[Illustration: "WHO--WHO ARE--YOU?" PEE-WEE STAMMERED. ]

PEE-WEE HARRIS ON THE TRAIL

BYPERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

_Author of_

THE TOM SLADE BOOKS, THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS THE PEE-WEE HARRIS BOOKS

ILLUSTRATED BYH. S BARBOUR

Published with the approval of THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA

GROSSET & DUNLAPPUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK

Made in the United States of America

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

 I THE LONE FIGURE 1 II A PATHETIC SIGHT 5 III THREE GOOD TURNS 9 IV THE FIVE REELER 15 V R-R-R-ROBBERS! 20 VI A MESSAGE IN THE DARK 24 VII LOCKED DOORS 28 VIII A DISCOVERY 32 IX THE TENTH CASE 36 X A RACE WITH DEATH 41 XI A RURAL PARADISE 45 XII ENTER THE GENUINE ARTICLE 48 XIII A FRIEND IN NEED 56 XIV SAVED! 61 XV IN CAMP 65 XVI FOOTPRINTS 74 XVII ACTION 80 XVIII THE MESSAGE 84 XIX PAGE TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-FOUR 88 XX STOP! 92 XXI SEEIN' THINGS 97 XXII HARK! THE CONQUERING HERO COMES 104 XXIII PETER FINDS A WAY 109 XXIV DESERTED 114 XXV BEDLAM 122 XXVI THE CULPRIT AT THE BAR 128 XXVII SOME NOISE 134 XXVIII ON THE TRAIL 138 XXIX VOICES 142 XXX FACE TO FACE 146 XXXI ALONE 154 XXXII ON TO BRIDGEBORO 159 XXXIII HARK! THE CONQUERING HERO COMES BACK 165 XXXIV PEE-WEE HOLDS FORTH 169 XXXV SCOUTMASTER NED DOESN'T SEE 174 XXXVI MORE HARDLING 180 XXXVII HINTS 185XXXVIII THE FIXER 192 XXXIX BETRAYED! 197 XL GUESS AGAIN 206

ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE

"WHO--WHO ARE--YOU?" PEE-WEE STAMMERED FrontispieceHANDWRITTEN NOTE 27"The road is closed, " said Peter. 109PEE-WEE BEFORE THE JUSTICE OF THE PEACE. 130"WE'RE NOT MINERS, WE'RE SCOUTS!" PEE-WEE SHOUTED. 202

PEE-WEE HARRIS ON THE TRAIL

CHAPTER I

THE LONE FIGURE

The night was bleak and cold. All through the melancholy, cheerless day, the first chill of autumn had been in the air. Toward evening the cloudshad parted, showing a steel-colored sky in which the sun went down agreat red ball, tinting the foliage across the river with a glow ofcrimson. A sun full of rich light but no heat. 

The air was heavy with the pungent fragrance of burning leaves. Thegutters along Main Street were full of these fluttering, red memorialsof the good old summer-time. 

But there were other signs that the melancholy days had come. Down atthe Bridgeboro station was a congestion of trunks and other luggagebespeaking the end of the merry play season. And saddest of all, thewindows of the stationery stores were filled with pencil-boxes and blankbooks and other horrible reminders of the opening of school. 

Look where one would, these signs confronted the boys of Bridgeboro, andthere was no escaping them. Even the hardware store had straps and tinlunch boxes now filling its windows, the same window where fishing rodsand canoe paddles had lately been displayed. 

Even the man who kept the shoe store had turned traitor and gathered uphis display of sneaks and scout moccasins, and exhibited in their placesa lot of school shoes. "Sensible footwear for the student" he calledthem. Even the drug store where mosquito dope and ice cream sodas hadbeen sold now displayed a basket full of small sponges for the sanitarycleansing of slates. The faithless wretch who kept this store had put asmall sign on the basket reading, "For the classroom. " One and all, themerchants of Main Street had gone over to the Board of Education and allsigns pointed to school. 

