Under Boy Scout Colors Part 16

For a moment it looked that way. Flushed and furious, his snapping eyes sweeping the circle of grinning faces, Ranny stood motionless for a moment or two in the middle of the diamond. He even toed the slab and took a signal from Ted MacIlvaine. Then, of a sudden, his arm dropped to his side, and he stalked across the infield toward the bench. By the time he reached it his face was white, save where the grip of teeth had left little crimson dents in his under lip. His level, almost hostile, glance fixed Dale Tompkins coldly.

"Go in, Tompkins," he said curtly, and tossed him the ball.

Dale caught it instinctively, and, scrambling to his feet, pulled off his sweater mechanically. His chance had come, but somehow he did not want it now. He would infinitely rather have had Ranny keep his head and his control and finish the game he had started off so well. The hurt and shame in that white face smote on him with a sense of physical pain, made him feel in a curious, involved fas.h.i.+on as if he were in some manner responsible for the humiliation of his hero.

A moment later all this vanished from his mind as he crossed the diamond, his heart beating unevenly, every sense concentrated in the task before him. He was greeted by a burst of jos.h.i.+ng from Conners and the others, but he scarcely heard it. Quite without self-consciousness as he was, the remarks of the crowd, with most of whom he was on friendly terms, meant nothing to him. It was merely an obvious attempt to rattle him to which he paid no heed, so intent was he on gaging the boy who stood, bat in hand, a little to one side of the plate.

Tompkins had warmed up a little before the game, and now, after throwing a few to MacIlvaine, he found the plate and nodded to the batter to resume his place. All the afternoon he had been sizing up the different batters, noting as well as he could the strength and weakness of each one. He thought he knew the sort of ball Jack Dillon could not hit safely, and promptly he proceeded to send it up.

In that very instant something in the fellow's face told him that he had blundered. His heart leaped with the crack of leather meeting wood; he caught his breath almost with a sob as the ball whizzed past his vainly reaching arm. There was no answering thud behind him. Bob Gibson had missed! Heartsick, he saw the runner shoot down from third and cross the plate. Close at his heels, it seemed, the fellow behind him rounded the sack and started home. Suddenly he doubled back, and Dale realized with a gasp of thankfulness that Gardner had nipped that second run with a fine throw to the plate from center-field.

He was trembling a bit as he caught the ball from MacIlvaine and moved slowly backward, turning it nervously in his hands. There was a sick, sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. All about him the opposition were yelling joyously as if it were only a question of minutes before the game could be counted theirs.

"Another easy mark!" shrilled Conners. "We've got him going, too. One good single, Irish, and we take the lead. Come over here, Blakie, and coach. I'm up next."

Dale brought his teeth down hard and his jaw squared. He'd show Red Conners who was easy. Stepping into the box, he met the confident grin of Roddy Thorpe. This time there could be no mistake. He knew Roddy's game through and through. His eyes dropped to where MacIlvaine crouched, giving a signal from behind his mitt. He shook his head slightly, and Bob, with some reluctance, changed the signal for another. Dale pitched suddenly, and Thorpe, swinging with all his strength to meet the sort of ball he thought was coming, missed, with ludicrous dismay.

He fouled the second one, and then let two go by. Finally he missed again, fooled by a sudden change of pace and a slow ball when he had expected speed. A cheer went up from his team-mates that still further heartened Tompkins.

"Who's an easy mark now, Red?" taunted Frank Sanson, pounding his glove delightedly. "Here's where you get yours, too."

"I should worry!" retorted Conners, dancing to the plate with every sign of confidence. "That was only a fluke; it won't last."

Dale's eyes narrowed a bit as he surveyed the grinning, freckled face before him. Ordinarily, he and Red were on good enough terms, but at this moment he felt a slow, smoldering anger against the fellow who, he felt, had been the main cause of forcing Ranny out of the box. "Here's where I even up," he muttered.

He took Bob's signal, and promptly, yet without apparent haste, he pitched. The ball left his fingers and whistled over with a slight inswerve. Conners swung his bat fiercely, but encountered nothing but empty air.

"One!" muttered Tompkins, under his breath. "Two more, now--just two more!"

The next was a ball, and Conners let it pa.s.s. Then came a slow one delivered with a swing and snap that fooled the batter into striking before it was well within his reach. As he regained his balance he scowled slightly and shook his head. The grin still stretched his lips, but it had turned into a grimace.

