The Boy Scouts of the Eagle Patrol Part 1

The Boy Scouts of the Eagle Patrol.

by Howard Payson.

CHAPTER I

SCOUTS ON THE TRAIL

The dark growth of scrub oak and pine parted suddenly and the lithe figure of a boy of about seventeen emerged suddenly into the little clearing. The lad who had so abruptly materialized from the close-growing vegetation peculiar to the region about the little town of Hampton, on the south sh.o.r.e of Long Island, wore a well-fitting uniform of brown khaki, canvas leggings of the same hue and a soft hat of the campaign variety, turned up at one side. To the front of his headpiece was fastened a metal badge, resembling the three-pointed arrow head utilized on old maps to indicate the north. On a metal scroll beneath it were embossed the words: "Be Prepared."

The manner of the badge's attachment would have indicated at once, to any one familiar with the organization, that the lad wearing it was the patrol leader of the local band of Boy Scouts.

Gazing keenly about him on all sides of the little clearing in the midst of which he stood, the boy's eyes lighted with a gleam of satisfaction on a largish rock. He lifted this up, adjusted it to his satisfaction and then picked up a smaller stone. This he placed on the top of the first and then listened intently. After a moment of this he then placed beneath the large underlying rock and at its left side a small stone.

Suddenly he started and gazed back. From the distance, borne faintly to his ears, came far off boyish shouts and cries.

They rose like the baying of a pack in full cry. Now high, now low on the hush of the midsummer afternoon.

"They picked the trail all right," he remarked to himself, with a smile, "maybe I'd better leave another sign."

Stooping he snapped off a small low-growing branch and broke it near the end so that its top hung limply down.

"Two signs now that this is the trail," he resumed as he stuck it in the ground beside the stone sign. "Now I'd better be off, for they are picking my tracks up, fast."

He darted off into the undergrowth on the opposite side of the clearing, vanis.h.i.+ng as suddenly and noiselessly as he had appeared.

A few seconds later the deserted clearing was invaded by a scouting party of ten lads ranging in years from twelve to sixteen. They were all attired in similar uniforms to the leader, whom they were tracing, with but one exception they wore their "Be Prepared" badges on the left arm above the elbow. Some of them were only ent.i.tled to affix the motto part of the badge the scroll inscribed with the motto. These latter were the second-cla.s.s scouts of the Eagle Patrol. The exception to the badge-bearers was a tall, well-knit lad with a sunny face and wavy, brown hair. His badge was worn on the left arm, as were the others, but it had a strip of white braid sewn beneath it. This indicated that the bearer was the corporal of the patrol.

As the group of flushed, panting lads emerged into the sandy s.p.a.ce the corporal looked sharply about him. Almost at once his eye encountered the "spoor" left by the preceding lad.

"Here's the trail, boys," he shouted, "and to judge by the fresh look of the break in this branch it can't have been placed here very long.

The small stone by the large one means to the left. We'll run Rob Blake down before long for all his skill if we have good luck."

"Say, Corporal Merritt," exclaimed a perspiring lad, whose "too, too solid flesh" seemed to be melting and running off his face in the form of streaming moisture, "don't we get a rest?"

A general laugh greeted poor Bob or Tubby Hopkins' remark.

"I always told you, Tubby, you were too fat to make a good scout,"

laughed Corporal Merritt Crawford, "this is the sort of thing that will make you want to take some of that tubbiness off you."

"Say, Tubby, you look like a roll of b.u.t.ter at an August picnic,"

laughed Simon Jeffords, one of the second-cla.s.s scouts.

"All right, Sim," testily rejoined the aggrieved fat one, "I notice at that, though, that I am a regular scout while you are only a rookie."

"Come on, cut out the conversation," exclaimed Corporal Crawford hastily, "while we are fussing about here, Rob Blake must be halfway home."

With a groan of comical despair from poor Tubby, the Boy Scouts darted forward once more. On and on they pushed across country, skillfully tracking their leader by the various signs they had been taught to know and of which the present scouting expedition was a test.

Their young leader evidently intended them to use their eyes to the utmost for, beside the stone signs, he used blaze-marks, cut on the trees with his hunting knife. For instance, at one place they would find a square bit of bark removed, with a long slice to the left of it.

This indicated that their quarry had doubled to the left. The slice to the right of the square blaze indicated the reverse.

Suddenly Corporal Crawford held up his hand as a signal for silence.

The scouts came to an abrupt stop.

From what seemed to be only a short distance in front of them they could hear a voice upraised apparently in anger. Replying to it were the tones of their leader.

"Seems to be trouble ahead of some kind," exclaimed Crawford. "Come on, boys."