But the most pathetic sight to be witnessed on that sad, chill, autumnnight, was the small boy in a threadbare gray sweater and shabby cap whostood gazing wistfully into the seductive windows of Pfiffel's HomeBakery. The sight of him standing there with his small nose plasteredagainst the glass, looking with silent yearning upon the jelly rolls andicing cakes, was enough to arouse pity in the coldest heart. 

Only the rear of this poor, hungry little fellow could be seen from thestreet, and if his face was pale and gaunt from privation and want, thehurrying pedestrians on their cheerful way to the movies were sparedthat pathetic sight. 

All they saw was a shabby cap and an ill-fitting sweater which bulged inback as if something were being carried in the rear pocket. And there hestood, a poor little figure, heedless of the merry throngs that passed, his wistful gaze fixed upon a four-story chocolate cake, a sort ofedible skyscraper, with a tiny dome of a glazed cherry upon the top ofit. And of all the surging throng on Main Street that bleak, autumnalnight, none noticed this poor fellow. 

Yes, one. A lady sitting in a big blue automobile saw him. And herheart, tenderer than the jelly rolls in Pfiffel's window, went out tohim. Perhaps she had a little _boy_ of her own. . . . 

CHAPTER II

A PATHETIC SIGHT

We shall pay particular attention to this sumptuous automobile which wassuch as to attract attention in modest Bridgeboro. For one thing it wasof a rich shade of blue, whereas, the inhabitants of Bridgeboro being forthe most part dead, their favorite color in autos was black. 

The car, indeed, was the latest super six Hunkajunk touring model, avision of grace and colorful beauty, set of with trimmings of shinynickel. The Hunkajunk people had outdone themselves in this latest modeland had produced "the car of a thousand delights. " That seemed a goodmany, but that is the number they announced, and surely they must haveknown. 

When one sat in the soft, spacious rear seat of the Hunkajunk touringmodel, one felt the sensation of sinking into a--what shall I say? Onehad a sort of sinking spell. You will pay particular attention to theluxurious rear seat of this car because it was destined to be the couchof a world hero, rivalling Cleopatra's famous barge which you will finddrifting around in the upper grade history books. 

This was the only super six Hunkajunk touring car in Bridgeboro and itbelonged to the Bartletts who on this momentous night occupied its frontseat. 

"Do look at that poor little fellow, " said Mrs. Bartlett to her husband. "Stop for just a second; _never_ saw such a pathetic picture in my_life_!"

"Oh, what's the use stopping?" said Mr. Bartlett good-humoredly. 

"Because I'm not going to the Lyric Theatre and have that poor littlehungry urchin haunting me all through the show. I don't believe he's had_anything_ to eat all day. Just see how he looks in that window, it's_pathetic_. Poor little fellow, he may be _starving_ for all we know. I'm going to give him twenty-five cents; have you got the change?"

"You mean _I'm_ going to give it to him?" laughed Mr. Bartlett, stoppingthe car. 

"He's just _eating_ the things with his _eyes_. " said Mrs. Bartlettwith womanly tenderness. "Look at that shabby sweater. Probably hisfather is a drunken wretch. "

"We'll be late for the show, " said Mr. Bartlett. 

"I don't care anything about the show, " his wife retorted. "Do yousuppose I want to see The Bandit of Harrowing Highway or whatever it is?If we get there in time for the educational films, that's all I careabout. You gave money for the starving children of France. Do yousuppose I'm going to sit face to face with a little boy--_starving?_"

"I can't see his face, " said Mr. Bartlett, "but he looks as if he hadthe Woolworth Building in his back pocket. "

"Little boy, " Mrs. Bartlett called in her sweetest tone, "here is somemoney for you. You go into that store and--_gracious me_, it's WalterHarris! What on earth are you doing here, Walter? I thought you were apoor little--I thought you were hungry. "

The sturdy but diminutive form and the curly head and frowningcountenance which stood confronting her were none other than those ofPee-wee Harris, B. S. A. (Boy of Special Appetite or Boy Scouts ofAmerica, whichever you please), and he stared her full in the facewithout shame. 

