A Scout of To-day
CHAPTER II
ONLY A CHIP'
"Oh! I wish I had worn my tramping togs," exclaimed Nixon Warren as thefour boys, after covering an easy mile along the highroad and over theuplands that lay between marsh and woodland, plunged, whooping, in amidthe forest shadows roofed by the meeting branches of pines, hemlocks,oaks, and birches, with here and there a maple already turning ruddy,that formed the outposts of the dense woods.
A dwarf counterpart of the same trees laced with vines and pricklybrambles made an undergrowth so thick that they parted with shreds oftheir clothing as they went threshing through it, in a fascinatinggold-misted twilight, through which the slender sunbeams flashed likefairy knitting-needles weaving a scarf of light and shade around eachtall trunk.
"Why! you're better 'togged' for the woods than the rest of us are,"answered Leon Starr Chase, looking askance at the new boy. "That's adandy hat; must shade your eyes a whole lot when you're tramping onopen ground! I guess ours don't need any shading!"
A wandering sunbeam kindled a brassy spark in Leon's brown eye whichlooked as if it could face anything unabashed. In his mind lurked thesame suspicion that had hovered over Colin's at first sight of Nixon,that this newcomer from a distant city might be somewhat of a flowerpotfellow, delicately reared and coddled, not a hardy plant that couldrevel and rough it in the wilderness atmosphere of the thick woods.
Nothing about the boy-stranger supported such an idea for a moment,except to Leon, as the party progressed, the interest which he took inthe floral life of the woodland: in objects which Starrie Chase whoinvariably "hit the woods" as he phrased it, with destruction in theforefront of his thoughts, generally overlooked, and therefore did notconsider worth a second glance.
He stood and gaped as Nixon, with a shout of delight, pounced upon somerosy pepper-grass, stooped to pick a wood aster or gentian, or pointedout to Coombsie the green sarsaparilla plant flaunting and prolificbetween the trees.
"What do you call this, Marcoo?" the strange boy would exclaimdelightedly, finding novel treasure trove in the rare white blossoms ofLabrador tea. "I don't remember to have seen this flower on any of ourhikes through the Pennsylvania woods!"
To which Coombsie would make answer:--
"Don't ask me, Nix; I know a little about birds, but when it comes toknowing anything of flowers or plants--excepting those that are underour feet every day--I 'fall down flunk!' Hullo! though, here are somedevil's pitchforks--or stick-tight--I do know them!"
"So do I!" Nixon stooped over the tall bristly flower-heads, rusty greenin color, and gathered a few of the two-pronged seed-vessels that clingso readily to the fur of an animal or the clothing of a boy. "It's funnyto think how they have to depend upon some passing animal to propagatethe seeds. Say! but they do stick tight, don't they?" And he slylyslipped a few of the russet pitchforks inside Leon's collar--whereupon awhooping scuffle ensued.
"It looks to me as if _some_ lightfooted animal were in the habit ofpassing here that might carry the seeds along," said the perpetrator ofthe prank presently, dropping upon his hands and knees to examinebreathlessly the leaves and brambles pressed down into a trail so lightthat it seemed the mere shadow of a pathway leading off into the woodsat right angles from where the boys stood.
"You're right. It's a fox-path!" Leon was examining the shadow-trackstoo. "A fox trots along here to his hunting-ground where he catchesshrews an' mice or grasshoppers even, when he can't get hold of a plumpquail or partridge. Whew! I wish I'd brought my gun."
Dead silence for two minutes, while each ear was intently strained tocatch the sound of a sly footfall and heard nothing but the noisyshrilling of the cicada, or seventeen-year locust, with the pipe ofkindred insects.
"Look! there's been a partridge at work here," cried Nixon by and by,when the still game was over and the boys were forging ahead again.
He pointed to a decayed log whose flaky wood, garnished here and therewith a tiny buff feather, was mostly pecked away and reduced to brownpowder by the busy bird which had wallowed there.
"He's been trying to get at some insects in the wood. See how he hasdusted it all up with his claws an' feathers!" went on the excitedspeaker. "Oh--but I tell you what makes you feel happy!" He drew a longbreath, turning suddenly, impulsively, to the boys behind him. "It'swhen you're out on a hike an' a partridge rises right in front ofyou--and you hear his wings sing!"
Colin and Coombsie stared. The strange boy's look flashed with suchfrank gladness, doubled and trebled by sharing sympathetically, in sofar as he could, each bounding thrill that animated the wild, free lifeabout him! They had often been moved by the liquid notes from asongster's throat, but had not come enough into loving touch with Natureto hear music in a bird's wings.
