The Boy Scouts in A Trapper's Camp Part 3

Whether or not Sparrer would have taken the dare will never be known, for at that instant Upton introduced the big stranger, and the effect was magical to say the least. "I want you fellows to shake hands with some one you already know all about, Corporal Malone of the Lone Wolf Patrol, which had the honor of finding Lost Trail last fall, and one of the best guides in the North Woods," said he. "He and Harrison, whom you all know, are going with us on the hike this afternoon, and if you chaps feel as I do about it you know that we are the luckiest patrol in New York City. Pat, shake hands with a.s.sistant Leader McNulty."

Then in turn the others were presented, ending with Sparrer. Pat's blue eyes twinkled as his big hand closed over the little one put out to him.

"'Tis Irish ye be," said he, "and 'tis the same blood flows in me own veins. Pwhat iver would the wor-rld do widout the Irish? The Blue Tortoise Patrol should be proud thot it has a son av St. Patrick."

"It is," laughed Upton. "Now, fellows, the Blue Tortoise yell for the best Scout I know--Pat Malone!"

The yell was given with a will and caused many a head to turn in the hurrying throng, and many a smile, for the trim uniformed youngsters, faces alight with eagerness for their afternoon outing, were good to see. Laughing and joking the patrol squeezed into the crowded subway express and they were off for Bronx Park, the wonderful great playground where for a five cent fare one is lifted as by magic from the heart of the city to the heart of the country.

As the train roared through the great tunnel Pat scanned the individual members of the patrol with manifest approval. They were a clean-cut, st.u.r.dy looking lot of boys ranging in age from thirteen to sixteen, McNulty, the a.s.sistant leader, being the only one of that age. And they were a representative lot. Two were the sons of well-to-do merchants, one was the son of a broker, another was from the modest home of a patrolman on the police force, a fifth was the son of a subway guard, and the remaining two were Bernstein, whose features unmistakably stamped him as a Hebrew of the upper cla.s.s, and Sparrer Muldoon, newsboy and street gamin.

Pat's interest promptly centered in the latter, and he took the first opportunity to ask about him and how he happened to be a.s.sociated with others seemingly so far above him in the social scale. Upton smiled.

"There isn't any social scale among Scouts, you know," said he.

Pat nodded. "I ought to know," he agreed. "If there were Pat Malone wouldn't be this very minute the guest of the son of a millionaire. But I wasn't one of a regular patrol of fellows better off. Tell me something about this imp you call Sparrer, and how you dared take him into this bunch. He seems to fit all right, so far as I can see."

"Sure he fits," replied Walter. "I put it up to the fellows themselves and they invited him to join. First time I ran into Sparrer made me think of the first time I met you. He had just trimmed the life out of a bully half a head taller than himself for stealing the papers of a little Jew."

Pat's eyes began to dance appreciatively. "Go on," he commanded.

"He had a black eye and a b.l.o.o.d.y nose and he was as dirty a little heathen as ever you laid eyes on. But he sure packed a healthy punch in each fist and knew where to put 'em, to judge by the looks of the bully, who was sneaking away with a whole crowd of newsies jeering at him.

Sparrer didn't pay any attention to the rest of 'em, but went over to the little Jew and gave him half of his own stock of papers to make up for the ones the bully had taken, and which had been destroyed in the sc.r.a.p. When the youngster tried to thank him Sparrer swore at him, and he could swear in those days, believe me! That was the Irish in him, trying to cover up a good deed."

"A bye afther me own heart," murmured Pat.

"The whole affair, or rather the motive underneath it, struck me as so Scout-like that I thought I'd try to get acquainted," continued Upton.

"'Good boy,' says I.

