Tom Slade at Black Lake

  Barnard had not been there two days when his thoughtfulness relieved Tomof one of the daily tasks which had taken much time from his work. Thiswas to follow the trail down the hillside and through the woods to whereit ran into the public road and wait there for the mail wagon to passand get the letters. "I'll take care of that," he said, as soon as Tomanswered his inquiry as to how mail was received at camp, "don't youworry. I have to have my little hike every day."

  There was quite an accumulation of mail when Uncle Jeb, looking strangeand laughable in his civilized clothes, as Barnard called them, arrivedon Saturday morning. The bus, which brought him up from Catskill,brought also the advance guard of the scout army that would shortlyover-run the camp.

  These dozen or so boys and Uncle Jeb strolled up to visit the camp onthe hill, and Uncle Jeb, as usual, expressed no surprise at finding thatTom's visitor had come. "Glad ter see yer," he said; "yer seem like acouple of Robinson Crusoes up here. Glad ter see yer givin' Tommy ahand."

  "I got a right to say he's my visitor, haven't I?" Tom asked, withoutany attempt at hinting. "'Cause I knew him, as you might say, over inFrance. We catch fish in the brook and we don't use the camp storesmuch."

  "Wall, naow, I wouldn' call this bein' in the camp at all; not yet,leastways," Uncle Jeb said, including the stranger in his shrewd,friendly glance. "Tommy, here, is a privileged character, as the fellersays. En your troop's coming later, hain't they? I reckon we won't putyou down on the books. You jes stay here with Tommy till he gets hischore done. You're visitin' him ez I see it. Nobody's a goin' ter botheryer up here."

  So there was one troublesome matter settled to Tom's satisfaction. Hehad wanted to consider Barnard as his particular guest on theirhillside retreat and not as a pay guest at the camp. He was glad forwhat Uncle Jeb had said. But he was rather surprised that Barnard hadnot protested against this hospitality. What he was particularlysurprised at, however, was a certain uneasiness which this scoutmasterfrom the west had shown in Uncle Jeb's presence. But it was nothingworth thinking about, certainly, and Tom ceased to think about it.

  CHAPTER XXII

  AN ACCIDENT

  The time had now come when each day brought new arrivals to the camp,and August the first loomed large in the near future. It was less than aweek off. The three new cabins stood all but completed, and thanks tothe strenuous and unfailing help of his friend from the West, Tom knewthat his scout dream of atonement was fulfilled.

  "When they get here," he said to Uncle Jeb, "just tell them that theyare to bunk in the cabins up on the hill. Barnard will be here to meethis own troop, and he'll take them up to the new cabins. Roy and thefellows will like Barnard, that's sure. It'll be like a kind of a littleseparate camp up on the hill; two troops--six patrols."

  "En yer ain't a goin' ter change yer mind en stay, Tommy?"

  "Nope," said Tom; "I don't want to see them. I'm going down Thursday.They'll all be here Saturday, I suppose."

  In those last days of the work, little groups of scouts would stroll upfrom the main body of the camp to watch the progress of the labor, butthe novelty of this form of entertainment soon passed, for the big camphad too many other attractions. In those days of hard work, Tom's likingfor his friend had ripened into a feeling of admiring affection, whichhis stolid but generous nature was not slow to reveal, and he made thesprightly visitor his confidant.

  One night--it might have been along about the middle of the week--theysprawled wearily near their camp-fire, chatting about the work and aboutTom's future plans.

  "One thing, I never could have finished it without you," Tom said, "andI'm glad you're going to stay, because you can be a kind of scoutmasterto both troops. I bet you'll be glad to see your own fellows. I betyou'll like Roy, too, and the other fellows I told you about. PeeweeHarris--you'll laugh at him. He has everybody laughing. Their ownscoutmaster, Mr. Ellsworth, is away, so it'll be good, as you might say,for them to have you. One thing I like about you, and that is you're notalways talking about the law, and giving lectures and things like that.You're just like another fellow; you're different from a lot ofscoutmasters. You're not always talking about the handbook and goodturns and things."

  His companion seemed a bit uncomfortable but he only laughed and said,"Actions speak louder than words, don't they, Tommy? We've _lived_ it,and that's better, huh?"