Dale's heart began to pound. Over and over again he was saying to himself: "One more! Only one more! I _must_ get him--I've _got_ to!"

Silence had fallen on the field. The batter's team-mates had left off their gibing. It seemed as if every fellow gathered about the edges of the diamond was holding his breath.

Dale's right hand drew back slowly, and for an instant he cuddled the ball under his chin. Then, like a flash, his arm shot forward and a gray shadow whizzed through the air.

The ball was high--too high, many a breathless onlooker thought at first.

But suddenly it flashed downward across Conner's shoulders. Too late the batter saw it drop and brought his bat around. There was a swish, a thud--and the umpire's voice was drowned in the shrill yell of relaxing tension that split the throats of the victorious team as they made a rush for Tompkins, standing in the middle of the diamond.

Sanson and Bob Gibson reached him first, but the others were not far behind. Thumping, pounding, poking him in the ribs and executing around him an impromptu war-dance, they swept Dale toward the bench, jabbering excitedly the while. In a happy sort of daze the boy heard the hearty congratulations of Mr. Curtis. Then, when the throng had spread out a little, he suddenly found himself face to face with Ranleigh Phelps.

For a second there was an embarra.s.sed silence; then the blond chap put out his hand.

"You did mighty well, Tompkins," he said, with a touch of constraint in his manner. "I wish--" He paused an instant, and a faint color crept into his face. "I'd just like you to know," he went on rapidly, "that I haven't kept you out of the box all season because--because of--wanting to take all the pitching myself. I--I--didn't think you'd make good. I was wrong, of course. I--I'm sorry it's too late to--prove it to you."

That was all. Without waiting for a reply, he turned away. But Dale's face glowed. Somehow those brief words from Ranleigh meant more to him than the exuberant congratulations of all the others.

CHAPTER XVIII

A QUESTION OF MONEY

With the inter-troop baseball series a thing of the past, Sanson and Trexler promptly turned their attention to swimming. They had already been out to the lake several times, but with baseball practise almost every day, it had not been possible to spend very much time there. Now, however, they both took advantage of every free afternoon, and before a great while Paul emerged from that first hopeless, helpless state when it seemed as if he were never going to be able even to support himself in the water. He was still far from being a good swimmer, but at least he could behold the miraculous ease and skill of the other fellows without a feeling of despondent envy.

Frank Sanson naturally made much quicker progress. Knowing the rudiments, he did not, like Paul, have to start at the very beginning. His strength and endurance, too, were greater than his friend's, and he had practically none of Trexler's nervous timidity to combat. All he needed was practise, and he was not long graduating from the novice cla.s.s.

The latter was uncommonly large this year. It was the first time the boys had had the freedom of Crystal Lake, and practically every scout who did not know how to swim seemed bent on learning before the summer camp started. Many of the enthusiasts went out there every afternoon, while Sat.u.r.days always saw a big crowd, most of whom brought their lunch and made a day of it.

As a matter of course, since swimming could not very well be indulged in all the time, there developed a great variety of scout sports and activities. Often a scoutmaster or two showed up, and by dint of a little suggestion would introduce among the purely entertaining games one designed to test the boys' ability at signaling or first aid, or his knowledge of tracking and trailing and woodcraft generally.

The system was entirely successful. Fellows who lacked the ambition or push to acquire these important details of scouting--and there are always such in every troop--found themselves, to their surprise, absorbing the knowledge through the medium of a game or compet.i.tion. More often than not they discovered that it wasn't so hard or uninteresting as they supposed, and in many cases real enthusiasm developed. Moreover, members of the different troops came to know and understand each other in a way which would have been impossible without this close and constant companions.h.i.+p. Hitherto they had kept pretty much to themselves, each boy traveling mainly with his own crowd and generally meeting the others as opponents on gridiron or diamond.

Now unexpected friends.h.i.+ps developed. Paul Trexler, who had revived much of his interest in bird study, was amazed to find a kindred spirit in Jim Crancher of Troop One. This big, rather rough-and-ready, chap of whom Paul had always stood somewhat in awe, proved to be quite as keen as himself about birds and nature generally, and the two had many a pleasant and profitable tramp through the woods together. There were many other similar cases, and before long it was no uncommon thing to see boys who had hitherto been rivals eating their lunch together and chatting intimately about what they would do at camp.

