The Banner Boy Scouts on a Tour Part 30

"And he's coming lickety-split, to beat the band, too. Oh! I hope it isn't a messenger from Stanhope to bring us any bad news!" cried Tom Betts; who had left a sick mother when he came on the trip, and whose conscience, perhaps, caused him to have a sudden fear.

More than one pair of cheeks lost some of their color, in that quick spasm of alarm, following this suggestion on the part of Tom.

"Listen, fellows; he's tooting his auto horn like fun! It gives me a scare for keeps!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Philip Towne.

But Paul laughed aloud.

"Don't get frightened, fellows," he exclaimed, "I sure ought to know the sound of that old siren. That's my wheel; and who do you think's on it but our good scoutmaster, Mr. Gordon!"

"Hurrah!" came from a dozen pairs of lips, as the boys swung their hats aloft.

And this was the exciting picture that met the eyes of the scoutmaster when he burst into view around a bend, and sighted the camp on the lake sh.o.r.e.

Mr. Gordon was a very bright young fellow, with considerable experience in training boys. He had a fair grasp of the grand possibilities of this Boy Scouts' movement, and never lost an opportunity to pick up additional information. Nor did he disdain to ask some of his scouts concerning matters they had studied, but along which lines he did not happen to be well informed.

There was a grand "pow-wow," as William called it, after he came. He had to hear all that had happened since his leaving Stanhope on that unfortunate business trip. The adventures at the church on both nights were recounted by those who had taken part; and it was plain that the story lost none of its comical features in the telling.

After that he heard about the grand march, the meeting with the circus, and what the scouts had done to clear up their record for the day. Then came the various things that had occurred; until at last the dismal truth about the missing ham made Mr. Gordon laugh heartily.

"How did you manage with the Indian sign letters I left with you, sir?"

Paul asked, when he found a chance.

"Pretty well," replied the scoutmaster; "though once or twice your meaning was not quite clear. I had to use a lot of commonsense to understand whether a boy was pulled from the river, and brought around all right; or if a poor fellow had been taken with the colic, and you used a stomach pump on him. But then, as I said, my good sense told me the former must have been the case. Who was it, and is he all right again?"

"I'm the victim," declared Tom Betts, promptly; "and I guess the whole show would have been broke up if Paul here hadn't yanked me out like he did."

Mr. Gordon turned a look of sincere affection on Paul. He had studied the boy often, and always found something new to admire about him.

Still, he knew it was not always wise to praise a lad to his face; and so he only squeezed Paul's hand.

Paul was a happy fellow just then. It seemed to him that the load of responsibility had slipped from his shoulders like magic with the coming of Mr. Gordon. Now they could undertake all manner of interesting stunts; and each day would be taken up with dozens of events in which they wished to shine.

Presently the fishermen made their appearance. A shout went up at sight of the glorious strings of fine trout they carried. Although they had heard the cheers of their mates, and understood that Mr. Gordon must have arrived, really they did not have the heart to break away, while the fish were feeding so savagely.

"Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest!" cried Bobolink; "good-bye ham, and how d'ye do Mr. Trout. I really don't know which I like best.

When I'm eating trout my thoughts go out to ham; and when I'm sitting down to a rasher of bacon I do long so for a mess of trout. But they're all to the good, fellows. Do it some more, will you?"

And when William and the other cooks served the fish at noon the boys were loud in their praises. Some had suggestions to offer about the ways of cooking them; but it was noticed that half the inmates of the camp busied themselves immediately after lunch in hunting fishing tackle; and the prospect for peace among the finny tribes in that lake was small.

There was no little rivalry between the trio of cooks. Usually this took the form of good-natured chaffing, and trying new dishes, in order to arouse the envy of other patrols.

Bobolink always hung around to hear these discussions; but William made a great mistake when, thinking to bolster up his cause at one time, he demanded to know what the member of the Red Fox Patrol thought about it.

"Huh!" grunted the wise Bobolink, "I'll tell you, if you promise not to hold it against me, and give me the poorest grub in the bunch for spite."

"All right, go on," said William slowly, as though he already began to doubt the wisdom of asking his comrade's opinion; "I don't know as you c'n settle this important question at all; but I promise not to hold anything against you. Give us a straight yarn, now, Bobolink, hear!"

