CHAPTER II TOM SURPRISES THE CAMP
"Believe _me_, it was good to get our feet on terra-cotta--I mean terrafirma. I don't want any more life on the ocean wave for at least twoweeks. I'm sorry we didn't christen that boat the _Sardine Box_. _GoodTurn_--you can't even turn around in it!"
"You shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth," someone laughed.
"You can look a gift boat in the cabin, can't you," continued Roy. "Wewere crowded in the cabin, not a soul would dare to move. That boat isall right for three scouts like last year, but for three patrols--go-o-dnight! There wasn't even room to flop a rice cake over--we had to eatthem browned on one side--there was a wrong and a right to them. Neveragain! What we want is a sump-tu-ous yacht like that one moored atCatskill Landing!"
"Wal, ye did hev quite a crowd aboard, sure enough," laughed Jeb, whoalways enjoyed Roy's nonsense.
"Sure, pick out the one you want and I'll drown the rest," said Roy;"except Pee-wee, we're going to keep him till he gets his eyes open."
Pee-wee Harris, Silver Fox and troop mascot, splashed the oar from hisseat in an adjoining boat, giving Roy a gratuitous bath.
"Did you have any adventures?" Raymond managed to ask.
"Oceans of them--I mean rivers. We got three points out of our course andwent twenty miles up a tributary."
"That's some word," someone called.
"That's a peach of a word, comes from the Greek word _Bute_, meaningbeautiful, and the Irish word _Terry_. It was all on account of Pee-wee'signorance of geography. He thought the Hudson rose in Roseville,Pennsylvania."
"What!" shouted Pee-wee.
"I'll leave it to our beloved scoutmaster."
"Our beloved scoutmaster," who was rowing one of the skiffs, only smiled.
"I know more about geography than you do," shouted the irrepressiblePee-wee; "_he_ thought Newburgh was below Peekskill," he added,contemptuously.
"_He_ thought Sandy Hook was a Scotchman," retorted Roy. "Well, what'sthe news, Jeb, anyway?"
"Yer didn't give us no chance ter tell yer," drawled Jeb, as they drewthe boats up on shore. "Mebbe yer think yer wuz the fust arrivals, butyer wuzn't."
It was good to hear Roy's familiar nonsense; Raymond, who was quiet andeasily amused, saw with joy that the ancient hostilities between Roy andPee-wee were still in full swing; and for all Roy's dubious picture of anovercrowded boat (and so it must have been) they had found it possible tostop down the river for Garry Everson and bring him along.
"Last of the Mohicans," said Roy, as he dragged Garry forward; "allthat's left of the famous Edgevale troop--left over from last summer. Theonly original has-been. Them wuz the happy days."
There was Tom Slade, too, quiet and stolid as he always was and with nomore sign of the scout regalia than he had shown when he was a hoodlumdown in Barrel Alley. His gray flannel shirt and last year's khakitrousers were in odd contrast to the new outfits which the other membersof the Bridgeboro Troop wore. But then Tom was in odd contrast witheverything and everybody anyway.
Two troops which had come up by the train had joined them at CatskillLanding so the new arrivals descended like an all-conquering host uponthe quiet monotony of the big camp.
"And I'm going to stay till September," said Raymond, clinging to Garryand talking to both Garry and Roy. "Mr. Temple sent the money. Do youremember how I couldn't raise the flag last summer?"
"You were about as tough as a Welsbach gas mantel last summer," laughedRoy.
"Well, now I can raise it with one hand and I can hike to Leeds and back.But listen--_listen_; we've got a mystery--it just happened----"
"Give it to Tom," laughed Roy. "He's the fellow for mysteries."
But in another minute he had abandoned his gay tone as the little companystood gazing down upon the dead hawk, while Jeb held a lantern, andlistened to Raymond's breathless account of what had happened.
It had a sobering effect upon them all, and as Mr. Ellsworth, theBridgeboro Troop's scoutmaster, held that pathetic note and read it inthe lantern light, with the scouts clustering about him, he shook hishead ruefully.
The note was passed about among the boys, who fingered it curiously.
"It's a stalking blank, isn't it," said Tom, as he handed it to WestyMartin, of the Silver Foxes, who wore the stalking badge. "The printedpart has been torn off so's to get it into that little holder. See?" headded, rubbing his finger along the edge, "it came off a pad--a stalkingpad--one of----" and he named the sporting goods concern which made them."It's the same kind you and I used at Salmon River."
The announcement, made in Tom's usual stolid, half-interested way, felllike a bombshell among them.
"Oh, can we find them? Can we find them?" cried Raymond.
"I'm afraid that doesn't do us much good," said Mr. Ellsworth. "Wealready knew that the message was sent from some isolated place or helpwould have been procurable. That being the case, I don't see how thesender happened to have a pigeon handy."
"He had more than one, don't you see?" said Tom, quietly, "but the otherdied--Spotty. It must have been sent by some one who's stalking and afellow who's that much interested in birds would be just the kind of afellow that might have carrier pigeons--it's good sport."
"Yes, but where is he--or they? There's two of them, anyway," said DocCarson.
"That's for us to find out," said Tom. "I'm not going to sit down hereand eat my supper with someone dying." He kicked the body of the hawkslightly as if to express his disgust that this insignificant creaturecould cause such trouble and baffle even scouts. "We don't know muchabout it but we'll have to use what little we do know. I know that whenpeople try out carrier pigeons they always get a high ground, and I knowthat up on that hill over there--in the woods--there were chalk marks onthe trees last summer. Maybe someone was stalking there then. Anyway, I'mgoing to get to the top of that hill and see if I can find anyone upthere. I want Doc to go with me. Anybody else can go that wants to. Ifthere's anybody there we'll wigwag or [1]smudge it to you in themorning."
For a moment there was silence. It was exactly like Tom to blurt out hisplans with a kind of stolid bluntness, and if he had contemplated a tripto the moon he would have announced it in the same dull way. He seldomasked advice and as seldom asked authority. He was a kind of law untohimself. If anyone knew how to take Tom it was Roy Blakeley, but Royoften threw up his hands in despair and said he gave it up--Tom was apuzzle. He stood there among them now, his face about as expressionlessas an Indian's--coarse gray flannel shirt open halfway down to his waist,a strap by way of a belt, and his shock of thick hair down on hisforehead. Why he had eschewed the scout regalia while the others cameresplendent in their new outfits was a mystery. What advantage over abelt the thin strap had, no one knew.
"Oh, I'll go with you! I'll go with you!" shouted the irrepressiblePee-wee. "I'll----"
"You'll just sit down and have some supper," laughed Mr. Ellsworth.
It is to be feared that the scoutmaster had small hope of anything comingfrom Tom's proposed expedition, but he was not the one to discourage hisscouts nor obtrude his authority. So the little party was made up (forwhatever slight prospect of success it might afford) of Tom, Doc Carson,Raven and First Aid Scout, Connie Bennet of Tom's patrol, and GarryEverson who, though not a member of the troop, was asked because of hisproficiency in signalling. Roy, who would naturally have gone, was askedby Mr. Ellsworth to remain at camp to help him get the troop's baggagedistributed in the several cabins that had been reserved for them.
So the four scouts, having taken a hasty bite of supper, set out in thedarkness on their all but hopeless errand. Tom carried a lantern; acrossDoc Carson's back was slung the folding stretcher; Connie Bennet carriedthe bandages and first-aid case, and all wore belt axes, for the hillwhich they meant to climb was covered with a dense thicket and even inthe lower land between it and the camp there was no sign of path or trailafter the first mile or so.