Under Boy Scout Colors Part 9

The smugglers gathered about half a mile on the other side of the border and were allowed to cross it in any formation, singly, together, or scattered, and make for the town at any speed they chose. One only of their number was supposed to be smuggling, and he was equipped with tracking-irons. The moment a sentry patrolling the border caught sight of these tracks, his duty was to signal the fact to the reserve party of inspectors and at once follow the track himself. The reserves cooperated with him, trying by any means to catch the smuggler before he could reach the town. If they succeeded, the game was theirs; but if the smuggler eluded them and reached the barn safely, victory went to the other side.

It was a typical scout sport, and for three hours or more the fellows played it strenuously, varying it toward the end with one or two other stalking games. These all met with unanimous approval, even Bob Gibson, the habitual grumbler, admitting that it was more fun than he thought it would be.

"We'll have to try some more of those in the book," Ward remarked as they tramped back through the twilight. "That deer-hunt one sounds pretty good, if you fellows will only make bows and arrows enough. I vote we fix up a deer and go to it next Sat.u.r.day."

It happened, however, that the following Sat.u.r.day was devoted to something even more interesting than deer-hunting. As Dale entered the parish-house on Monday evening he pa.s.sed Mr. Curtis, just inside the door, talking earnestly with Wesley Becker.

"It was a big surprise to me, I can tell you," he heard the scoutmaster say. "I can't imagine what has brought about the transformation."

"He doesn't say, I suppose?" asked Becker.

"No; it's just the curt invitation. He's hedged it about with all sorts of prohibitions, but still it's wonderful he should have come around at all."

"It'll be corking for the troop!" exclaimed Becker, enthusiastically.

"That's the one thing we've lacked, and if--"

At that point Tompkins pa.s.sed beyond the range of their voices, but he had heard enough to rouse his curiosity. Fortunately this did not have to remain long unsatisfied. After the opening exercises the scoutmaster faced the three patrols, a small sheet of paper in one hand.

"Attention, scouts!" he said crisply. "The troop will be much pleased to learn, I'm sure, that Mr. Grimstone has given us permission to use the north side of his lake for camping purposes."

For an instant there was amazed silence. Then a bedlam of surprised comment arose, mingled with a torrent of eager questions, which Mr.

Curtis did not attempt to quell.

"Well, what do you know about that!" "Hurrah for old Grimey!" "Can we skate there, Mr. Curtis?" "Will he let us swim in the summer?" "Can't we go out this Sat.u.r.day?" "How did you work it, sir?"

"One at a time," smiled the scoutmaster. "I'll answer the last one first. I didn't 'work it,' as you so pithily express it, Vedder, at all. I've failed several times to get this privilege from Mr. Grimstone, and his letter this morning was as much of a surprise to me as to any one. He doesn't state the reason for his change of mind."

A shock of sharp surprise sent the blood tingling into Dale Tompkins's face and clenched his hands spasmodically. "Gee!" he muttered under his breath. "I wonder-- Why, it must be! But I never thought of that--not for a minute!" He paused an instant, his gaze growing introspective. "He certainly is one good old scout," he murmured to himself. "I said his bark was a lot worse than his bite."

Then he realized that Mr. Curtis was speaking.

"We're not to go beyond the dam at one end of the lake or the inlet at the other. In other words, there must be no trespa.s.sing on the side of the water where the buildings and orchard stand. He doesn't wish any timber cut, and there are several other minor prohibitions. He says nothing against swimming or skating, so I imagine both will be allowed.

As for camping there on Sat.u.r.day, I'm afraid it will be too cold to stay overnight, but there's no reason why we shouldn't hike out in the morning and make a day of it."

So it was that the following Sat.u.r.day morning found practically the entire troop hiking briskly along the Beldon Turnpike at an early hour.

Ranny Phelps had complained that there wouldn't be much fun in just a picnic affair, but he was there, nevertheless. The others had no such criticism to make. They fairly bubbled enthusiasm, and in their eagerness to reach the hitherto forbidden spot many of them would have willingly gone the entire distance at scout's pace.

When they finally left the road and turned off into the woods along an overgrown lumber-track, it was like exploring an undiscovered country.

Most of them had been there before, but with a difference. When one's ears must be constantly open for the baying of dogs, with the necessity ever present of being ready for instant flight, there is little chance to appreciate the beauties of nature. Now, instead of having to creep along through trees and undergrowth, they could boldly follow the sh.o.r.e-line, investigate every little cove or promontory, discuss possible camping-sites, and even make definite plans with the a.s.surance that these could be actually carried out in the spring.

At about eleven o'clock they reached the old swimming-place near the head of the lake and halted by general consent. Hitherto, they had considered the spot solely from the point of view of aquatic sport; now they realized that a more ideal spot for a camp could scarcely be imagined. A small, rocky point thrust its flat nose out into the lake.

One side was sliced off as with a knife, and here the depth varied from six to eight feet; on the other it shelved more gradually. Back of it, the level open s.p.a.ce, facing south and hedged in by a thick shelter of hemlock, would accommodate five or six shelter-tents with ease. Scarcely a dozen yards away, a clear spring bubbled into a mossy basin.

In an instant packs were laid aside, and under Becker's direction one party foraged for wood while another brought stones for an oven and cut saplings for the crane or forked sticks to use in broiling meat.