The latter subject became more and more a topic of interest and discussion. For the first time the various troops were planning to join forces in a common camp, and for months a committee of scoutmasters had been at work on the details. Funds for equipment had been secured by the local council, but the question of a proper location threatened to prove a serious difficulty. Dozens of sites had been investigated and found lacking in some important particular, either in quant.i.ty or quality of water, in woods not extensive enough for hiking, and the like. Most of the really attractive lakes in that part of the State were lined with summer cottages and bungalows, while the wilder, mountainous sections were too inaccessible to be wisely considered in a camp of this nature.

The boys were beginning to grow seriously worried when suddenly the rumor swept through town that a novel and totally unexpected solution of the difficulty had presented itself. It was said that the committee had been offered the use of a large tract of land in the southern part of the State bordering on the ocean. Such a situation had never been even remotely considered, and the excitement of the boys, many of whom had never seen the ocean, rose to fever-heat at the enthralling possibility.

At the earliest possible moment Troop Five in a body hurried around to obtain further details from Mr. Curtis, only to discover that he had gone with other members of the committee to look the ground over. He was away for three days, returning the afternoon of the troop meeting, from which, it is perhaps needless to say, not a scout was absent.

"You've heard about it, I see," the scoutmaster remarked as he surveyed the line of eager, bright-eyed boys before him. "Well, I don't know that we can employ our time better to-night than in going over the camp proposition thoroughly and finding out what you fellows think of the situation."

"Is it going to be at--at that place on the ocean, sir?" put in one of the boys.

"Yes; we've practically decided to accept Mr. Thornton's offer. The distance was the only drawback; it's almost a hundred miles from here, but I think we can get around that. Everything else is ideal. The land is a wooded point of six or seven hundred acres. One side faces the ocean, the other a wide, sheltered bay that runs inland several miles, joining finally with a small river. The whole point is rather high ground, with stretches of sand-dunes on the ocean side, and wooded with scrub-oak and stunted pines. Back of that, the land is mostly covered with second-growth timber, and rises gradually to an elevation called Lost Mine Hill--"

"What's that, sir?" interrupted Court Parker, eagerly.

The scoutmaster smiled. "At the time of the Revolution there was said to be a copper-mine located thereabouts, the entrance to which has since been lost track of. At least, that's what one of the old residents told us."

More than one boy's eyes sparkled. There was a fascination in the mere name.

"Whether it's true or not, I have no idea," continued Mr. Curtis. "To return to the camp. This would be located on the bay side of the point, facing the village, which is over a mile distant and practically the only settlement around. The beach shelves gradually here, making an ideal place for swimming, and there are three or four small islands about a quarter of a mile from sh.o.r.e. The fis.h.i.+ng in the bay is fine, and there are lots of crabs and eels in the coves and inlets farther up. We should have to do a lot of clearing out, of course, for the undergrowth is pretty thick, but that would be more fun than otherwise."

A long, concerted sigh went up from the listening scouts. Ocean and islands and a lost copper-mine seemed too entrancing a combination to be possible. Several boys began to ask questions at once, but stopped at a gesture from Mr. Curtis.

"One at a time, fellows," he reminded them. "The only practicable way of getting there, Bob, is to hire an auto-truck and motor down to Clam Cove, crossing over in a motor-boat. We haven't enough tents or equipment to accommodate all the fellows at once, so we've decided to divide in two or three relays of say thirty-five boys to a group, each crowd to stay two weeks. The truck could make the trip in seven or eight hours, and by starting early could take one bunch down and bring another back the same day, thus considerably lessening the expense."

"How much do you think that will be, sir?" asked Dale Tompkins, quickly, an anxious wrinkle in his forehead.

"About five dollars a week for board and a dollar extra for transportation."

The troubled expression deepened in Dale's face, and he scarcely heard the various other questions and answers that followed. Six dollars a week--twelve in all! There would be other necessities, too, in the way of clothes fit for camp. He had no shorts, for instance, or decent sneakers. Fifteen dollars would barely cover the outlay; and though he had worked hard for two months at least, he had little more than half of the amount saved. Where was the rest to come from?