  "That's mostly the only thing that makes me wish I was going to stay,"Tom said; "so's I'd know you better. I bet you'll keep those fellows onthe jump; I bet you won't be all the time preaching to them. Mostly, theway my troop comes is across the lake. They hike up from Catskillthrough the woods. If your troop comes on the afternoon train, maybeboth troops will come up through the woods together, hey? I'd like tosee some of those scouts of yours. I bet they're crazy about you. Younever told me much about them."

  "We've been building cabins, Tommy, old boy."

  "Yes, but now the work is nearly finished, all we have to do is clearup, and I'd like to hear something about your troop. Have they got manymerit badges?"

  "'Bout 'steen. Look here, Tommy boy; I think the best thing for you to dois to forget your grouch at Ray, or Roy, or whatever you call him, andjust make up your mind to stay right here. This job you've done----"

  "You mean _we_," Tom interrupted.

  "Well, _we_, then--it's going to wipe out all hard feeling andeverything is going to be all hunk. You'll make a better scoutmaster tothe whole bunch than I will. I'm better at work than I am at discipline,Tom. I can't pull that moral suasion bunk at all. I'm pretty nifty atswinging an axe, but I'm weak on the good turn and duty stuff."

  "You did _me_ a good turn, all right," Tom said, with simple gratitudein his tone.

  "But I mean the big brother stuff," his companion said; "I'm not so muchof a dabster at that. You're the one for that--you're a scoutologist."

  "A what?" Tom said.

  "A scout specialist. One who has studied scoutology. You're the one tomanage, what's-his-name, Peewee? And that other kid--Ray----"

  "Roy," Tom corrected him.

  "I was in hopes you'd weaken and decide to stay and we'd--they'd--electyou generalissimo of the allied troops, like old Foch."

  Tom only shook his head. "I don't want to be here," he said; "I don'twant to be here when they come. After they see the cabins you can tellthem how I didn't know who you were until long after I--I made themistake. They'll admit that this was the only thing for me to do;they'll admit it when they know about it. The only thing is, that Ithought about it before they did, that's all. You got to admit it's thescout way, 'cause a scout wouldn't try to sneak out of anything the easyway."

  "I don't know if it's the scout way," his companion said, "but it's theTom Slade way."

  "I got to be thankful I was a scout," Tom observed.

  "I think the scouts have to be thankful," his friend said, with a noteof admiration ringing in his voice.

  "They thought I forgot how to be a scout," Tom said. "Now they'll see."

  Barnard raised himself to a sitting posture, clasped his hands over hisknees, in that attitude which had come to be characteristic of him abouttheir lonely camp-fire, and glanced about at the results of Tom's long,strenuous, lonesome labors. And he thought how monotonous it must havebeen there for Tom through those long days and nights that he had spentalone on that isolated hilltop. As he glanced about him, the completedwork loomed large and seemed like a monument to the indomitable will andprowess of this young fellow who seemed to him so simple andcredulous--almost childlike in some ways. He wondered how Tom could everhave raised those upper logs into their places. It seemed to him thatthe trifling instance of thoughtlessness which was the cause of all thisstriving, was nothing at all, and in no way justified those weeks ofwearisome labor. A queer fellow, he thought, was this Tom Slade. Therewas the work, all but finished, three new cabins standing alongside theother three, and all the disorder of choppings and bits of wood lyingabout.

  He glanced at Tom Slade where he sat near him by the fire, and noticedt
he torn shirt, the hand wrapped in a bandage, the bruised spot on thatplain, dogged face, where a chunk of wood had flown up and all butblinded him. He noticed that big mouth. The whimsical thought occurredto him that this young fellow's face was, itself, something like a knotof wood; strong and stubborn, and very plain and homely. And yet he wasso easily imposed upon--not exactly that, perhaps, but he was simplewithal, and trusting and credulous....

  "If I get back before Saturday I can see that fellow," Tom said, "andbuy his boat. He comes home early Saturday afternoons. He said I couldhave it for a hundred dollars if I wanted it. I got twenty-five dollarsmore than I need."