Sandwiches and other ready-to-eat provisions were not looked upon with favor. Every boy wanted something he could cook, and the variety of chops, small steaks, eggs, bacon, ham, and the like that swiftly appeared was endless. One enterprising scout had even brought a can of twist-dough and proceeded deftly to brown it on sticks held over the embers. On every hand were voiced regrets that they couldn't have come prepared to stay overnight.

"I don't believe it would have been too cold, with the fire and everything," said Bennie Rhead, after they had finished luncheon and were sitting lazily around the blaze for a bit before tackling the job of cleaning up. "Why, it's as warm as toast now."

"Naturally, with the sun pouring in here all the morning," smiled Mr. Curtis. "You'd find it rather different at night. If we all had sleeping-bags or tents that were really tight, we might undertake it. But our sort of equipment isn't meant for winter, and there's no use risking colds when you'll have all the time you want next spring and summer. By the way, Sherman, did you send that letter to Mr. Grimstone?"

"Yes, sir. Ted and Ranny and I made it up, and all the fellows signed it.

I posted it on Wednesday."

"That's good. I wrote him, myself, but I wanted him to see that you fellows, as well, appreciated what he's done." He rested his head against a tree-trunk and glanced appraisingly around the glade. "What a place this would be for a log-cabin!" he remarked.

"Immense!" exclaimed Court Parker, sitting suddenly upright. "With a big stone fireplace at one end."

"And bunks!" added Sanson, enthusiastically. "And shelves where we could keep pans and things. And--"

"We could camp here any time of the year then, couldn't we?"

"Sure! And think of coming in when your hands and feet are 'most frozen from skating, and thawing out before a roaring blaze, and making some cocoa,--oh, yum! Do you s'pose there's any chance, Mr. Curtis, of his letting us--" Sherman broke off with a sigh. "I forgot. He doesn't want any timber cut."

"No; and I'd scarcely like to ask him, anyway, after he's been so decent," said the scoutmaster. "It would look as if we didn't appreciate what he's done already." His glance swept thoughtfully around the open s.p.a.ce again as if he were seeing in his mind's eye the structure that had excited such instant enthusiasm. "Of course, it would be quite possible to cut enough timber for a cabin without in the least hurting the woods; in fact a little thinning would do them good."

"Wouldn't it be a corking place to feed the birds from in winter!"

suddenly spoke up Paul Trexler, a silent, reserved sort of chap. "We started up three or four covies of quail between the road and here."

"It certainly would!" The scoutmaster's tone was emphatic. "You've hit the best argument in its favor yet, Paul. The woods are fairly teeming with birds of all sorts; I noticed it as we came along. The place has been barred to the public for so long that I dare say the wild creatures have come to feel more or less safe here. With a cabin right on this spot we could keep grain in fairly large quant.i.ties, and when the heavy snows come, it would be easy to establish regular feeding-stations at different points, and--"

A sudden yelping made him break off and turn quickly, to see a large dog burst from the thicket at one side of the glade. With hair bristling and teeth bared, the animal pulled up abruptly and started a furious barking.

The scouts leaped up and several s.n.a.t.c.hed sticks from the woodpile. An instant later, however, the low, sweeping hemlock branches parted, and Caleb Grimstone himself stepped into the open. With a snarl he silenced the dog and sent him groveling to heel. Then he faced Mr. Curtis and the boys with an odd, embarra.s.sed defiance that made the former suspect his appearance had not been intentional, but was rather the result of the dog's outburst.

"This is mighty nice, Mr. Grimstone!" exclaimed the scoutmaster, advancing with outstretched hand. "You see we haven't lost any time in taking advantage of your kindness."

"Huh!" mumbled the old man. "I was jest takin' a little walk, an' heard voices--"

He paused awkwardly, glowering around the circle of wide-eyed boys.

"I had no idea you were able to walk so far," put in Mr. Curtis, quickly, "or we'd certainly have invited you to eat lunch with us. Won't you let the boys cook you something now? They're mighty proud of the way they can--"

"I've had dinner," interrupted the old man, hastily. He fumbled for a moment with the stout cane he carried; then his gaze returned to the scoutmaster. "I heard you sayin' somethin' about feedin' birds," he said curtly. "I didn't know you-- What was it you meant?"

Briefly Mr. Curtis explained their methods of establishing feeding-stations through the woods and caring for them. When he had finished, Mr. Grimstone nodded.

"Humph!" he commented grumpily, "I--I like the birds. One o' the reasons I wouldn't--" He paused again and glowered at the boys. "_They_ couldn't make a log-cabin," he stated positively. "It would be too much like real work."

A sudden stir went through the group. Mr. Curtis smiled. "I should hate to set them at it unless I really wanted it done," he laughed.

"How'd they know what trees to cut an' what to leave? They'd make a mess o' the whole place."

"Not with proper supervision," argued Mr. Curtis.

"Would you look after it?" inquired the old man, sharply.

"Certainly! I'd gladly const.i.tute myself general foreman."

"Humph!" There was a momentary pause, tense with suspense. A battery of eyes, eager, expectant, pleading, was turned upon the old man, whose bent shoulders straightened a bit. "Wal, you can go ahead, then," he agreed crustily. "But all I can say is--"