"That's the time you guessed right, " he said. 

"I am. "

CHAPTER III

THREE GOOD TURNS

"Give him the money, " laughed Mr. Bartlett. 

"I will do no such thing, " said his wife. "I thought you were a poorlittle starving urchin, Walter. Wherever did you get that sweater?"

"I don't believe he's had anything to eat for half an hour, " said Mr. Bartlett. "Well, how is my old college chum, Pee-wee? You make her giveyou the twenty-five cents, Pee-wee. "

"A scout can't accept money like that, " said Mrs. Bartlett reprovingly, "it's against their rules. Don't you know that?"

Pee-wee cast a longing glance back at the window of Pfiffel's Bakery andthen proceeded to set Mrs. Bartlett right on the subject of the scoutlaw. 

"It--it depends on what you call rides; see?'" he said. 

"And on what you call hungry, " added Mr. Bartlett. 

"If--if you--kind of--want to do a good turn, I haven't got any rightto stop you, have I?" Pee-wee said. "Because good turns are the mainthings. Gee whiz, I haven't got any right to interfere with those. Ihaven't got any right to accept money for a service, butsuppose--suppose there's a jelly roll--"

"There is, " said Mr. Bartlett, "but in two minutes there isn't going tobe. You go in and get that jelly roll as a favor to Mrs. Bartlett Andhurry up back and we'll take you to the Lyric. "

"I was going there anyway, " Pee-wee said, "I want to see The Bandit ofHarrowing Highway, it's in five reels. "

"Well, you come along with us, " said Mr. Bartlett, "and then you'll bedoing two good turns. You'll be doing a favor to Mrs. Bartlett by buyinga jelly roll and you'll be doing a favor to me by making a party ofthree to see The Bandit of Harrowing Highway. What do you say?"

"Three's my lucky number, " said Pee-wee. Then, suddenly bethinkinghimself he added, "but I don't mean I want to get three jellyrolls--you understand. "

"Yes, we understand, " said Mrs. Bartlett. 

So it befell that Pee-wee, alias Walter Harris, scout of the first class(in quality if not in quantity) found himself riding luxuriously downMain Street in the rear seat of Mr. Bartlett's big Hunkajunk touringcar, eating a jelly roll with true scout relish, for it was now close toeight o'clock and Pee-wee had not eaten anything since supper-time. Having completed this good turn to Mrs. Bartlett he proceeded to do agood turn to himself by bringing forth two sandwiches out of the pocketusually associated with a far more dangerous weapon. This was hisemergency kit which he always carried. Morning, noon, or night, healways carried a couple of sandwiches the same as motorists carry extratires. 

And while he ate he talked. "Gee whiz, I'm crazy to see that picture, "he said. 

"We usually go for the educational films, " said Mrs. Bartlett. 

"I don't like anything that's got education in it, " Pee-wee said. "Evenwhen I go to vaudeville I don't like educated monkeys and cats andthings. I like bandits and things like that. What's your favoritething?"

"Well, I like scouts, " said Mr. Bartlett. 

"Mine's ice cream cones, " said Pee-wee. "Is this a new car? I bet I knowwhat kind it is, it's a Hunkajunk. I like hot frankfurters too. I cantell all the different kinds of cars because a scout is supposed to beobservant. Do you like gumdrops? I'm crazy about those. "

"But where did you get that sweater?" Mrs. Bartlett asked. 

"Do you want me to tell you about it? It belongs to the man that takescare of our furnace; he's got a peach of a tattoo mark on his arm. Mymother told me I had to wear a sweater so I grabbed that as I wentthrough the back hall. I always go out through the kitchen, do you knowwhy?"

"I think I can guess, " said Mr. Bartlett. 

"And the cap?" Mrs. Bartlett asked. 

"You know the burglar that came to our house?"

"No, I never met him, " said Mrs. Bartlett. 

