attention to us!” Hugh called out. “Ready now!
Come on, begin the messages. Work those flags as we’ve never worked them
before!”