If Leon had heard it, his one idea would have been to silence it with ashot. He stood still in his tracks, bristling like his dog.
"Ughr-r! 'Singing wings'!" he sneered. "Aw! take that talk home toMamma."
"Say that once again, and I'll lick you!" The stranger's gaze became,now, very straight and inviting from under his broad-brimmed hat.
The atmosphere felt highly charged--unpleasantly so for the other twoboys. But at that critical moment an extraordinary sound of othersinging--human singing--was borne to them in faint merriment upon thewoodland breeze, so primitive, so unlike anything modern, that it mighthave been Robin Hood himself or one of his green-coated Merry Mensinging a roundelay in the woods to the accompaniment of awoodchopper's axe.
"Rond! Rond! Rond! peti' pie pon' ton'! Rond! rond! rond! peti' pie pon' ton'!"
"_What is it?_ Who is--it?" Nixon's stiffening fists unclosed. His eyewas bright with bewilderment.
"Houp-la! it's Toiney--Toiney Leduc." Colin broke into an exultantwhoop. "Now we'll have fun! Toiney is a funny one, for sure!"
"He's more fun than a circus," corroborated Coombsie. "We're coming to alittle farm-clearing in the woods now, Nix," he explained, falling in byhis cousin's side as the four boys moved hastily ahead, challengesforgotten. "There's a house on it, the last for miles. It's owned by aman called Greer, and Toiney Leduc works for him during the summer an'fall. Toiney is a French-Canadian who came here about a year ago; hisbrother is employed in one of the shipbuilding yards on the river."
The merry, oft-repeated strain came to them more distinctly now, rollingamong the trees:--
"Rond, rond, rond, peti' pie pon' ton'! C'eta't une bonne femme, Qui garda't sex moutons, Rond', rond', rond, peti' pie pon' ton'!"
"He's singing about the woman who was taking care of her sheep and howthe lamb got his chin in the milk! He translated it for me," said Colin.
"'Translate!' He doesn't know enough English to say 'Boo!' straight,"threw back Leon, as he gained the edge of the clearing. "It is Toiney!"he cried exultingly. "Toiney--and the _Hare_!"
"The--what? My word! there are surprises enough in these woods--whatwith forest paintpots--and the rest." Nixon, as he spoke, was boundingout into the open too, thrilled by expectation: a musical woodchopperattended by a tame rodent would certainly be a unique item upon theforest playbill which promised a variety of attractions already.
But he saw no skipping hare upon the green patch of clearing--nothingbut a boy of twelve whose full forehead and pointed face was veryslightly rodent-like in shape, but whose eyes, which at this startledmoment showed little save their whites, were as shy and frightened as arabbit's, while he shrank close to Toiney's side.
"My brother says that whenever he sees that boy he feels like offeringhim a bunch of clover or a lettuce leaf!" laughed Leon, repeating thethoughtless speech of an adult. He stooped suddenly, picked some of theshaded clover leaves and a pink blossom: "Eh! want some clover, 'Hare'?"he asked teasingly, thrusting the green stuff close to the face of theabnormally frightened boy.
The hapless, human Hare sought to efface himself behind Toiney's back.And the woodchopper began to execute an excited war-dance, flourishingthe axe wherewith he had been musically felling a young birch tree fo
rfuel.
"Ha! you Leon, you _coquin_, _gamin_--rogue--you'll say dat one timemore, den I go lick you, me!" he cried in his imperfect English eked outwith indignant French.
"No, you won't go lick me--you!" Nevertheless Starrie Chase and hismocking face retreated a little; he had no fancy for tackling Toiney andthe axe.
"That boy's name is Harold Greer; it's too bad about him," Coombsie waswhispering in Nix Warren's ear. "The doctor says he's 'all there,'nothing wrong with him mentally. But he was born frightened--abnormallytimid--and he seems to get worse instead o' better. He's afraid ofeverything, of his own shadow, I think, and more still of the shadows ofothers: I mean he's so shy that he won't speak to anybody--if he canhelp it--except his grandfather and Toiney and the old woman who keepshouse for them."
Nixon looked pityingly at the boy who lived thus in his own shadow--theshadow of a baseless fear.
"Whew! it must be bad to be born scared!" he gasped. "I wish we couldget Toiney to sing some more."
At this moment there came a wild shout from Colin who had been exploringthe clearing and stumbled upon something near the outhouses.