"I bet you don't like burglars, hey? He left this cap. He didn't getanything and I got the cap so that shows I'm always lucky. My motherdoesn't want me to wear it. Gee whiz, she hates burglars. Anyway, it'sgood and comfortable. My father says if he comes back for it I have togive it to him. "

"Well, you certainly don't look like Walter Harris, the boy scout I havealways known, " said Mrs. Bartlett. 

"Don't you care, " said Pee-wee. "If you're a scout you're a scout, nomatter if you don't wear anything. "

"Oh, how dreadful, " said Mrs. Bartlett. 

"I know worse things than that, " said Pee-wee. 

"Well, tell us about the scouts, " Mr. Bartlett encouraged him. 

"Shall I tell you all about them?"

"Surely, begin at the beginning. "

"That's law one, it's about honor; do you know what that is?"

"I've heard of it, " said Mr. Bartlett. 

"A scout has to be honorable, see? That comes first of all. "

"Before eating?"

"Eating is all the way through it. "

"Oh, I see. "

"A scout has to be so--kind of--you know, so honorable that nobody couldsuspect him, see? If you're a scout that means that everybody knowsyou're all right. There are a lot of other laws too. "

"Well, here we are at the Lyric, " said Mr. Bartlett, "so let's go in andsee what The Bandit of Harrowing Highway thinks about honor. "

Leaving the car in front of the theatre the three elbowed their waythrough the long, crowded lobby and soon Pee-wee Harris, scout, was nolonger in Bridgeboro but among rugged mountains where a man with acouple of pistols in his belt and a hat as big as an umbrella reined upa spirited horse and waited for a caravan and all that sort of stuff. . . . 

CHAPTER IV

THE FIVE REELER

And meanwhile something very real happened. Two men in khaki, butwithout any pistols in their belts, rode slowly up to the front of theLyric Theatre in a big blue touring car and stopped. 

It was one of those palatial cars "of a thousand delights, " a new supersix Hunkajunk touring model. A couple of policemen, safeguarding thepublic's convenience, had moved the Bartlett car beyond the mainentrance in the interest of late comers and it was in this vacated spacethat the second medley of blue and nickel was now thoughtlessly parked. No cars came along after it so there it remained with a little group ofadmirers about it. 

The few loiterers in the lobby glanced curiously at the two young men. These strangers strode in laughing in a way of mutual banter, as iftheir sudden decision to see the show was quite amusing to themselves. 

No one recognized them; they must have come from out of town. They worekhaki suits, with flapping brimmed hats of a color to match and theirfaces were brown with the wholesome, permanent tan of outdoor life. Theyseemed greatly amused with themselves and their breezy manner andnegligee which smacked of the woods attracted the attention ofBridgeboro's staff of unpaid censors who hung out in and about theLyric's lobby. But little, apparently, did the strangers care what wassaid and thought of them. 

One of them bought the tickets, to the hearty indignation of the other, and they disappeared into the terrible fastnesses along HarrowingHighway where they tumbled boisterously into a couple of seats off thecenter aisle, "right within pistol shot of the bandit, " as one of themlaughingly remarked to the other. 

In the last reel the bandit was captured by a sheriff's posse, the youngschool teacher from the east whom he had villainously kidnapped was setfree and went to live on a ranch with the hero who also carried severalpistols, and the detective whom the millionaire had sent from the east(and who likewise carried several pistols) became a train robber andnearly killed the millionaire whom he met in the middle of the desert(carrying pistols) and who killed him instead and was in turn mortallywounded by the partner he had ruined and who had nothing left butseveral pistols. 

And then Scout Harris fell asleep, and slept through the first part ofthe educational films. In a kind of jumbled dream he saw PresidentHarding (with pistols) receiving a delegation of ladies (all armed) andthen he felt a tapping on his shoulder. 

