A NIGHT ALARM
Fox Island lay about two hundred yards off shore and perhaps thrice that
distance up-stream from the landing. It contained between an acre and a
half and two acres, was beautifully wooded, stood well above flood tide
and was surrounded on two sides by beaches of clean white sand. Doctor
Emery had purchased the island some years before, primarily to keep away
undesirable neighbors, and had soon discovered that it was a distinct
addition to the school's attractions. The spring camping-out soon became
one of the most popular features of the year.
The next morning Chub and Bacon did the honors of the island, conducting
Roy from end to end and pointing out the historical spots. He saw
Victory Cove, so named because it was the scene of the first struggle
between Hammond and Ferry Hill for the possession of the latter's boats,
a struggle in which the campers came out victorious. ("The next year,"
explained Chub, "they got the best of us and swiped four boats and we
had to go over and get them back. But that didn't change the name of
the cove.") He saw Outer Beach, Gull Point, Hood's Hill, named in honor
of a former school leader and Little Chief, The Grapes, a bunch of eight
small rocks just off the westerly corner, Treasure Island and Far
Island, two low, bush-covered islets of rock and sand lying up-stream
from the farther end of the island and divided from it by a few feet of
water through which it was possible to wade when the river is not very
high, Round Harbor, Turtle Point, Turtle Cove, Round Head, Inner Beach,
Mount Emery, a very tiny mountain indeed, and School Point. That
completed the circuit of the island. But it took them well over an hour
because they took it very slowly and neglected nothing. They took off
shoes and stockings and waded to Treasure and Far Islands, they
scrambled up Mount Emery, hunted for turtles in Turtle Cove--without
even seeing one--and tried broad-jumping on the Inner Beach. It was ten
o'clock when they got back to camp and found most of the fellows
preparing for a bath. They followed suit and presently were splashing
and diving in the water off Inner Beach. It was pretty cold at first,
but they soon got used to it. Afterwards they laid in the sun on the
white sand until Thurlow thumped on a dish pan with a big spoon and
summoned them to dinner. Bathing suits were kept on until it was time to
return to the main land for afternoon practice. The island was
practically deserted then, for but few of the campers were neither
baseball nor crew men.
"Who's going to stay here?" asked Chub before he pushed off the boat.
Four boys answered.
"Well, you fellows keep a watch for Hammond. They'll be paddling over
here pretty soon, probably to-day or to-morrow, to see where we're
keeping the boats. If they come around don't let them see you, but watch
what they do."
The quartette promised eagerly to keep a sharp lookout and Chub and Roy
dipped their oars and rowed across to the landing.
When they returned at five o'clock the two four-oared crews were just
coming back up-stream to the boat-house, looking as though they had been
through a hard afternoon's work. Behind them came Mr. Buckman in his
scull, his small brown megaphone hanging from his neck. Across the
darkening water they could just make out the three Hammond boats
floating downstream toward their quarters.
"Who'll win this year?" asked Roy, as they took up the rowing again.
"Hammond, I guess," answered Chub. "They usually do. They did last year.
You see they've got almost a hundred fellows to pick from, while we have
never had over fifty. That makes a difference."
"Two years ago, though," said Bacon, "they say our crew was thirty
seconds faster than theirs. And we were light, too. I don't believe the
size of the school has much to do with it."
"Well, it stands to reason that the school that has the most fellows
must have the better material," said Chub. "Look at the way it is in
baseball."
"That may be," said Bacon, "but a whole lot depends on the spirit of the
fellows and the coaching."
"Course it does, but no matter what the spirit is, or how good the
coaching may be, four poor oarsmen can't beat four good ones. That's
common sense."
"Well, but a good coach like Buckman--" began Bacon.
"Is Burlen a good rower?" interrupted Roy.
"Great," answered Chub.
"Dandy," said Bacon.
"Best we've got," supplemented Post.
"But I don't believe he makes a good captain," said Gallup. "Whitcomb
told me the other day that he gets mad as anything when Buckman calls
him down."
