Percy Keese Fitzhugh

“ ROY’S CAMPFIRE YARN
“That’s what you get for being small,” sighed Pee-wee to Raymond Hollister, as they strolled about together while waiting for supper. “When you say you want to go with them or tell them about an idea you have, they just laugh at you, or don’t pay any attention. It just goes in one ear and out the other—because there’s nothing to stop it, as Roy says. Gee, you have to laugh at that feller. He makes me awful mad sometimes—when he gets to jollying—but you have to laugh at him.” ”

“ Reaching the elusive spot, they found themselves at last at the haven of their desire, for there was the wooden boy scout facing them, his stiff arm raised and his painted fingers sticking upright in the scout salute, as if to greet the tired wayfarers, who sank down, panting ostentatiously, upon a bench close by.
“What do you say we agree not to tell the fellows that we were lost and—and—asked our way?” said Artie.
“All right,” said Tom, “we’re the three leaders and no one knows it but us. ”

“ Sure enough, there was a sort of zigzag trail, becoming plainer as it wound its way up, by which one might ascend by a longer though safer route. It followed a deep cleft in the rocks and led, as they surmised, to the easier slope on the landward side of the mountain.
“Why didn’t he take that path, do you suppose?” said the scoutmaster.
“Because he was a dare-devil,” said Roy.
Mr. Ellsworth stood silently as Tom and Roy started up the trail. It led them, as they had supposed it would, to a broader path by which the hill could be surmounted. Here were indistinct footprints at intervals. ”

“ A half dozen or more of them were sprawled upon the cabin roof as the Honor Scout glided silently up the river.
“Merit badges are a cinch,” said Roy.
“No, they’re not either,” said Connie Bennet.
“Sure, all you have to do for the Architecture Badge is to build a castle in the air. Know how to win the Astronomy Badge?” he asked, turning to little Raymond who was always hugely amused at Roy’s nonsense. “Jump out of a third-story window, land on your head and see stars. The Aviation Badge is easy, too. Fly up in the air when anybody kids you—like Pee-wee. Know how to win the Plumbers’ Badge? ”

“ Indeed, he had never seemed to be thoroughly at home with anyone except Garry and Jeb Rushmore. They all liked him for the quiet, odd little fellow that he was. They seldom jollied him as they did Pee-wee and they humored his prejudices and notions when those became known. He would sit, hour in and hour out, quietly listening to their talk, laughing at Roy’s nonsense, and occasionally emboldened to defend Garry against some bantering charge.
[174]
“Right you are, Ray, old pal,” said Roy. “It’s the suit that makes the scout. That’s a good slap at Tomasso; sling it into him, Ray!” ”

“ Ruth interrupted. “Tell me what an Honor Scout is?”
“Is it a riddle?”
“No, it isn’t a riddle; I really want to know.”
“An Honor Scout is a scout that has a sense of honor. There’s only one scout in our troop that has any sense of honor—that’s Honorable Tomasso Slade alias Sherlock Nobody Holmes. He has the gold cross. Honorable Garry Everson has the silver cross. That means he has some sense of honor, but not so much.”
“I don’t believe a word you’re telling me,” she said.
Roy looked at her through the strings of his racket. “Boy Scout behind prison bars,” said he, teasingly. ”

“ Didn’t you?”
“I said I could find the trees that had the stalking marks last summer,” said Tom, “and I got to admit I was wrong, ’cause I couldn’t.”
“Who was it that wouldn’t sit down and eat supper while somebody was dying?” demanded Doc. “There’s a whole lot of good scouts, believe me, but there’s only one Tom Slade!”
It was always the way—they made fun of him and lauded him by turns.
“There’s a kind of trail here,” said Tom, unmoved, “but it hasn’t been used for a long time—see those spider webs across it? Lend me your axe, will you, mine is all dulled.” ”

“ The Good Turn had run up alongside the Honor Scout which had come to anchor for swimming and luncheon, and Tom and his patrol had gone aboard the larger boat for “eats,” where an uproarious session of jollying usually awaited him.
“Hurrah for Sigmund Eisner!” shouted Roy. “He’s the fellow that makes scouts, hey, Raymond?”
“No, he isn’t,” said Raymond, quite boldly. “He’s the fellow that makes suits.” ”

