Advancing stealthily, our young hero raised his rifle and leveled it atthe chief of the howling Zulus, who clustered threateningly on thefarther shore. The young girl whom they had kidnapped lay bound handand foot, and Dan Dreadnought clenched his teeth with anger as he heardher cries for help. The poisoned spears of the infuriated Zulus wereflying all about him, but they did not cower the brave lad. He wasresolved at any cost to rescue that girl.
"I am a Boy Scout," he called, "and I can handle a hundred savages ifneed be." Then, uttering the cry of the Eureka Patrol, he dashed intothe dugout which lay drawn up on the shore, and using the butt end ofhis rifle for a paddle, he guided his unsteady boat across the ragingtorrent amid a fusillade of spears and arrows with which the franticZulus vainly sought to stay his approach.
"I am Lieutenant of the Eureka Patrol!" called Dan. "Untie thosefetters, or every one of you shall die!"
His trusty companion, Ralph Redgore, tried to hold him back, but all invain.
Connover Bennett laid down the copy of _The Eureka Patrol in SouthAfrica_, by Captain Dauntless, U. S. A., and dragging himself fromthe hammock, entered the house. He was breathing hard as if he had beenrunning.
The bungalow was deserted save for the maid in the kitchen, andConnover was monarch of all he surveyed.
Quietly, he crept upstairs and into the "den." In the corner among hisfather's fishing-rods and golf sticks stood a rifle. It was forbiddento Connover, but unfortunately _The Eureka Patrol in South Africa_dealt not with scout honor and made no mention of the Seventh Law,which stipulates that a "scout shall be obedient." Nor had CaptainDauntless thought it worth while to mention Law One, which says that a"scout's honor is to be trusted."
Connover glanced up and down the road from the bay-window to see if byany chance his mother might have forgotten something and was comingback. Reassured in this particular, he took up the rifle and, standingbefore the large pier-glass, he adopted a heroic attitude of aiming.Then he looked from the window down into the woods through which hecould see little glints of the river.
It was not glints of Salmon River that he saw, but the "Deadly MorassRiver" of South Africa; the woods were not quiet, fragrant pine woodswhere the First Bridgeboro Troop of real scouts was encamped, but thedeadly morass itself; and he was not Connover Bennett, but _DanDreadnought_, and this was the trusty rifle with which he would--
He looked again from the bay-window to make sure that his mother wasnot in sight. Then the creaking of a door startled him and he laid therifle down. It was queer how every little sound startled him. Heunfastened his negligee shirt at the neck and, standing before thepier-glass, arranged it as much like the frontispiece pictures of_Dan Dreadnought_ as possible. There was a curious flutteringfeeling in his chest all the while which annoyed him. It did not seemto jibe at all with the heroic program.
Yes, this was the rifle with which he would...
He tiptoed to the stairs and listened, "Molly, is that you?" he called.
"Yes, Master Connover."
"All right, I just wanted to know."
He went back into the room and opening the drawer of the desk, took outa box of cartridges, extracted several and put them in his pocket. Whenhe replaced the box he forgot which end of the drawer he had taken itfrom and was in a quandary where to place it. He took up the rifleagain, then laid it down and the thud of its butt on the floor startledhim. What a lot of noise it seemed to make!
It was oily and his hands were oily from it and left an oily stain onthe felt covering of the desk. He placed the inkstand over it, and allthe while he felt very strange and nervous; trembling almost as heplanned his exploit.
Then he took the rifle and got behind the revolving-chair, and restedthe weapon on it. It was not a very realistic jungle, but...
He saw the Zulus just as plain as day; and he saw himself, or rather,_Dan Dreadnought_, in that big pier-glass.
He knew the gun was not loaded and he pulled the trigger, whichclicked.
The click seemed louder than he thought it would and he listened insuspense. No sound.
Yes, this was the rifle with which he would... Casting one morecautious look from the window, he shouldered the weapon and hurriedquietly down the stairs.
"What time did my mother say she'd be back?" he called.
"Not till dinnertime, Master Connover." He crossed the road, and headedthrough the woods toward the river. Once in the woods, the spirit offreedom took possession of him and he indulged in the luxury ofshooting the gun at nothing at all.
"'I am a scout,'" he said, "'and can handle a hundred savages!'"
Whereas, in plain fact, he couldn't have been much farther from being ascout.
Arrested by a flutter in one of the trees, he leveled his gun again andby the luck of a random shot, brought down a robin. The sight of itsquivering body and loose-hanging neck as it lay at his feet almostfrightened him for he had never killed a red-blooded creature before,and he felt now a sense of heavy guilt. He was afraid to pick the robinup and when he finally did so and saw how wilted and drooping the thingwas and how aimlessly the head swung he was seized with a little panicof fear and dropped it suddenly.
But it was absolutely necessary that he should carry out his program ofencountering the Zulu's. As long as he was not really going to killanyone it was all right. He was at least going to have the thrill ofthat experience. Now that he had killed the robin, he found that inactual practice he preferred a sort of modified Dan Dreadnought to thereal one; and he could piece out with his imagination the moreharrowing features of Captain Dauntless's book.
So he pictured a dugout drawn up on the shore of the river which he wasapproaching; and he pictured a group of howling Zulus on the farthershore. He heard ikes and the splashing of water, and it fitted wellwith his heroic scheme to imagine these sounds were made by the howlingZulus, though in reality he knew, or thought he knew, that they camefrom farther up the river near the scouts' camp.
He was within a few yards of the river now and pushing through thethick growth which bordered it.
His imagination was working like machinery, and had all the featuresand details of his daring act, pat.
"'I am a boy scout,'" he repeated, "'and can handle----'"
He raised his rifle and, aiming with dramatic gesture at nothing inparticular, pulled the trigger, then dashed forward in a perfect frenzyof adventurous delight to the shore.
On the other side of the river the O'Connor boy was leaning back in thearms of one of a group of people, the boys in the boat were mendingtheir efforts to get to shore; someone said, "There he is!" and thenall eyes were upon him and Connover Bennett dropped the gun, reeledagainst a tree and stood staring as he realized that he was nearer tobeing the real _Dan Dreadnought_ than he had dreamed.
A cold sweat broke out upon his brow, his first impulse was to run withall his might and main; but he could not stir.
CHAPTER XVII
THE REAL THING