"'Wot's it to you?' says he. 'Oi'll smash yer the same way fer a nickel, yer big dude!' That tickled the bunch, and they began to egg him on and guy me until I saw that if I didn't want to be mixed up in a common street sc.r.a.p I'd better retreat, which I did ingloriously. Later I managed to sc.r.a.pe acquaintance with him, and by making some inquiries I found out that his mother is a widow and he was helping support the family, that he had a reputation as a sc.r.a.pper and that though he swore like a pirate, smoked and chewed tobacco, as most of these street gamins do, he was strictly honest and was a terror to the bullies of his neighborhood. Also that he'd rather fight than eat. Just by chance I discovered that his ambition was to become a soldier, but he was worried for fear he never would be big enough. He's small for his age, stunted for lack of good food when he was a kid, I guess. Next to going into the army he wanted to be a prize-fighter. I talked scouting to him a little, but he didn't seem interested until one day I happened along in full uniform. That got him. I suppose it looked next best to being a soldier.

Then I told him all about my patrol and what we were doing and what scouting stands for, and he gulped it all down like a hard run buck trying to drink a lake dry.

"'Gee, Oi'd like dat, but it ain't for poor blokes the loikes of me,'

said he. That gave me an idea. There was a vacancy in the patrol, and at the next meeting I put it right straight to the fellows. I told them all about Sparrer and got 'em interested, and then I just kind of hinted at the brotherhood and democracy idea of scouting and what a mighty good turn it would be if Sparrer could be given a chance to get into the game, and then dropped the subject. The hint worked all right. They're a pretty good bunch, these fellows. They talked it all over and then they came around and asked me if I supposed Sparrer would like to join the Blue Tortoise Patrol. I told them that I was sure he wouldn't if he suspected that the invitation was charity on their part. They chewed this over for a while and then came around and said that they really would like to take him in, and there wasn't any charity about it. I took the invitation to Sparrer and he went up in the air like a rocket, just as I knew he would.

"'Say, yer can't put no stuff loike dat over on me,' said he. 'Wot do yer tink Oi am to fall fer a steer loike dat? Dat bunch of high-brows ain't wantin' me trainin' in dere camp. Youse has been on de level wid me, now hand it ter me straight--wot's de game?'

"I did my best to make him see that the invitation was sincere and explained all over again how there is no social distinction between Scouts, and how money and that sort of thing doesn't count, but I couldn't break through his pride. I'd about given up when I had a happy thought. 'Sparrer,' said I, 'I thought you were a dead game sport, but I guess you've got a streak of yellow in you after all. Some of these fellows are from fine homes and some are not, but they're white right through, and they've got more sand than you have. They dare to take you in on the same footing that they are on, and you haven't got the nerve to show 'em that you are just as good as they are.'

"That got him. The long and short of it was he agreed to come around to my house the next night and meet the bunch, and he did. The fellows were good Scouts, all right, and treated him on the level just as if he were one of 'em. When he saw those photos of mine and the snow-shoes and paddles and the rest of the junk, and heard about the good times the bunch was having, he was eager to be a Scout, but he wouldn't say that he would join the patrol. It wasn't until about three weeks later when he came around in full uniform and said that he would like to be a Blue Tortoise that I tumbled to what the trouble had been. He wouldn't join until he could at least look as well as the rest, and he'd been working over time and saving every penny to get that uniform. I guess he was right, at that. The fellows wouldn't have cared, but he cared, and being dressed like the rest made him feel more as if he belonged with the crowd."

Again Pat nodded his full understanding of the youngster's feelings.

"Sparrer took to scouting like a duck to water," Upton continued. "He cut out tobacco and swearing, and being naturally quick from his life in the streets he learned quickly and pa.s.sed the tenderfoot and second cla.s.s tests quicker than anybody else in the patrol. He's a first cla.s.s Scout now, and a mighty good one. He is so full of life and fun that it wasn't any time at all before he was one of the most popular fellows in the patrol, and when he's on hand he keeps things moving. The hardest thing he has to overcome is slang. You know he was brought up in the streets. It's his mother tongue. I'm afraid the boys don't help him much. They like to hear him. But he's doing his best, and now he's going to night school. Of course I've told him all about you and the fight you've made and I rather fancy he's made something of a model and hero of you."

"The saints forbid!" exclaimed Pat. Nevertheless he looked pleased.

"Bronx Park! All out!" sang out the guards.