“ A sudden rustling of the underbrush told of some frightened wood creature. The brook rippled softly as before. There was no other sound, and they waited. Then, from somewhere far off came the faint answering of a human voice. It would never have been distinguishable save in that deathlike stillness and even there it sounded as if it might have come from another world. It seemed to be uttering the letter L in a kind of doleful monotony.
They paused a moment in a kind of awe, even after it had ceased.
“It’s calling help,” said Garry.
“I can go there now,” said Tom. ”

“ They gathered about him and looked down into a fissure at a sight which unnerved them all, scouts though they were. For there, wedged between the two converging walls of rock and plainly visible in the moonlight was a skeleton, the few brown stringing remnants depending from it unrecognizable as clothing.
Tom reached down and touched it with his belt-axe, and it collapsed and fell rattling into the bed of the cleft. He held his lantern low for a moment and gazed down into the crevice.
“This is some spooky place, believe me,” shivered Connie. “Who do you suppose it was?” ”

“ Garry sat outside the little makeshift shack which he and Jeffrey and Raymond occupied, and whittled as Arnold strode along the beaten path toward the main body of camp. He was still whittling when Raymond and Jeff returned from the shore, their arms laden with willow branches.
“Kiddo,” he said to Raymond, “suppose you get me that other shirt of yours and I’ll sew up that tear. I’ve got to fix my own, too. We’re not very strong on clothes, are we?”
“I’ll buy us all clothes,” put in Jeffrey. “When I get my own scout suit I’ll get new ones for you and Raymond—I’ll have thousands of dollars.” ”

“ Tom stood among them, his hair still frowzled, his faded gray shirt torn, his belt drawn much tighter than necessary, and a disfiguring scratch across his rather lowering countenance. He did not look at all like the scouts on the cover of Boy’s Life.
“I don’t see as anybody’s a hero in particular,” he said, disconcerted at being brought into the limelight. “I don’t see’s you can be a hero just climbing up a hill. ”

“ Ruth said, soberly. “You should have heard what Dr. Brown said about you—and my father and mother. That headquarters wouldn’t dare to say you aren’t a scout.”
“Oh yes, they would—they’re very brave. They’ve got heroes in there who’d think no more of cancelling an index card——”
“You’re almost as silly as Roy. But I know you don’t think it’s a joke. I can see by the way you look at them how you feel.”
“They’re a fine troop,” Garry said, as he watched the boys. “Next to that troop in Warrentown they’re the best all-around troop I ever saw—and you see some pretty good ones up there at camp.” ”

“ After that I decided to take him down to Catskill Landing to look at that sumptuous yacht of his and then to show him the Good Turn. I knew that sometimes when a person sees the thing that caused his trouble or goes back to the same place, maybe, or something of that sort, his memory comes back to him all of a sudden and he wakes up as if he’d been dreaming, as you might say. ”

“ He had (as he had confided to Pee-wee that first night in camp) never “fallen for” Tom Slade. There was not much of the scout glamor about Tom and Raymond liked the scout glamor. He worshipped Roy and he idolized Garry. He was so jealous for Garry that he looked on Tom as an unfair rival. Who had sent that smudge signal from the hill? Who had made Harry Stanton get better? And who had been treated like a dog during his whole vacation? Who but his friend, Garry. ”

“ In the character and adventures of Roy Blakeley are typified the very essence of Boy life. He is a real boy, as real as Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer. He is the moving spirit of the troop of Scouts of which he is a member, and the average boy has to go only a little way in the first book before Roy is the best friend he ever had, and he is willing to part with his best treasure to get the next book in the series. ”

“ The Hudson above Troy is no longer of majestic beauty and the voyagers were not sorry for the novelty which presented when they entered the canal. At least, they did not have to “squint” for hidden perils, though the locks played sorry havoc with the beautiful enameled freeboard of the Honor Scout.
“Cruising in a canal is about as exciting as a hike on Broadway,” commented Roy. ”

“ Ellsworth, quietly. “We’ll row ashore. Cast the anchor,” he called. “We may be able to get the body. That’s about all we can do, I’m afraid. He probably lost his life with the first impact. He was dead long before he reached the bottom.”
There was not a scout among them but was sobered by the dreadful thing; Harry Stanton had lost his nerve entirely; and it was a solemn little group that scrambled into the Honor Scout’s skiff and rowed for shore. Garry Everson, who was a better swimmer than any member of the Bridgeboro troop, had already thrown off his outer clothing and was well toward shore. ”

