Boy Scouts of the Air on Lost Island Part 9

"Know anybody there by the name of Tod Fulton? He's a cousin of mine--why, what's the matter?" for the three boys had cried out in dismay.

"Why--why--he's the boy we're after. He's our chum," stammered Jerry at last.

"Then what you after him for--if he's your chum?"

"Well, he's--he's----" began Jerry, and Dave blurted out:

"Drowned!"

"What!" cried the whole crew at that. "Tod Fulton drowned!"

"We don't know for sure. That's why we're trying to get onto Lost Island."

Then the story came out, piecemeal, for all three insisted on telling it. Phil stood as if stunned. At the end he said simply:

"He's my cousin. I'm Phil Fulton. We live at Chester. That's about ten miles south of here. We're the Flying Eagle Patrol of Boy Scouts--maybe you noticed our suits."

"Thought you were some kind of bushwhackers the way you dropped on us,"

complained Frank. "But what was the idea in thumping us because you thought we were from the island?"

"We had good reasons enough," declared Phil. "We left town at midnight last night, hiked all the way to our boat-landing two miles up the river, and made the long pull up the Plum in the dark just for the sake of getting an early morning chance at the best ba.s.s rock you ever heard of--just to get chased out at the point of a shotgun after we'd landed the first one--a three pounder too. Can you blame us for being sore?"

"On Lost Island?" asked Jerry eagerly.

"No, _off_ Lost Island. A big burly ruffian blew down on us, cussing a streak, and wouldn't hardly let us get into our boat. Chucked stones at us all the way across and promised us a mess of birdshot if we came back. Do you blame us for wanting to lay you out?" It was Dave's conqueror who spoke.

"If that's what you do on suspicion, I don't want to be around when you're sure of yourself. My ribs'll be sore for a week."

The boys had been talking excitedly; each one was wrought up over the fate of poor Tod and this was the only way they were willing to show their feelings. It was Phil who brought them back to earth.

"Well, fellows," he suggested, "let's get acquainted first, and then let's see if we can't frame up some way of getting across and going over that island from end to end. Line up, Scouts, and be presented."

The Scouts lined up in two columns.

"This is Sid Walmsly, nicknamed 'the worm,' partly because that's the way we p.r.o.nounce his name, but mostly because it's a long worm that has no turn, and Sid says he's always the one to be left out. You can remember him by the wart on his left knuckle. Next is d.i.c.k Garrett; he's a.s.sistant Patrol Leader. This thin, long-drawn-out morsel of sweet temper is Fred Nelson. We tried to nickname him "Angel" but he licked everyone that tried it on him. Now comes our joker, we'd call him Trixie if we dared. His ma calls him Algy Brown. Frank Willis stands first in the behind row. He goes by the name of "Budge," chiefly because he _won't_ unless he wants to. Barney Knowles, the littlest giant in the world--the one in the red sweater. He wears a sweater in July and shirt-sleeves in December. And last of all, but not least--far from it--Ted Lewis, the only grouchy fat man in captivity. Smile for us, Teddy." Teddy growled.

Jerry introduced himself and his two chums, and then turned anxiously to Phil. "Got any plan?"

"Why not just get into our boat and row over? We can tell that chump over there----"

"Thought you told us good Scouts were always respectful to our elders?"

interrupted Ted, he of the "grouch."

"Respectful where respect is _due_," came the quick response. "We can tell the gentleman that we have sent the rest of the gang back for the sheriff----"

"And good Scouts never tell lies----" This from Ted again.

"Be still or I'll make it the truth by sending you back after him. We ought to make the try, anyway, because that makes our next move easier.

If we can't get on the island in the open, we've got to use a little strategy. If we just could get our boat around to the other side of the island----"

"I've got it!" cried Dave. "Our boat's down the river. While the bunch of us keep up a demonstration along the sh.o.r.e here, two of us could slip down and get the boat and sneak in at the lower end."

"Good. We'd best waste no time about it because it's going to be coming on dark before we know it. Who's going along with me?"

"To the island? I'll go. The man knows _me_," agreed Jerry. "Where's your boat?"

The rest waited in the cover of the bushes while Phil and Jerry quietly made their way down the river bank to where the Scout boat was moored.

They sprang in at once, Phil pushing off and hopping lightly to the oars. There was only one pair, but he sent the boat skimming across the ripples. No one was in sight on the island, and they were in hopes of making a landing un.o.bserved, but just as their boat touched sh.o.r.e the willows parted and the man stepped out on the high bank.

"Back again?" he demanded gruffly.

"Oh, yes," replied Phil easily. "We came back to see if you'd let us look for a box of tackle one of the boys thinks he left down where we were fishing this morning."

"Oh! And you," said the man sarcastically, turning to Jerry. "I suppose you came to look for a lock of hair from your drowned friend's head?"

The man's tone was so unfeeling that Jerry simply gasped, but Phil boiled over at once.

"I'll have you know that that boy was my cousin. We have good reason for believing that he's on this island and _we're going to search it_!"

"Oh, indeed!" and Jerry could have sworn that there was a twinkle in the man's eye for all there was no mistaking the threat in his voice.

"Well, I can promise you a full-sized spanking unless you make yourselves scarce in just about one half minute. This makes the third time I've had to chase you off--and third time's the charm, you know."

"But why don't you want us to look for our friend? Surely you've got nothing against him--or us."

"Not a thing. Not a thing, sonny. Only I live on this place, and I can't have a troop of youngsters tracking mud in at my front door. That friend of yours couldn't very well be on my island without my knowing it, could he?"

"But you've never said out and out that he wasn't on the island,"

a.s.serted Jerry boldly. "And you've acted so suspicious that--that we wouldn't believe you now if you did say it."

The man laughed at that, for Jerry had started out by trying to be diplomatic, but his feelings got the better of him before the end.

"I'll be careful not to say it then. As for the tackle box--here it is." Jerry opened his eyes wide; he had thought the box a pure invention on the part of Phil. "Now back water and keep backing."

"You think you've got us beat," shouted Jerry at his retreating back.

"Never you worry--I've told Mr. Fulton, and he and Mr. Aikens will be coming down here with a posse. They won't be asking your permission if they can investigate an island that doesn't belong to you any more than it does to me."

"It belongs to Mr. Fulton, I suppose?" challenged the man, and turning around for a last laugh. Neither boy answered.

"You tell your Mr. Fulton that I said he was welcome to come any time."

"Now what?" asked Jerry, as Phil turned the boat about and headed for the other sh.o.r.e.

"What next? Night, mostly. Then I think we'll show your Mr. Billings a few Scout tricks he doesn't know about."

"I didn't say his name was Billings----"

"I know--but _I_ did. I've seen him before. That may be the reason he's so touchy about having us land on the island. The last time I saw him it was down at dad's office. Uncle Ed--that's Mr. Fulton, you know--was there, and when I opened the door on them suddenly, he and this Billings were having the hottest kind of an argument. Dad hustled me out of there in a hurry, but not before Uncle Ed'd called him Billings--and a lot of other things."

"You think then that Billings is still sore at Mr. Fulton, and that he's holding Tod there----"