STEALTH
Well, if it was for only two or three days it would not be so bad,
poor Skinny reflected as he went back through the darkness. Still
his conscience troubled him and he was beside himself with fear. The
only gleam of light he saw in this sorry business was that Danny did
have a way of succeeding in the things he undertook. He trusted
Danny to avert the catastrophe which would naturally ensue in such a
daring and perilous business.
He hoped that during those dreadful two or three days the scouts at
camp would not overstep their prerogative of banter where he was
concerned. Or at least that Danny might not see them in full swing
with their raillery. The historic Kinney of Irontown had got over
the licking that Danny had given him. But poor Skinny had never got
over it.
As he wandered, fearful and conscience-stricken, down the wooded
slope a thought came to him. There was a rich boy in camp, Helmer
Clarkson. That boy wanted a canoe and had tried for the Hiawatha
Prize--a fine canoe to win which a scout must swim across the lake.
Helmer had started (according to rule) with a rowboat escort, and
like many another hopeful candidate had returned in the boat. So
Helmer had decided to fall back on the less heroic plan of asking his
father to buy him a canoe. If he had not already done this, then
Skinny had a plan. He would swim across the lake, win the canoe, and
sell it to Helmer Clarkson. Then he would give the money to his
erring brother.
He knew the camp people would regard him contemptuously for selling a
prize, but at least he could help Danny, and put an end to this
dreadful thing that Danny was doing. All this might be done
immediately--the next morning. The only difficulty would be that his
comrades would laugh at him as soon as he proposed the heroic
enterprise. Alas, they would not know how heroic it was! They would
make a great joke of his trying for a prize--especially this prize.
They would decline to accompany him with a boat. They would probably
tell him, as they had so many times told him, that if he had to be
taken into the boat it would probably sink it. Skinny weighed
sixty-four pounds, not counting his heart, which weighed tons just
now.
Well, he thought as he trudged along, if Danny could do such
wonderful (albeit dreadful) things, he, Skinny could do this. And it
would straighten everything out. Perhaps he could even do it before
Danny presented himself to the powers in Administration Shack and
signed up. That would be between ten and eleven in the morning. He
wondered if Helmer Clarkson had any ready money; surely he must have
some. Fifteen dollars was all that Danny had demanded. He would
sell the prize canoe to Clarkson for fifteen dollars. Well, that was
settled and things were not so bad.
As he passed down through the dark woods, he thought of his fugitive
brother hiding in that little dank switchman's shanty. What would be
the first thing he would do in the morning? Thus preoccupied with
his thoughts, Skinny found himself approaching the cabin before which
the white pennant flew. In there they would be sleeping with one eye
open, as the saying is. If he could--if he only _could_--"lift" that
pennant. What a glory for the Elks! It would raise him in their
esteem; they might take him seriously. Then perhaps they would
listen when he talked about trying for the Hiawatha Prize. He was
elated; he believed that the whole situation was in his hands; Danny,
all unknown to the camp, might be on his way in the morning. This
whole business was not so bad after all.
Never in all his trembling little life had Skinny moved with such
stealth and caution as when he now approached that coveted pennant,
He was about to try to do what Warde Hollister had failed to do; what
Ellis Carway (who was an Eagle) had failed to do. He retreated a few
yards, and sat down on a stump. He knew that he was out of his
sphere, that this sort of thing was not expected of him. He felt
that he was intruding into the heroic field where he had no business.
He removed his shoes, tied the laces together, and hung the shoes
around his neck. They were almost worn out; you could have stuck a
finger through the soles.
Now, trembling in every nerve, he approached the cabin. The door
stood ajar. He advanced a pace and paused listening. No sound. He
took another step. No sound. He could reach out now and lift the
staff. He paused, fearful to move. Straining his eyes he looked all
about the staff. Then, ever so cautiously, he stooped, and shuddered
as the clasp on his belt clinked. He felt all around on the ground,
for he had heard scouts speak of cord attached to the staff and tied
to the arm of some drowsy slacker on his cot. That was not
considered good scouting, but it had been done.
But here there was no cord; these unknown scouts were playing the
game right. The usual way with the patrol holding the white pennant
was to sleep in turns, with one scout always awake to listen. In a
full patrol no one scout would have to remain awake very long.
Skinny stood up and with trembling hand reached out and grasped the
staff. Still no sound. There was a cricket chirping and he wished
it would keep still. He had heard of rocks laid against the staff so
that when it was lifted one would fall upon another. But nothing
happened as he slowly raised the staff up, up, up----
What a queer little goblin of a boy he seemed, as he reached one foot
far forward so as to cover all the ground he could with every pace.
With each grotesque straining of a leg his face unconsciously assumed
an aspect of demoniac fear. Then all of a sudden he started to run,
his shoes flapping back and forth against his chest and shoulders
like an outlandish bulky necklace. He held the white pennant in his
trembling hand.
[Illustration: SKINNY STARTED RUNNING WITH THE WHITE PENNANT.]
He had done it!