“ Garry said.
Tom thought a minute. “Elms, oaks,” he mused, “that means about ten or twelve years ago.”
“There are only two reasons why people put hooks into trees,” said Connie, after a moment’s silence; “for hammocks and to fasten horses to. Nix on the hammocks here,” he added.
“What I was thinking about,” said Tom, “is that if somebody used to tie a horse here it must have been so’s they could go into the woods. The trail goes as far up as the brook. Maybe they used to tie their horses here and go fishing. There ought to be a trail from this tree to where the trail begins in the woods.” ”

“ Why, that was the fellow in the gray shirt and the book-strap belt, who was no scout at all—Tom Slade. Raymond knew what a scout was—he had seen pictures enough of them.
Probably, his diffident nature would have kept him from saying more now except for Roy’s laughing encouragement and the belief that Mr. Ellsworth stood with him. In any event, he launched forth in a way which astonished them all.
“That’s why you don’t wear the uniform—because you’re not a scout!” he shouted at Tom. “You’re too stingy, you are, and everybody knows it! You’ve no right to go with fellers that are scouts! ”

“ Ellsworth had made a flying trip to Bridgeboro to arrange for the troop’s absence for another week or two, and meanwhile the scouts camped on the boat, spending much of their time at the Stanton place, where they played tennis and basket-ball and taught the parrot to say “I’m a scout,” and “Poor Pee-wee.”
Those were days of great delight to Ruth Stanton. In contemptuous defiance of Pee-wee’s proud assertion that “boys could do things that girls couldn’t do” she beat him again and again at tennis, and beat the rest of them, too, for she was an old hand at the game. ”

“ What do you say we stick together?”
“I’ll do it,” said Raymond, “but I like Roy,” he added. “I like him better than any of your patrol—I like him better than Tom Slade—a good deal.”
“Tom isn’t so bad,” said Pee-wee, “but he’s kind of queer.”
“He doesn’t look like a scout at all—not this year,” said Raymond.
“He’s thinking mostly about his patrol,” said Pee-wee, “he’s nutty about his patrol. He needs one more member. Roy and two or three others—Westy, he’s pretty near as bad—they made a big rag doll with a punkin for a head and brought it to scout meeting as a new member for Tom’s patrol. ”

“ Can we find them?” cried Raymond.
[22]
“I’m afraid that doesn’t do us much good,” said Mr. Ellsworth. “We already knew that the message was sent from some isolated place or help would have been procurable. That being the case, I don’t see how the sender happened to have a pigeon handy.”
“He had more than one, don’t you see?” said Tom, quietly, “but the other died—Spotty. It must have been sent by some one who’s stalking and a fellow who’s that much interested in birds would be just the kind of a fellow that might have carrier pigeons—it’s good sport.” ”

“ That Garry Everson, scout, had completed the work which the old gentleman had begun was now realized by all and with it the boys realized the quiet patience with which he had borne their coldness and even their taunts.
“He’s a real hero,” said Pee-wee.
“All others are imitations,” agreed Roy. ”

“ A scout is brother to every other scout, and I dare say the whole party took a pride in the scout who dared attempt so hazardous an undertaking.
“I could see it in his face,” Tom said.
“Sherlock Nobody Holmes again,” called Roy from the other boat.
Presently, the scrambling figure emerged upon the bare surface above, wriggling and bracing itself on what seemed to be mere points of rock. A few yards more and he would be safe upon the wooded summit.
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“Don’t shout!” said Mr. Ellsworth, anticipating an impulse on Roy’s part. “You might rattle him. Wait till he’s out of danger.” ”

“ Ellsworth thinks—and the doctor. I don’t quite see,” Mr. Stanton added, after a thoughtful pause, “how Harry can become a member of Tom Slade’s patrol, much as I should like to see him the companion of you boys. We live so far from Bridgeboro——”
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“It seems that way to you because you’re not a scout,” interrupted Pee-wee, patronizingly. “But we’ve thought it all out and we’ve decided that twenty-three miles isn’t so far. You see, when you’re a scout distance doesn’t amount to anything, because we hike. And if you go scout-pace, you don’t get tired at all. Did you ever try scout-pace?” ”