"It's like him," said Bacon. "He never could stand being told anything.
Jack's the only fellow that could ever make him do anything he didn't
want to."
"They say Hammond's four this year is the best they've ever had," said
Roy.
"They always say that," answered Chub sceptically.
"The first of the season," amended Gallup. "Later they begin to howl
about the fellows going stale, breaking their ankles or spraining their
wrists. Gee, you'd think to hear them talk a week before the race that
they didn't have a man in the boat who wasn't a corpse or a cripple for
life!"
"That's so," laughed Bacon, "but you don't want to forget that year
before last Williams did the same thing. He gave it out that two of our
men had malaria and wouldn't be able to row. They didn't have malaria
but they couldn't row much when the time came, so he didn't tell a very
big lie."
"That sort of thing makes me tired," said Roy disgustedly. "What's the
use in trying to make the other fellow think you're dying. He doesn't
believe it, anyway; and even if he does it isn't fair playing."
"That's so," said Chub heartily. "It's babyish."
"Oh, I don't know about that," said Post. "It's part of the game, and--"
"No, it isn't," interrupted Roy. "It has nothing to do with the game.
And it's just plain, every-day dishonesty!"
"I don't see how you make that out," objected Post. "Now, supposing--"
But the discussion of ethics was interrupted by the grating of the
boat's keel on the sand. Gallup jumped out into six inches of water and
pulled the boat up on the beach and the rest scrambled out.
Nothing had been seen of Hammond's spies and so they went to bed without
posting guards that night.
"I don't see," observed Roy as he was undressing, "why we don't tie the
boats up if we're afraid of having Hammond swipe them."
"Well, it wouldn't be fair, I guess," Chub answered. "You see we've
always left them on the beach. If we tied 'em Hammond wouldn't have any
show to get them."
"You talk as though you wanted her to get them," said Roy in puzzled
tones.
"We do; that is, we want her to try and get them. If we take to tying
them to trees and things Hammond will stop coming over and we'll miss
more 'n half the fun of the camping. See?"
"You bet!" grunted Post.
"What's to keep her from coming over to-night, then," pursued Roy, "and
taking the whole bunch while we're asleep?"
"Because she doesn't know where they are, silly!" replied Chub. "You
don't expect those fellows are going to row across here and then go
hunting all about the island in the dark, do you? They always come
spying around in the daytime first and see where the boats are hauled
up."
"It won't be dark to-night," said Roy. "There's a dandy big moon."
"That's so, but Hammond never has tried it without looking about first
and I guess she won't this year."
"I wish I was a Hammondite for about three or four hours," said Roy
grimly. "I'd open your eyes for you!"
Whereupon he was quickly tried for a traitor and sentenced to be
walloped with a belt. The walloping process occupied the succeeding ten
minutes and when concluded--not altogether successfully--left the tent
looking as though a cyclone had visited it. But Chub's prediction proved
correct. The boats were there in the morning, all five of them.
"Those Hammond fellows are a set of chumps," grunted Roy. "Why don't
they send you a note and tell you when they're coming? They might as
well do that as send fellows over in a boat to rubber around."
"Get out! How are we going to know when they're coming?" asked Chub.
"Suppose we see them peeking about to-day; maybe they won't come for
three or four nights."
"Then how do they know you won't move the boats in the meantime?"
"Why--why we never do!"
"Oh, I guess I don't know the rules of the game," sighed Roy. "Sounds as
though you were all woozy."
It was raining that morning when they arose, but the rain couldn't
quench their enjoyment. A shelter tent was put up and they all crowded
under it for breakfast. Afterwards the Utes challenged the Seminoles to
a game of ring-toss under the trees. Roy was assistant cook that day and
so he and Post--Post being chef--were out of it. The Utes won and were
much set up about it, issuing challenges indiscriminatingly at dinner.
The four fishermen came in just before the meal with a big catch, and
Post, who knew less about cooking fish than anything else--and that's
saying a good deal--was in despair. After dinner he and Roy took them
to the water and cleaned them, but neither thought to remove the scales.