"Gracious! what is it--a wildcat?" he cried. "It isn't a fox--though ithas a bushy tail! It's as big as half a dozen squirrels. Hulloo-oo!" inyelling excitement, "it must be a coon--a young coon."
There was a general stampede for the hen-house, amid the squawkingcackle of its rightful inhabitants.
Toiney followed, so did the human Hare, keeping always behind his backand casting nervous glances in Leon's direction.
"Ha! _le petit raton_--de littal coon!" gasped the woodchopper. "W'en Igo on top of hen-house dis morning w'at you t'ink I fin' dere, engh? Ifin' heem littal coon! I'll t'ink he kill two, t'ree poulets--littalchick!" gesticulating fiercely at the dead marauder and at the bodies ofsome slain chickens. "Dog he kill heem; but, _sapre_! he fight lak_diable_! Engh?"
The last exclamation was a grunt of inquiry as to whether the boysunderstood how that young raccoon, about two-thirds grown, had fought.Toiney shruggingly rubbed his hands on his blue shirt-sleeves while hepointed to a mongrel dog, the other participant in that early-morningbattle, with whom Leon's terrier had been exchanging canine courtesies.
Blink forsook his scarred brother now and sniffed eagerly at the coon'sdead body as he had sniffed at the poor yellow-legs in the dust.
"Where did he come from, Toiney? Do you suppose he strayed from thecoon's hole that you found in the woods, among some ledges near BigSwamp?" Colin, together with the other boys, was stooping down toexamine the dead body of the wild animal which measured nearly a footand a half from the tip of its sharp nose to the beginning of the bushytail that was handsomely ringed with black and a shading buff-color.
"Yaas, he'll com' out f'om de foret--f'om among heem beeg tree." ToineyLeduc, letting his axe fall to the ground, waved an eloquent right armin its flannel shirt-sleeve toward the woods beyond the clearing.
"Isn't his fur long and thick--more like coarse gray hair than fur?"Nixon stroked the raccoon's shaggy coat.
"Tell us how to find those ledges where the hole is? There may be somelive ones in it. I'd give anything to see a live coon," urged Coombsie.
"Ah! la! la! You no fin' dat ledge en dat swamp. Eet's littal black indere, in gran' foret--in dem big ole hood," came the dissuading answer.
"He always says 'hood' for 'wood,'" explained Marcoo _sotto voce_.
"Ciel! w'en you go for fin' dat hole, dat's de time you get los'--engh?"urged Toiney, suddenly very earnest. "You walkee, walkee--lak wit' eyeshut--den you haf so tire' en so lonesam' you go--_deaded_."
He flung out his hands with an eloquent gesture of blind despair uponthe last word, which shot a warning thrill to the boys' hearts. Three ofthem looked rather apprehensively toward the dense woods that stretchedaway interminably beyond the clearing.
But the fourth, Leon, was not to be intimidated by anything short ofToiney brandishing the woodchopper's axe.
He paused in his gesture of slyly offering more clover to the boy withthe frightened eyes.
"Oh! I know the woods pretty well, Toiney," he said. "I've been far intothem with my father. I can find the way to Big Swamp."
"I'll bet me you' head you get los'--hein?"
"Why don't you bet your own seal-head, Toiney? You can't say 'Boo!'straight." Leon scathingly pointed to the Canadian's bare, closelycropped head, dark and shiny as sealskin.
"_Sapre!_ I'll no bet yous head--you Leon--for nobodee want heem, axcep'for play ping-pong," screamed the enraged Toiney.
There was a general mirthful roar. Leon reddened.
"Oh, come; let's 'beat it'!" he cried. "We'll never find that coon'sburrow, or anything else, if we stand here chattering with a Canuck.Look at Blink! He's after something on the edge of the woods. A redsquirrel, I think!"
He set off in the wake of the terrier, and his companions followed,disregarding further protests in Toiney's ragged English.
Once more they were immersed in the woods beyond the clearing. Theterrier was barking furiously up a pine tree, on whose lowest branch satthe squirrel getting off an angry patter of "Quek-Quik!Quek-quek-quek-quik!" punctuated with shrill little cries.
"Hear him chittering an' chattering! There's some fire to thatconversation. See! the squirrel looks all red mouth," laughed Nixon.
The mouth of the little tree-climbing fury yawned, indeed, like a tinycoral cave decorated with minute ivories as he sat bolt upright on thedry branch, scolding the dog.
"Oh! come on, Blink, you can't get at him. You can chase a woodchuck orsomething else that isn't quite so quick, and kill it!" cried hismaster.
