THREE’S A COMPANY
That was the night of the mushroom feast, gathered by a scout who knew
where to find them and how to distinguish them and how to cook them and
how to eat them—oh, very much so. And so you see that scouts need not
starve, though they seem to be always half starved at that.
The next morning Lizzie with her new belt rejoined them and they had no
further adventures till they reached camp, except that they were stopped
by the authorities in both Saugerties and Kingston. In both these
places, however, Pee-wee assisted by Justice Dopett managed to pilot
Townsend and his flivver clear of official rocks and reefs. In Catskill
they struck another official rock but they were out of the enemy’s
country then and in the hallowed neighborhood of the camp.
“Go ahead with you and get your card and don’t bring that pile of junk
down into the village again,” said the bluff village constable. “There’s
a dump between here and Leeds fer such trash.”
“Lizzie, did you hear what he said?” said Townsend.
“Squeeeeeak,” said Lizzie.
It now became increasingly evident that they were in territory which
Pee-wee had long since conquered and subdued, and as they approached,
and passed familiar landmarks he let his voice out in a series of
informatory screams.
“Oh, we’re getting there, we’re getting there, _we’re getting there_!”
he shouted. “There’s the barn that Hervey Willetts rolled off the top
of—hello, Mr. Berry!”
“Hello, yourself,” called farmer Berry from his field.
“Gee whiz, they all know me,” said Pee-wee proudly. “Lots of times we
walk to Catskill.” Going through the little village of Leeds it was like
a triumphal procession, Pee-wee waving his-hand and shouting to this
storekeeper and that, his excitement continually increasing.
“Oh, we’re getting there, we’re _getting there_!” he yelled. “You go
straight up this next road till you come to a smell kind of like a
stable only there isn’t any stable and then you keep going—I’ll show
you—oh, we’re coming nearer!”
They reached the smell and verged a little to the west. “Keep on this
road till you come to a turtle,” said Pee-wee excitedly. “Maybe he isn’t
there now but anyway—I’ll show you—you can’t drive right down to camp on
account of the woods—”
“Why can’t I?” Townsend asked.
“Because you can’t on account of the woods.”
“Let’s see the woods,” said Townsend.
“We’re coming to them, we’re coming to them,” said Pee-wee. “I’ll show
you.”
There had been many uproarious arrivals at Temple Camp but never such a
one as that. And Scout Harris nearly fell out of the car, he shouted so.
For Townsend paid not the slightest heed to the woods when he reached
it.
The way to reach Temple Camp is to go along the road till you reach an
old bench covered with carved initials. Here is where they wait for the
bus and the mail wagon. Right near that rustic bench is a beaten path
(Jeb’s Trail, they call it) which goes down through the sparse woods to
the lakeside where the camp is. No four-wheeled vehicle had ever dreamed
of going down there. Wheelbarrows had made the trip, but never a wagon,
much less an auto. These went on a few hundred feet and were parked at
the Archer farm.
“Don’t turn in there, don’t turn in there!” shouted Pee-wee. “It’s all
woods.”
“I thought we were going to camp,” said Townsend.
“You’ll bump into trees and everything,” warned Pee-wee, amazed at the
direction Townsend was taking, “and the last part is steep and you’ll
run right into the lake, that’s what you’ll do—Townsend.”
“Giddap, Liz,” said Townsend. “I’m not going to bust up the party.”
Before Pee-wee realized what his friend was doing the flivver had left
the road and was going licketysplit down through the woods, wriggling in
and out among the trees, squeaking, creaking, rattling, grinding,
moaning, bouncing, jouncing, halting, plunging, staggering, skidding,
with Townsend sitting on the seat in proud and unruffled complacency. He
looked as funny as a circus. Down it went, over the brook with a
terrific bounce, around the main pavilion, grazing the cooking shack and
uttering a prolonged squeak as Townsend jammed on the brakes to bring it
to a dead stop just in front of the springboard, where it seemed on the
point of taking a graceful loop-the-loop into the lake.
“Whoooa, Liz,” said Townsend, as scouts, yes, and scoutmasters, came
running from every direction. “Here we are at last, the three of us.”
Thus Temple Camp saw Townsend Ripley and his flivver for the first time.