The fish were served for supper and there was a popular demand for the
speedy lynching of Mr. Post.
"I thought we ought to do something else to them," he explained in
extenuation, "but I couldn't think what it was!"
"You want to watch out pretty sharp," said Horace Burlen with deep
sarcasm, "or they'll employ you to cook at the Waldorf."
"Fish a la Post," murmured Chub. "Half portion two dollars and a
quarter."
"They'd have to pay me more than that before I'd order any," responded
Gallup.
"Post and Porter ought to take singing lessons," said Thurlow.
"Why?" asked Hadden unsuspectingly.
"So they won't forget the scales next time," answered Thurlow proudly.
He was the recipient of four slices of bread and a portion of a cup of
water, all unsolicited and unexpected. Mr. Buckman mildly objected, but
appeared to think the punishment deserved.
It had stopped drizzling during the afternoon and practice had been held
on a very wet diamond. Chub had sustained a wrenched ankle by slipping
while running bases and was inclined to be down on his luck. Roy tried
to cheer him up, but had scant success. Chub was convinced this evening
that the nine was no good and that certain defeat at the hands of
Hammond stared them in the face. Like most normally cheerful persons,
Chub was the gloomiest of the gloomy when he decided to be. At camp-fire
Thurlow brought out his banjo and got them all to singing. That seemed
to raise Chub's spirits some; it did him good, he declared, to howl.
Later it started in drizzling again and the campers went to bed early,
tying the tent flaps securely ere they retired.
It was black night when Roy awoke. He couldn't even see the canvas
overhead. He wondered what had awakened him and listened to the deep
breathing about him for a moment. Perhaps Post had talked in his sleep;
he often did. Roy turned over again and closed his eyes. Then he opened
them quickly. From somewhere came a sound as though a boat was being
drawn across the pebbles of a beach. He listened intently, but heard
nothing more. He had imagined it, he told himself sleepily. But he
wasn't satisfied. After a moment he heard it again, that grating noise.
He reached toward Post about to awaken him, thought better of it and
scrambled noiselessly out of bed. After all it was hardly probable that
Hammond had visited them without giving the usual notice; it wouldn't be
playing fair and Chub would be frightfully pained and grieved! Roy
smiled to himself as he tried to find the cords which lashed the tent
flap close. There was no use in waking the whole crowd up unless there
was some reason for it. He would just look around a bit first--if he
could ever get out of the fool tent! Then the last cord gave way and he
slipped out into the darkness.
The camp-fire was long since out and the shower had drowned even the
embers. It was no longer raining, but the ground was wet underfoot and
the grass and low growth threw drops against his bare ankles. It was not
quite so black outside here as it had been in the tent, and in the east
a rift in the clouds hinted of the moon, but it was too dark to see much
of anything. Roy felt his way across the clearing, stumbled over a peg
as he crept past the Ute quarters and shook a shower of raindrops from a
young pine as he went sprawling into the underbrush. It was very damp
there on the ground and pine needles and grass and twigs were plastered
to his body, but he lay still a moment and listened. Surely, if there
was anyone round they couldn't have failed to hear him crash into the
bushes! All was still for an instant; then there was a subdued splash as
though someone had unintentionally plunged his foot into water. Roy
cautiously lifted his head. Now came a whisper; another answered from a
distance; an oar creaked in its lock.
Only a fringe of pines and underbrush divided Roy from the Inner Beach
which was here some thirty feet wide. As noiselessly as possible he
stood up and stared into the darkness ahead. It seemed that he could
distinguish forms moving about, but he decided that an excited
imagination was to blame. Cautiously he pressed through the bushes,
which being wet gave little sound as their branches whipped back. Then
he was on the edge of the pebbles. And as he raised his bare foot to
step forward again the moon broke forth from the broken clouds and he
stopped short, stifling the cry that sprang to his lips. In the sudden
flood of dim light the edge of the stream seemed fairly alive with
boats, while right in front of him, so near that another step would have
reached him, a dark figure was kneeling in his path.