The "something else" was presently started in the form of a littlechipmunk, ground brother to the squirrel, which had been holdingsolitary revel with a sunbeam on a rock.
With a frightened flick of its gold-brown tail it sought shelter in acleft of a low, natural wall where some large stones were piled one uponanother.
Instantly it discovered that this shallow refuge offered no sure shelterfrom the dog following hot upon its trail. Forth it popped again, witha plaintive, chirping "Chip! Chip! Chir-r-r!" of extreme terror andfled, like a tuft of fur wafted by the breeze, to its real fortress, thedeep, narrow hole which it had tunneled in under a rock, and which itwas so shy of revealing to strangers that it would never have soughtshelter there save in dire extremity.
It was such a very small hole as regards the round entrance throughwhich the chipmunk had squeezed, which did not measure three inches incircumference--and such a touchingly neat little hole, for there was notrace of the earth which the little creature had scattered in burrowingit--that it might well have moved any heart to pity.
The terrier finding himself baffled, sat down before it, and pointed hisears at his master, inquiring about the prospects of a successful siege.
"He was too quick for you that time, Blinkie. But you'll get anotherchance at him, pup," guaranteed Leon, while his companions wereendeavoring to solve the riddle--one of the minor charming mysteries ofthe woods--namely, what the ground-squirrel does with the earth which hescatters in tunneling his grass-fringed hole.
No such marvel appealed to Leon Chase! With lightning rapidity he waswrenching a thin, rodlike stick from a near-by white birch, and tearingthe leaves off. Before one of the other boys could stop him, he hadinserted this as a long probe in the hole, working the cruel goadruthlessly from side to side, scattering earth enough now and torn grasson either side of the spic-and-span entrance.
"Ha! you haven't seen the last of him, Blink!" he cried. "I'll soon'podge' him out of that! This hole runs in under a rock; so there can'tbe a sharp turn in it, as is the case with the chip-squirrel's holegenerally! I guess I can reach him with the stick; then he'll be sofrightened that he'll pop out right in your face," forming a quickdeduction that did credit to his powers of observation and made it seema bruising pity as well for persecutor as persecuted that such boyishingenuity should be turned to miserable ends.
Leon's
eyes were beady with malicious triumph. His breath came in shortexcited puffs. So did the terrier's. It boded ill for the tormentedchipmunk cowering at the farthest end of the desecrated hole.
"Hullo! that's two against one and it isn't fair play. _Quit it!_"suddenly burst forth a ringing boyish voice. "The chip' was faster thanthe dog--he ought to have an even chance for his life, anyhow!"
Leon, crouching by the hole, looked up in petrified amazement. It wasNixon Warren, the stranger to these woods, who spoke. The tormentorbroke into an insulting laugh.
"Eh--what's the matter with _you_, Chicken-heart?" he sneered. "None o'your business whether it's fair or not!"
A flash leaped from the gray eyes under Nixon's broad hat that defiedthe sneer applied to him. His chest heaved under the Khaki shirt withwhose metal buttons a sunbeam played winsomely, while with defiantvehemence Leon worked his probing stick deeper, deeper into the holewhere the mite of a chipmunk shrank before the cruel goad that wouldultimately force it forth to meet the whirlwind of the dog's attack.
Colin and Coombsie held their breath, feeling as if they could see thetrembling "chipping" fugitive pressed against the farthest wall of itsenlarged retreat.
Another minute, and out it must pop to death.
But upon the dragging, prodding seconds of that minute broke again thevoice of the chipmunk's champion--hot and ringing.
"_Quit that!_" it exploded. "Stop wiggling the stick in the hole--orI'll make you!"
"You'll make me, eh? Oh! run along home to Mamma--that's where yourplace is!" But right upon the heels of the sneer a sharp question rushedfrom Leon's lips: "Who are you--anyhow--to tell me to stop?"
And the tall trees bowed their noble heads, the grasses ceased theirwhispering, even the seventeen-year locust, shrilling in the distance,seemed to suspend its piping note to listen to the answer that rushedbravely forth:--
"I'm a Boy Scout! A Boy Scout of America! I've promised to do a goodturn to somebody--or something--every day. I'm going to do it to thatchipmunk! Stop working that stick in the hole!"
"Gee whiz! I thought there was something queer about you from thefirst."
The mouth of Starrie Chase yawned until it rivaled the enlarged hole.Sitting on his heels, his cruel probing momentarily suspended, he gazedup, as at a newfangled sort of animal, at this daring Boy Scout ofAmerica--this Scout of the U.S.A.