They all advanced close on his heels--guided by the sound of the angry voice, which did not diminish in tone but apparently waxed more and more furious as they drew nearer. Presently the woodland thinned and the ground became dotted with stumps of felled timber and in a few paces more they emerged on a small peach orchard at the edge of which stood Rob Blake and a larger and older boy. As Crawford and his followers came upon the scene the elder lad, who seemed beside himself with rage, picked up a large rock and was about to hurl it with all his might at Rob when the young corporal dashed forward and held his hand up to stay him.

"Here, what's all this trouble?" he demanded.

"You just keep out of it, Merritt Crawford," said the elder lad, a hulking, thick-set youth with a mean look on his heavy features. "I'm just reading this kid here a lesson. This orchard is my father's and mine and you'll keep out of it in future or suffer the consequences, understand?"

"Why, we aren't doing any harm," protested Rob Blake heatedly.

"I don't care what you are doing or not doing," retorted the other, "this is my father's orchard and you'll keep off it. You and the rest of you tin soldiers. I don't want you stealing our peaches."

"I guess you are sore, Jack Curtiss, because you couldn't get a boy scout patrol of your own! I guess that's what the trouble is,"

remarked Tubby Hopkins softly, but with a meaning look at the big lad.

"You impudent little whipper-snapper," roared Jack Curtiss, "if you weren't such a shrimp I'd lick you for that remark, but you're all beneath my notice. All I want to say to you is keep away from my orchard or I'll give you a tr.i.m.m.i.n.g."

"Suppose you start now," said Rob Blake quietly, "if you are so anxious to show what a sc.r.a.pper you are."

"Bah, I don't want anything to do with you, I tell you," rejoined Curtiss, turning away, with a rather troubled expression, however, for while he was a bully the big lad had no particular liking for a fight unless he was pretty sure that all the advantage lay on his side.

"It was too bad you didn't get that patrol of yours, Jack," called the irrepressible Tubby after him as the big youth strode off across the orchard toward the old-fas.h.i.+oned farmhouse in which he lived with his father, a well-to-do farmer. "Never mind; better luck next time," he went on, "or maybe we'll let you into ours some time."

"You just wait," roared the retreating bully, shaking his fist at the lads, "I'll make trouble for you yet."

"Well," remarked Rob Blake, as Jack Curtiss strode off, "I guess the run is over for to-day. Too bad we should have come out on his land.

Of course he feels sore at us; and I shouldn't wonder but he will really try to do us some mischief if he gets a chance."

As it was growing late and there did not seem much chance of restarting the "Follow the Trail" practice, that day at least, the boys strolled back through the woodland and soon emerged on a country road about three miles from Hampton Inlet, where they lived.

While they are covering the distance perhaps the reader may care to know something about the cause of the enmity which Jack Curtiss entertained toward the lads of the Eagle Patrol. It had its beginning several months before when the boys of Hampton Inlet began to discuss forming a patrol of boy scouts. They all attended the Hampton Academy, and naturally the news that Rob Blake was going to try to organize a patrol soon spread through the school.

Jack Curtiss, as soon as he heard what Rob--whom he considered more or less a rival of his--intended doing he also forwarded an application to the headquarters of the organization in New York. As Rob Blake's had been received first, however, and on investigation he was shown to be a likely lad for the leader, he was appointed and at once began the enrollment of his scouts.

The bully was furious when he realized that he would be unable to secure an authorized patrol, and he and his cronies, two lads about his own age named Bill Bender and Sam Redding, had been busy ever since devising schemes to "get even" as they called it. None of these, however, had been effective and the encounter of that day was the first chance Jack had had to work off any of his rancor on Rob Blake's patrol.

Young Blake was the only son of Mr. Albert Blake, the president of the local bank. His corporal, Merritt Crawford, was the eldest of the numerous family of Jared Crawford, the blacksmith and wheelwright of the little town, and Tubby Hopkins was the offspring of Mrs. Hopkins--a widow in comfortable circ.u.mstances. The other lads of the Patrol whom we shall meet as the story of their doings and adventures progresses were all natives of the town, which was situated on the south sh.o.r.e of Long Island--as has been said--and on an inlet which led out to the Atlantic itself.

The scouts trudged back into Hampton just at twilight and made their way at once to their armory--as they called it--which was situated In a large room above the bank of which Rob's father was president. At one side of it was a row of lockers and each lad--after changing his uniform for street clothes--placed his "regimentals" in these receptacles.

This done the lads broke up and started for their various homes. Rob and his young corporal left the armory together, after locking the door and descending the stairs which led onto a side street.