Once out of the car the patrol fell into line and with Upton in the lead headed for the park. Once inside the turnstiles he called a conference, "You fellows know what we planned to do to-day," he began, "but that was before we knew that we were to have the honor of Corporal Malone as our guest. You know he is something of a naturalist, and there are a lot of animals and birds and snakes and things here that I expect he is anxious to see. I propose that we show him around instead of doing the field work we had planned."

"Mr. Leader!" Pat saluted as he spoke. "The beasties and the bur-rds will not know what they are missing if they have no chance to inspect green goods to-day."

Chick started violently, remembering his remark to Sparrer, and the latter maliciously punched him in the ribs and ducked to hide a grin.

"But I know what I shall miss if you do not carry out your plans, and I have no mind to be handed that kind of a lemon. I have all next week to look at the beasties and only this afternoon to see how little a city patrol knows of scouting. Arrah now, 'tis mesilf belaves ye be afraid to be showing me how much betther the Scouts av Upper Chain be than the Scouts av the great city av Noo Yor-r-k!"

"That settles it!" cried Upton when the general laugh had subsided.

"We'll show him that the Blue Tortoise Patrol isn't afraid to take a dare from any one, and we'll show him a few stunts to make his Bull Moose up there in the woods turn green with envy. You're on your mettle now, fellows. We'll go over to the wildest and most lonesome part of the park and divide into two companies. Pat can take one and be the enemy which has made a successful raid and made its get-away. Hal can go with him because he knows the country as well as any of us. We'll give them ten minutes' start and then go in pursuit. There's enough snow in patches to make s...o...b..a.l.l.s. Any one hit on the arms or legs is wounded. A hit on the throwing arm puts that man out of the fighting, but he is still at liberty. A hit on either leg puts a man out of action, but he may hide if he can within a radius of a hundred feet of the place where he was. .h.i.t. A hit on the head or any part of the body puts a man wholly out of action and he becomes a first aid man to take care of the wounded. You fellows have played the game before, and I presume each of you has a Red Cross arm band to pin on when you are hit so that you will be recognized as a non-combatant."

There was a general a.s.sent and Upton continued: "Our camp will be at the point we start from. If the enemy can elude us and get back and capture the camp they win. If we run them down and defeat them or defeat them in a battle at the camp we win. Any man taken prisoner becomes a member of the other side. Scouts sent out by either side will make full reports not only of signs of the enemy but of the country and its conspicuous characteristics and animals and birds which are seen. Pat, you can pick your side. You get three besides Hal."

Pat's first choice was Sparrer, to the youngster's secret delight. He then chose McNulty and Bernstein, and the two companies, Pat at the head of one and Upton at the head of the other, started at the Scout pace for the scene of action. Arrived there a camp was marked off and Pat and his company at once started off to make the most of the ten minutes allotted them. Meanwhile Upton laid out his plan of campaign. The camp had been chosen with a view to defense. On two sides were dense thickets of bushes from which it would be practically impossible to throw a s...o...b..ll. Moreover, to reach these thickets it would be necessary for the enemy to cross a bare hilltop, which meant that surprise from that quarter was virtually out of the question. On the third side was an outcropping ledge of rock behind which the defenders could take shelter.

The fourth side was open, but could not be approached without the enemy being in sight for some time. Moreover, in the flat open country beyond there was no snow, hence the enemy attacking from that direction would not be able to replenish their ammunition. Upton decided that two men were ample for defense, and at once set all hands to work making a supply of s...o...b..a.l.l.s from the patches of snow still lingering in the thickets. Promptly at the end of ten minutes Chick Parsons was sent out as scout to try to pick up the enemy's trail at the point where they had disappeared from view with instructions to signal what he should discover. Norwood was sent in the opposite direction to look for signs on the chance that the enemy had circled as soon as they were out of sight. Patterson and Chambers were left to guard camp and Upton climbed to the top of the little hill which flanked the camp and from which point he could get signals from both Scouts. The game was on.

CHAPTER IV

"HELP!"