  "You're rich. And the girl; don't forget _her_. She's worth more than ahundred and twenty-five."

  "I'm going to give her a ride in it Sunday, maybe," Tom said.

  For a few minutes neither spoke, and there was no sound but thecrackling of the blaze and the distant voices of scouts down on thelake. "You can hear them plain up here," Tom said; "are your scouts fondof boating?"

  Still his companion did not speak.

  "Well, then," he finally said; "if you're going Thursday that means yougo to-morrow. I was going to try to talk you into changing your mind,but just now, when I was piking around, and taking a squint at the workand at your face, I saw it wouldn't be any use. I guess people don'tinfluence you much, hey?"

  "Roy Blakeley influenced me a lot."

  "Well then," said Barnard, "let's put the finishing touch on this jobwhile both of us are here to do it. What do you say? Shall we haul upthe flagpole?"

  The shortest way down the hill in the direction of the new property wasacross a little gully over which they had laid a log. This was aconvenient way of going when there was no burden to be borne. Thehauling and carrying were done at a point some hundred feet from thishollow. In the woods beyond, they had cut and hewn a flagstaff and sincetwo could easily carry it, Barnard's idea was that this should be donethen, so that he might have Tom's assistance.

  With Barnard, to think was to act, he was all impulse, and in twoseconds he was on his feet and headed for their makeshift bridge acrossthe gully. Tom followed him and was startled to see his friend gotumbling down into the hollow fully three feet from where the log lay.Before Tom reached the edge a scream, as of excruciating pain, arose,and he lost not a second in scrambling down into the chasm, where hiscompanion lay upon the rocks, holding his forehead and groaning.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  FRIENDS

  "Take your hand off your forehead," Tom said, trying gently to move itagainst the victim's will; "so I can tell if it's bad. Don't be scared,you're stunned that's all. It's cut, but it isn't bleeding much."

  "I'm all right," Barnard said, trying to rise.

  "Maybe you are," Tom said, "but safety first; lie still. Can you moveyour arms? Does your back hurt?"

  "I don't want any doctor," Barnard said.

  "See if you can--no, lie still; see if you can wiggle your fingers. Iguess you're just cut, that's all. Here, let me put my handkerchiefaround it. You got off lucky."

  "You don't call _that_ lucky, do you?" Barnard asked. "My head acheslike blazes."

  "Sure it does," said Tom, feeling his friend's pulse, "but you're allright."

  TOM HELPED BARNARD TO THEIR CABIN. Tom Slade at BlackLake--Page 134]

  "I got a good bang in the head," said Barnard; "I'll be all right," headded, sitting up and gazing about him. "Case of look before you leap,hey? Do you know what I did?"

  "You stepped on the shadow instead of the log," Tom said. "I was goingto call to you, but I thought that as long as you're a scout you'd knowabout that. It was on account of the fire--the way it was shining.That's what they call a false ford----"

  "Well, the next time I hope there'll be a Maxwell or a Packard thereinstead," Barnard said in his funny way.

  "A false ford is a shadow across a hollow place," Tom said. "You seethem mostly in the moonlight. Don't you remember how lots of fellowswere fooled like that, trying to cross trenches. The Germans could makeit look like a bridge where there wasn't any bridge--don't youremember?"

  "_Some_ engineers!" Barnard observed. "Ouch, but my head hurts! Goingdown, hey? I don't like those shadow bridges; it's all a matter oftaste, I suppose. Oh boy, how my head aches!"

  "If it was broken it wouldn't ache," said Tom consolingly, "or youwouldn't know it if it did. Can you get up?"

  "I can't go up as quick as I came down," Barnard said, sitting there andholding his head in a way that made even sober Tom smile, "but I guess Ican manage it."

  He arose and Tom helped him through the gully to where it petered out,and so to their cabin. Barnard's ankle was strained somewhat, and he hadan ugly cut on his forehead, which Tom cleansed and bandaged, and itbeing already late, the young man who had tried walking on a shadowdecided that he would turn in and try the remedy of sleep on histhrobbing head.