"Well," said Bobolink, with a grin, "when I hear you learned cooks disputing about how to do this, and that, I just have to think about the blind men and the elephant, you see."

"What about 'em?" demanded Nat Smith, who belonged to the third patrol, and had carried his mother's big cook book along into camp, thinking to surprise his rivals by the vast extent of his knowledge concerning cookery terms.

"Oh! shucks, d'ye mean to say you never heard that story?" said Bobolink. "Well, a lot of blind men in the Far East disputed about what an elephant looked like, though nary one had ever seen the critter. So they went, one at a time, to find out. Now what d'ye think happened?"

"How under the sun do we know? Get along with the yarn!" exclaimed William.

"Each feller came back with a different story," went on Bobolink gravely; "the one that grabbed the tail of the elephant vowed the wonderful animal was mighty like a rope. Another says a snake, because, you see, he got hold of the swinging trunk. A third vows the elephant was like a wall, just because he slammed up against his side. And a fourth hugged his leg, and was ready to take his affidavy the famous beast was made just like a tree! Get the idea, boys?"

Apparently they did, for a minute later Bobolink was seen flying for his life through the woods, with three mad cooks in full pursuit, shaking their fists after him, and threatening all sorts of vengeance.

Paul and Mr. Gordon concluded to push out from sh.o.r.e on the big raft, and try the fishing in that style. Fortunately there was little air stirring, so that the clumsy contrivance could be readily managed.

Mr. Gordon was not an expert fisherman; while Paul had had considerable experience in the art during his several Summers in Maine. He cast his flies with such skill that the scoutmaster expressed admiration, and took lessons in sending out the oiled silk line, so that the imitation flies dropped on the water softly.

They cast in toward the sh.o.r.e, of course, and near the spot where a creek sent its waters into the lake, each of them had a strike.

Paul succeeded in landing his fish, which proved to be a fair-sized specimen. Then Mr. Gordon tried again. In a short time he had a strike, and with a quick motion of the wrist succeeded in fastening the barb of the hook in the jaw of the fish.

"It's a dandy too, sir!" exclaimed Paul, as he saw a flash of rainbow colors, when the big trout jumped wildly into the air, trying to break loose by falling on the line; "keep a tight pull on him, sir, and if he drags too hard let him have just a little more line. Oh! but he's a beauty."

So coaching Mr. Gordon by degrees, he finally got the landing net ready; and after the prize had been played until almost exhausted it was lifted upon the raft with one swift and accurate movement.

After that the fishing seemed to slacken. Though the lake was undoubtedly just teeming with fish, still they had their times for feeding, and between these nothing could induce them to take hold.

Later in the day there were swimming tests started, and Mr. Gordon, who was at home in this sport, showed the boys many tricks whereby their prowess in the water might be doubled.

Paul had dressed, having cut his foot a trifle while walking on the rocks. He and the scoutmaster, were standing there talking, Mr. Gordon still had on his swimming trunks.

"I was just thinking, Paul," he remarked, "what a queer lake this is.

Have you noticed that it seems to have no visible outlet? Possibly some of its waters manage to get to the Bushkill because there are several streams running in; but where does it flow out?"

"Why, yes," returned Paul, "I did notice that. I suppose there must be an outlet in the bottom of the lake somewhere."

"Just what I had concluded; and it would stand to reason that such a hole might be somewhere near here. I'm a little anxious, because I've had an experience myself with such a sucker-hole, and came near losing my life in one. I managed to get hold of rocks on the bottom, and clawed my way outside the terrible suction that was drawing me steadily in toward the centre."

"Why, I noticed a peculiar swirl down just below where the boys are swimming now. There, Andy Flinn has dived right into the spot! Oh! I hope nothing will happen to Andy, sir. Perhaps you'd better call them out, right away!"

Mr. Gordon uttered an exclamation of alarm. He turned his head and seemed to be looking for something. Then Paul saw him s.n.a.t.c.h up a rope that was coiled, and hanging from the stump of a tree close to the camp.

Mr. Gordon had placed it there himself, and for a purpose.

"Come with me, Paul!" he called over his shoulder; but there was little need of his saying this, for the young patrol leader was already hurrying after him, his face white with sudden fear.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE SUCKER-HOLE

The swimmers were astonished to see Mr. Gordon coming on the run toward them, with Paul at his heels.