ALONE
They picked their way along the trail which was as “easy as pie” to
Pee-wee, as he remarked to his companion. It must have been easy indeed,
for it was well known that pie was like child’s play to him. They
emerged from the woods at North Bridgeboro, a couple of miles above the
larger town and separated from it by Van Akren’s woods, a familiar
resort in the summer time.
A lonely lunch wagon stood near the little railroad station, a cheerful
light showing through its incongruous stained-glass windows. Above it
was a sign which read HAMBURGER MIKE’S EATS. Pee-wee knew Hamburger Mike
and sang his praise.
“Did you ever eat hamburger steak in there?” he said innocently.
Emerson had not. “He seems to specialize on that article of diet,” he
commented.
“You said it,” enthused Pee-wee.
“Shall we buy some?” Emerson asked.
But Pee-wee was filled to capacity. “No, I was only telling you,” he
said. “Lots of times we hike through these woods on Saturday and get
some eats there.”
“You needn’t hesitate if you’d like some,” said Emerson. “You went into
the city with me as my guest, you know.”
“Yop, and I had a good time, too.”
“I’m glad you found it enjoyable,” said Emerson. “I enjoyed it, too.
You’re certainly entertaining.”
“You ought to hear me when Roy Blakeley is trying to jolly me,” Pee-wee
boasted. “I can handle the whole crowd of them.”
“I should like to hear you,” said Emerson.
“You will,” said Pee-wee. “Up in camp is where I handle that bunch.
Remember you said you’d go.”
“You’d better ask your friends about it first,” said Emerson.
“_Gee whiz_, you promised, didn’t you? You’re not going to break your
word?”
“I think no one could accuse me of that,” said Emerson.
“Well then,” said Pee-wee.
From North Bridgeboro to Bridgeboro the trail through the woods was more
traveled and easily distinguishable. Here was a true wood interior,
filled with stately trees and free of underbrush. Here and there a soggy
pasteboard box or rusted can or dirty, empty bottle bespoke the visits
of the only species of animal that defiles nature. But for these
discordant mementos the woods were beautiful, solemn. There was no moon,
but the sky was crowded with stars and the night was not too dark.
“Gee, don’t you say it’s nice in here?” Pee-wee encouraged.
“Indeed it is,” said Emerson. “It’s certainly a contrast to the city—to
Broadway.”
“Will your mother and father be mad?” Pee-wee asked.
“Oh, no, they’ll think we’re coming on the late train. They wouldn’t
worry till after that.”
“Do you know where this path brings us out?” Pee-wee asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t,” his companion said.
“It brings us out on the state road. The state road runs right along the
edge of these woods. Even if this path wasn’t here I could find the way
all right. Listen, can you hear voices—way far off? Those are in cars on
the state road.”
“I hear voices, but I don’t hear any cars,” said Emerson.
“Maybe there are some people walking on the road, hey?”
“It sounds to me like calling,” said Emerson.
“When we get to the state road, we follow it right down into Main
Street,” said Pee-wee.
“We will have made quite an evening of it,” said Emerson.
“Oh, boy, you said it,” commented Pee-wee.
The direction in which they were going, as Pee-wee had said, was toward
the state road which bordered the woods. The woods path came out into
that road and once upon the road, their journey would be nearly over.
Pee-wee was not at first excited by the distant voices, for the course
of the road seemed to explain them. But, as his companion had observed,
there was no sound of autos. Moreover, since the voices were loud enough
to be heard at such distance, they certainly were not in the ordinary
tones of casual passers-by. Yet casual talking is often strangely
audible through woodland in the night.
Pee-wee (not without a certain ostentation of wisdom) placed himself
against the trunk of a tree and listened intently. “Do you know why I’m
doing this?” he asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Emerson confessed.
“Sometimes the tree catches sounds and they come down the trunk and you
can hear better. It’s woods lore, that is.”
But like most of Pee-wee’s “woods lore” it did not work. Emerson waited
patiently and rather curiously. Then they resumed their journey.