Every member of the Blue Tortoise Patrol was on edge, eager to show Pat that though they were city born and bred they still knew something of practical woodcraft and the art of tracking; also of the even more difficult art of covering up tracks. But it was ordained that things should be otherwise that day and that the big woodsman should witness a real and not an artificial test of Scout resources and pluck.

Chick, studying what struck him as a suspiciously broad trail leading west from the point where the enemy had last been seen, and suspecting a ruse, was startled by the faint sound of a whistle to the north. It was the patrol signal for help and was used only in case of an emergency or when, as in the present game, a Scout was in danger of capture by the opposite side and wanted to summon aid. His first thought was that one of his own side had run onto the enemy and was summoning help. Then he remembered that he was the only one who had gone out on that side of camp and so it was manifestly impossible that this could be.

"Wonder if that's a trick to lead us into an ambuscade," he muttered, listening with growing suspicion. Again he heard the signal, and there was something in the sound of it that banished all idea of trickery.

"Something's happened to one of the fellows!" he exclaimed, and scrambled up a knoll to his left where he could get a fairly clear view.

Far in the distance toward the outer boundary of the park he saw a figure which the instant he came in sight began to signal with a whistle in the Morse code.

"M-o-t-o-r s-m-a-s-h o-n r-o-a-d h-e-l-p c-o-p-s," he spelled out.

Raising his own whistle he signaled O. K. and saw the distant figure turn and race away at top speed.

"Phew!" he gasped. "Must be bad if they need the cops. That must mean they need an ambulance." He whirled toward camp, and caught sight, of a figure on the hill just back of it. It was Upton watching for signals, and Chick knew that he must have heard him whistle the O. K. Once more raising the whistle he repeated the message, adding the location of the accident as nearly as he could judge. He heard Upton whistle for Norwood and then saw him bound down into the hollow where the camp lay. A minute later Patterson, the best runner in the patrol, sprang into view headed for the park administration buildings at top speed. Satisfied that help would come in the shortest possible time Chick picked up his staff and started swiftly for the point where he had seen Sparrer disappear, for it was he who had first signaled.

Meanwhile Pat, Hal and the three members of the Blue Tortoise Patrol who had started out with them were working with might and main at the scene of the accident and in their hearts praying that help would reach them speedily. It was one of those disasters which in these days have become so common that often they receive no more than a paragraph or two in the daily papers. Two automobiles had come together on a turn in a road at this time of year little frequented, and the smaller of the two had turned turtle. The other, a powerful roadster, had escaped with but trifling damage and the driver of it had not even paused to ascertain the results of the collision, but had thrown on full power and left the scene at racing speed.

The accident had occurred at a point about one hundred yards from where Pat and Sparrer were about to emerge from a thicket of bushes lining the drive and at the sound of the crash they sprang out. An instant later a big roadster tore past and they caught a fleeting glimpse of a strained white face behind the big steering wheel and beyond, partly raised and half turned to look back, a fur-coated figure, evidently that of a young man. For just a second his face turned toward them, then hastily turned away. But that brief glimpse was enough to show them that it bore the stamp of guilty fear.

Pat confessed later that the whole thing was so sudden and so wholly foreign to anything within his experience that he was too confused to think or act quickly. Not so Sparrer. His life in the streets of New York had made him no stranger to accidents of a more or less tragic nature, and he had seen too many violators of the law seeking to escape the consequences of their own acts not to grasp the situation instantly.

"They are trying to make a get-away!" he snapped. "Get de number!"

This was Greek to Pat, whose acquaintance with automobiles was too recent for him to appreciate the importance of a license number at a time like this. But Sparrer had not practiced taking automobile numbers in the rush hours at Madison Square for nothing. It had been only fun there, by way of training his eyes to quick and sure observation. Now as a result eye and brain worked in unison and almost automatically and despite the speed of the car he got the number as surely as if it had been at a standstill.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HE JOTTED DOWN THE NUMBER]

"Jersey car! Dey'll beat it fer across de river," said he as he jotted down the number in his note-book. "Did yer pipe dere monikers? Oi'd know dem in a tousand! Now let's see wot happened to de others."