The Crimson Sweater

  CHAPTER XIX

  A NIGHT ALARM

  Fox Island lay about two hundred yards off shore and perhaps thrice thatdistance up-stream from the landing. It contained between an acre and ahalf and two acres, was beautifully wooded, stood well above flood tideand was surrounded on two sides by beaches of clean white sand. DoctorEmery had purchased the island some years before, primarily to keep awayundesirable neighbors, and had soon discovered that it was a distinctaddition to the school's attractions. The spring camping-out soon becameone of the most popular features of the year.

  The next morning Chub and Bacon did the honors of the island, conductingRoy from end to end and pointing out the historical spots. He sawVictory Cove, so named because it was the scene of the first strugglebetween 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 wehad to go over and get them back. But that didn't change the name ofthe cove.") He saw Outer Beach, Gull Point, Hood's Hill, named in honorof a former school leader and Little Chief, The Grapes, a bunch of eightsmall rocks just off the westerly corner, Treasure Island and FarIsland, two low, bush-covered islets of rock and sand lying up-streamfrom the farther end of the island and divided from it by a few feet ofwater through which it was possible to wade when the river is not veryhigh, Round Harbor, Turtle Point, Turtle Cove, Round Head, Inner Beach,Mount Emery, a very tiny mountain indeed, and School Point. Thatcompleted the circuit of the island. But it took them well over an hourbecause they took it very slowly and neglected nothing. They took offshoes and stockings and waded to Treasure and Far Islands, theyscrambled up Mount Emery, hunted for turtles in Turtle Cove--withouteven seeing one--and tried broad-jumping on the Inner Beach. It was teno'clock when they got back to camp and found most of the fellowspreparing for a bath. They followed suit and presently were splashingand 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 thewhite sand until Thurlow thumped on a dish pan with a big spoon andsummoned them to dinner. Bathing suits were kept on until it was time toreturn to the main land for afternoon practice. The island waspractically deserted then, for but few of the campers were neitherbaseball 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 overhere pretty soon, probably to-day or to-morrow, to see where we'rekeeping the boats. If they come around don't let them see you, but watchwhat they do."

  The quartette promised eagerly to keep a sharp lookout and Chub and Roydipped their oars and rowed across to the landing.

  When they returned at five o'clock the two four-oared crews were justcoming back up-stream to the boat-house, looking as though they had beenthrough a hard afternoon's work. Behind them came Mr. Buckman in hisscull, his small brown megaphone hanging from his neck. Across thedarkening water they could just make out the three Hammond boatsfloating 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 havenever had over fifty. That makes a difference."

  "Two years ago, though," said Bacon, "they say our crew was thirtyseconds faster than theirs. And we were light, too. I don't believe thesize of the school has much to do with it."

  "Well, it stands to reason that the school that has the most fellowsmust have the better material," said Chub. "Look at the way it is inbaseball."

  "That may be," said Bacon, "but a whole lot depends on the spirit of thefellows and the coaching."

  "Course it does, but no matter what the spirit is, or how good thecoaching may be, four poor oarsmen can't beat four good ones. That'scommon 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. "Whitcombtold me the other day that he gets mad as anything when Buckman callshim 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'twant to."

  "They say Hammond's four this year is the best they've ever had," saidRoy.

  "They always say that," answered Chub sceptically.

  "The first of the season," amended Gallup. "Later they begin to howlabout the fellows going stale, breaking their ankles or spraining theirwrists. Gee, you'd think to hear them talk a week before the race thatthey didn't have a man in the boat who wasn't a corpse or a cripple forlife!"

  "That's so," laughed Bacon, "but you don't want to forget that yearbefore last Williams did the same thing. He gave it out that two of ourmen had malaria and wouldn't be able to row. They didn't have malariabut they couldn't row much when the time came, so he didn't tell a verybig lie."

  "That sort of thing makes me tired," said Roy disgustedly. "What's theuse in trying to make the other fellow think you're dying. He doesn'tbelieve 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 theboat's keel on the sand. Gallup jumped out into six inches of water andpulled 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 withoutposting guards that night.

  "I don't see," observed Roy as he was undressing, "why we don't tie theboats up if we're afraid of having Hammond swipe them."

  "Well, it wouldn't be fair, I guess," Chub answered. "You see we'vealways left them on the beach. If we tied 'em Hammond wouldn't have anyshow to get them."

  "You talk as though you wanted her to get them," said Roy in puzzledtones.

  "We do; that is, we want her to try and get them. If we take to tyingthem to trees and things Hammond will stop coming over and we'll missmore '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, "andtaking the whole bunch while we're asleep?"