  "Look here, Slady," he said, after he was settled for the night, "I'vegot your number, you old grouch. I know what it means when you get anidea in your old noddle, so please remember that I don't want any ofthat bunch from down below up here, and I don't want any doctor. See?You're not going to pull any of that stuff on me, are you? Just let meget a night's sleep and I'll be all right. I'm not on exhibition. Idon't want anybody up here piking around just because I took a doubleheader into space. And I don't want any doctors from Leeds or Catskillup here, either. Get me?"

  "If you get to sleep all right and don't have any fever, you won't needany doctor," Tom said; "and I won't go away till you're all right."

  "You're as white as a snowstorm, Slady," his friend said. "I've had thetime of my life here with you alone. And I'm going to wind up with youalone. No outsiders. Two's a company, three's a mob."

  Something, he knew not what, impelled sober, impassive Tom to sit downfor a few moments on the edge of the bunk where his friend lay.

  "Red Cross nurse and wounded doughboy, hey?" his friend observed in thatflippant manner which sometimes amused and sometimes annoyed Tom.

  "I liked it, too, being here alone with you," Tom said, "even if ithadn't been for you helping me a lot, I would have liked it. I like youa whole lot. I knew I'd like you. I used to camp with Roy Blakeley up onhis lawn and it reminded me of that, being up here alone with you. AfterI've gone, you'll mix up with the fellows down in the camp, but anyhow,you'll remember how we were up here alone together, I bet. You bet I'llremember that--I will."

  Barnard reached out his hand from under the coverings and grasped Tom'shand. "You're all there, Tommy," he said. "And you won't remember how Igot on your nerves, and how I tried walking on a shadow, and----"

  Tom did not release his friend's hand, or perhaps it was Barnard who didnot release Tom's. At all events, they remained in that attitude, handsclasped, for still a few moments more. "Only the _good_ things about me,hey, Tommy boy?" his friend asked.

  "I don't know any other kind of things," Tom said, "and if I heard any Iwouldn't believe them. I always said your scouts must think a lot ofyou. I think you're different from other scoutmasters. You can _make_people like you, that's sure."

  "Sure, eh?"

  "It's sure with _me_ anyway," Tom said.

  "Resolution, determination, friendship--all _sure_ with _you_. Hey,Tommy boy? Because you're built out of _rocks_. Bridges, they may benothing but shadows, hey? According to you, you can't depend on half ofthem. I wonder if it's that way with friendships, huh?"

  "It ain't with mine," Tom said simply.

  And still Barnard clung to Tom's hand. "Maybe we'll test it some day,Slady old boy."

  "There's no use testing a thing that's sure," Tom said.

  "Yes?"

  And still Barnard did not release his hand.'

  "It's funny you didn't know about false fords," Tom said.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  TOM GOES ON AN ERRAND

  Tom had intended to go down into camp for a strip of bandage and to seeUncle Jeb, but since Barnard was so averse to having his mishap knownand to havin
g visitors, he thought it better not to go down that night.He did not like the idea of not mentioning his friend's accident to theold camp manager. Tom had not been able to rid himself of a feeling thatUncle Jeb did not wholly approve of the sprightly Barnard. He had nogood reason for any such supposition, but the feeling persisted. It madehim uncomfortable when occasionally the keen-eyed old plainsman hadstrolled up to look things over, and he was always relieved when UncleJeb went away. Tom could not for the life of him, tell why he had thisfeeling, but he had it just the same.

  So now, in order not to rouse his friend, who seemed at last to havedozed off, he lingered by the dying embers of their fire. As the lastflickerings of the blaze subsided and the yellow fragments turned togray, then black, it seemed to Tom as if this fire symbolized thepetering out of that pleasant comradeship, now so close at hand. In hisheart, he longed to wait there and continue this friendship and be withRoy and the others, as he had so often been at the big camp.

  He had grown to admire and to like Barnard immensely. It was the likingborn of gratitude and close association, but it was the liking, also,which the steady, dull, stolid nature is apt to feel for one who islight and vivacious. Barnard's way of talking, particularly his ownbrand of slang, was very captivating to sober Tom, who could do bigthings but not little things. He had told himself many times thatBarnard's scouts "must be crazy about him." And Barnard had laughed andsaid, "They _must_ be crazy if they like _me_...."