"Walter, " Mrs. Bartlett whispered pleasantly, "if you don't care aboutthese pictures why don't you just go out and curl up in the back of thecar and have a _real_ good nap. Then when we come out we'll all stop andhave some cream before we go home and we'll leave you at your house. "

Pee-wee was too sleepy to answer; his mind Was awake to but two things, ice cream and pistols. In a kind of stupor he looked to make sure thatMrs. Bartlett was not armed and then, dragging himself from his seat hestumbled up the aisle, through the lobby, across the sidewalk, andtumbled into the rear seat of the big car that seemed waiting to receivehim. He was just awake enough to realize that the night was cold and hepulled the heavy blanket over him and was dead to the world. 

Many adventures awaited this redoubtable young scout but one terribleordeal he escaped. In this he was, as he had said, lucky. For the verynext picture on the screen after he had made his half-conscious exit, showed a lot of children in Europe being fed out of the munificent handof Uncle Sam. And Pee-wee could never have stayed in his seat andquietly watched that tormenting performance. 

CHAPTER V

R-R-R-ROBBERS!

Scout Harris never knew exactly when he passed out of the realm ofdreams into the realm of wakefulness, for in both conditions pistolsplayed a leading part. He was aware of a boy scout holding SecretaryHoover at bay with two pistols and Mr. Ellsworth, his scoutmaster, rescuing the statesman with several more pistols. And then he was verydistinctly aware of someone saying, "How many pistols have you got?"

"Twenty-seven, " another voice answered. 

"I've got forty-three and two blackjacks, " said the first voice. 

"You're wrong, " said the other. 

"I jotted them down, " the first voice replied. 

"We should worry, " the other one laughed. 

At this appalling revelation of seventy pistols between them, to saynothing of two blackjacks, there seemed indeed very little for thespeakers to worry about. But for Scout Harris, whose whole stock ofammunition consisted of a remnant of sandwich and the almost naked coreof an apple, there seemed much to worry about. 

Pee-wee realized now that he was awake and being borne along at anexcessive rate of speed. He knew that he was in Bartlett's big Hunkajunkcar and that the dark figures with all the firearms on the front seatwere not Mr. And Mrs. Bartlett. 

Trembling, he spread the robe so as the more completely to cover hissmall form including his head. For a moment he had a wild impulse tocast this covering off and scream, or at least, to jump from thespeeding car. But a peek from underneath the robe convinced him of thefolly of this. To jump would be to lose his life; to scream--well, whatchance would he have with two bloodthirsty robbers armed with seventypistols and two blackjacks? There were few boy scouts who could despatchan apple core with such accuracy of aim as W. Harris, but of what availis an apple core against seventy pistols?

He could not hear all that was said on the front seat but the fragmentsof talk that he did hear were alarming in the last degree. 

"--best way to handle them, " said one of those dark figures. 

"I've got a couple of dead ones to worry about, " said the other. 

Pee-wee curled up smaller under the robe and hardly breathed. Indeed twodead ones was something to worry about. Suppose--suppose _he_ should bethe third!

"One for me, but I'm not worrying about him, " said the other. 

"We'll get away with it, " his companion commented. 

Then followed some talk which Pee-wee could not hear, but he feltcertain that it was on their favorite topic of murder. Then he overheardthese dreadful, yet comparatively consoling words:

"Trouble with him is he always wants to kill; he's gun crazy. Take themif you want to, but what's the use killing? That's what I said to him. "

"Steal--"

"Oh sure, that's just what I told him, " the speaker continued; "stealup--"

"Step on it, " the other interrupted, "we're out in the country now. "

The big super six Hunkajunk car darted forward and Scout Harris couldhear the purring of the big engine as the machine sped along through thesolemn darkness. A momentary, cautious glimpse from under the big robeshowed him that they were already far from the familiar environs ofBridgeboro, speeding along a lonely country road. 

Now and then they whizzed past some dark farmhouse, or through somevillage in which the law abiding citizens had gone to their beds. Occasionally Pee-wee, peeking from beneath the robe, saw cheerful lightsshining in houses along the way and in his silent terror andapprehension he fancied these filled with boy scouts in the fullenjoyment of scout freedom; scouts who were in no danger of being addedto some bloody list of dead ones. 