“Anyway, there are voices calling, that’s one sure thing,” said Pee-wee.
“I think they’re in the woods, that’s what _I_ think. Anyway, you’re not
scared, are you?”
“Indeed, no,” said Emerson.
They had not gone many more yards when all doubt of the presence of
others in the woods was dispelled by voices indistinguishable in the
distance and others, clearly audible, which seemed to be approaching.
“We have it easiest,” they heard a voice say. An answering voice said
something in which the word _compass_ was distinguishable. Then suddenly
two brown forms appeared trotting toward them along the path. They
proved to be Roy Blakeley, leader of unruly Silver Foxes, and Connie
Bennett, leader of the Elks.
“Well—I’ll—be,” ejaculated Roy, stopping suddenly. “That you, kid? What
in blazes are you doing here?”
“Not out trailing lightning-bugs, are you?” Connie asked.
Neither of them paid any attention to Emerson, but he volunteered an
answer to their question. “We took the wrong train from the city on
account of my own silly mistake and we’ve come afoot from Westfield.”
“Afoot, hey?” said Connie. It cannot be said that he quoted Emerson’s
word in a way of ridicule. Yet there was a note of ridicule in it, too.
“Well, you’d better _come afoot_ with us,” he said, ignoring Emerson and
turning upon Pee-wee.
“Little Margie Garrison is missing and we’re combing the woods. All the
scouts in the troop were rounded up; we got calls as soon as we got home
from the circus——”
Roy, breathless and excited, interrupted him. “We cut into the woods in
pairs about four hundred feet apart; we’re all cutting straight north.
Ed Bronson and Westy are right through there; you can hear them. Hey,
Westy!” Roy raised his voice. “What d’you know, here’s the kid on his
way back from Westfield.”
“Good night! The animal cracker,” Emerson heard a distant voice say.
“Hurry up, give us a cooky or something, kid,” said Connie.
“Look in his inside pocket for emergency crullers,” some one in the
distance shouted.
Emerson felt very much an outsider. Perhaps they would not have so
completely ignored him but for their preoccupation and the urgency of
their errand. But the effect of all this upon him was a pathetic
consciousness of the fact that they regarded him as superfluous and
inefficient in their hurried and serious business.
“Come ahead, kid, you can ’phone home from North Bridgeboro,” said Roy
hurriedly. “The whole troop is out. Your patrol is mostly over toward
the west; come on and keep your eyes peeled. Connie has to watch his
compass so we won’t go crooked. What d’you say? Let’s go, Connie.”
Pee-wee could not resist. “Come on,” he said to Emerson.
To do him justice, he did not intend to desert his new friend. Probably
he assumed that no boy living would hang back in such an enterprise. The
worst that can be said of him is that he forgot to look behind him. Nor
did Emerson hold back because he lacked interest and desire. But he saw
that he was an outsider, superfluous, disregarded. In the intense
preoccupation of this hustling, fraternal company, his detachment from
them seemed hopeless. Perhaps he had not the initiative to push into
this exciting enterprise where his presence would hardly be known....
The next thing that he knew he was standing alone in the woods,
listening to distant and receding voices. Only a cheery little cricket
was there to keep him company. He seemed very far from joining the
scouts. He bore no resentment toward Pee-wee. He looked at his gold
watch to see what time it was. Then, from force of habit, he felt to see
if his neat, leather wallet was in place. There were only two crisp
bills in the wallet now; the rest had been spent in the entertainment of
his exuberant little friend.
Poor Emerson was no pathfinder (the very thought seemed to suggest
laughter) but the kindly path would guide him to the state road, and
from there he could find his way home easily enough. As he made his
lonely way along the path, he could still hear voices, spent by the
distance, farther and farther off. He thought the different groups were
calling to each other. He fancied those two aggressive, resourceful,
hurrying, purposeful patrol leaders jollying Pee-wee.
He picked his way along the path and was soon upon the state road. He
looked funny walking along through the country in the night.