  "Because she doesn't know where they are, silly!" replied Chub. "Youdon't expect those fellows are going to row across here and then gohunting all about the island in the dark, do you? They always comespying around in the daytime first and see where the boats are hauledup."

  "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 firstand I guess she won't this year."

  "I wish I was a Hammondite for about three or four hours," said Roygrimly. "I'd open your eyes for you!"

  Whereupon he was quickly tried for a traitor and sentenced to bewalloped with a belt. The walloping process occupied the succeeding tenminutes and when concluded--not altogether successfully--left the tentlooking as though a cyclone had visited it. But Chub's prediction provedcorrect. The boats were there in the morning, all five of them.

  "Those Hammond fellows are a set of chumps," grunted Roy. "Why don'tthey send you a note and tell you when they're coming? They might aswell 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 forthree 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 asthough you were all woozy."

  It was raining that morning when they arose, but the rain couldn'tquench their enjoyment. A shelter tent was put up and they all crowdedunder it for breakfast. Afterwards the Utes challenged the Seminoles toa game of ring-toss under the trees. Roy was assistant cook that day andso he and Post--Post being chef--were out of it. The Utes won and weremuch set up about it, issuing challenges indiscriminatingly at dinner.The four fishermen came in just before the meal with a big catch, andPost, who knew less about cooking fish than anything else--and that'ssaying a good deal--was in despair. After dinner he and Roy took themto 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 thespeedy lynching of Mr. Post.

  "I thought we ought to do something else to them," he explained inextenuation, "but I couldn't think what it was!"

  "You want to watch out pretty sharp," said Horace Burlen with deepsarcasm, "or they'll employ you to cook at the Waldorf."

  "Fish a la Post," murmured Chub. "Half portion two dollars and aquarter."

  "They'd have to pay me more than that before I'd order any," respondedGallup.

  "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 ofwater, all unsolicited and unexpected. Mr. Buckman mildly objected, butappeared to think the punishment deserved.

  It had stopped drizzling during the afternoon and practice had been heldon a very wet diamond. Chub had sustained a wrenched ankle by slippingwhile running bases and was inclined to be down on his luck. Roy triedto cheer him up, but had scant success. Chub was convinced this eveningthat the nine was no good and that certain defeat at the hands ofHammond stared them in the face. Like most normally cheerful persons,Chub was the gloomiest of the gloomy when he decided to be. At camp-fireThurlow brought out his banjo and got them all to singing. That seemedto 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 canvasoverhead. He wondered what had awakened him and listened to the deepbreathing 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 openedthem quickly. From somewhere came a sound as though a boat was beingdrawn across the pebbles of a beach. He listened intently, but heardnothing more. He had imagined it, he told himself sleepily. But hewasn't satisfied. After a moment he heard it again, that grating noise.He reached toward Post about to awaken him, thought better of it andscrambled noiselessly out of bed. After all it was hardly probable thatHammond had visited them without giving the usual notice; it wouldn't beplaying fair and Chub would be frightfully pained and grieved! Roysmiled to himself as he tried to find the cords which lashed the tentflap close. There was no use in waking the whole crowd up unless therewas some reason for it. He would just look around a bit first--if hecould ever get out of the fool tent! Then the last cord gave way and heslipped out into the darkness.

  The camp-fire was long since out and the shower had drowned even theembers. It was no longer raining, but the ground was wet underfoot andthe grass and low growth threw drops against his bare ankles. It was notquite so black outside here as it had been in the tent, and in the easta rift in the clouds hinted of the moon, but it was too dark to see muchof anything. Roy felt his way across the clearing, stumbled over a pegas he crept past the Ute quarters and shook a shower of raindrops from ayoung pine as he went sprawling into the underbrush. It was very dampthere on the ground and pine needles and grass and twigs were plasteredto his body, but he lay still a moment and listened. Surely, if therewas anyone round they couldn't have failed to hear him crash into thebushes! All was still for an instant; then there was a subdued splash asthough someone had unintentionally plunged his foot into water. Roycautiously lifted his head. Now came a whisper; another answered from adistance; an oar creaked in its lock.

  Only a fringe of pines and underbrush divided Roy from the Inner Beachwhich was here some thirty feet wide. As noiselessly as possible hestood up and stared into the darkness ahead. It seemed that he coulddistinguish forms moving about, but he decided that an excitedimagination was to blame. Cautiously he pressed through the bushes,which being wet gave little sound as their branches whipped back. Thenhe was on the edge of the pebbles. And as he raised his bare foot tostep forward again the moon broke forth from the broken clouds and hestopped short, stifling the cry that sprang to his lips. In the suddenflood of dim light the edge of the stream seemed fairly alive withboats, while right in front of him, so near that another step would havereached him, a dark figure was kneeling in his path.