That he, Pee-wee Harris, mascot of the Raven Patrol, First BridgeboroTroop, should have come to this! That he should be carried away by apair of inhuman wretches, to what dreadful fate he shuddered toconjecture. That _he_, Scout Harris, whose reputation for being wideawake had gone far and wide in the world of scouting, should be carriedaway unwittingly by a pair of thieves and find himself in imminent perilof being added to that ghastly galaxy of "dead ones. " It was horrible. 

Pee-wee curled up under the robe so as to disarm any suspicion of ahuman form beneath that thick, enveloping concealment and even breathedwith silent caution. Suppose--_suppose_--oh horrors--suppose he shouldhave to sneeze!

CHAPTER VI

A MESSAGE IN THE DARK

Pee-wee seldom had any doubts about anything. What he knew he _knew_. And what is still better, he knew that he knew it. No one ever had toremind Pee-wee that he knew a thing. He not only knew it and knew thathe knew it, but he knew that everybody that he knew, knew that he knewit. As he said himself, he was "absolutely positive. "

Pee-wee knew all about scouting; oh, everything. He knew how and wheretents should be put up and where spring water was to be found. He didnot know all about the different kinds of birds, but he knew all aboutthe different kinds of eats, and there are more kinds of eats than thereare kinds of birds. How the Bridgeboro troop would be able to get alongwithout their little mascot was a question. For he was their "fixer. "That was his middle name--"fixer. "

And of all of the things of which Pee-wee was "absolutely positive" thething of which he was the _most_ positive was that two thieves connectedwith the "crime wave" were riding away in Mr. Bartlett's big Hunkajunk"touring model" and carrying him (a little scout model) along with them. 

What should he do? Being a scout, he took council of his wits anddecided to write on a page of his hikebook a sentence saying that he wasbeing carried away by thieves, giving his name and address, and castthis overboard as a shipwrecked sailor puts a message in a bottle. Thensomeone would find the message and come to rescue him. 

But with what should he weight his fluttering message, so that it wouldfall in the road? Pee-wee was a scout of substance and had amassed avast fortune in the way of small possessions. He owned the cap of afountain pen, a knob from a brass bedstead, two paper clips, a horse'stooth, a broken magnifying glass, a device for making noises in theclassroom, a clock key, a glass tube, a piece of chalk for making scoutsigns, and other treasures. But these were in the pockets of his scoutuniform and could be of no service to him in his predicament. 

The only trinket which he had was the fragment of a sandwich. Havingreduced this, by a generous bite, to one-half its size, he wrote hisnote as well as he could without moving too much. One deadly weapon hehad with him and that was a safety pin. With this he now pierced thepiece of sandwich to the heart, linking it forever with that notewritten tremblingly in a moment of forlorn hope and utter darkness, under the kindly concealment of the buffalo robe. 

On the opposite page is the note and how it looked. 

Having cast this last message out upon the road he withdrew his armcautiously back under the robe and lay as nearly motionless as possible, prepared for the worst. 

If he should never be heard of again, it would seem both touching andappropriate, that this memento of him should be a morsel of food (whichhe loved) fastened with a safety pin which was the weapon that he alwayscarried. 

[Illustration: [Handwritten note] I am being kidnapped by thieves whoare stealing Mr. Bartlett's car. I don know where I am. If anybody findthis please take it to my house Bridgeboro Walter Harris Scout Br]

CHAPTER VII

LOCKED DOORS

Like the ground-hog, Pee-wee did not emerge again until the occasion wasmore propitious. For fully an hour the car ran at high speed whichafforded him some hope that the strong arm of the law might intervene. But the strong arm of the law was apparently under its pillow indelicious slumber. Not a snag did those bloody fugitives encounter intheir flight. 

At last the car slowed down and Pee-wee could feel that it was turninginto another road. His unwitting captors were evidently either nervousor sleepy, for they talked but little. 

The car proceeded slowly now, and when our hero ventured to steal aquick glimpse from under his covering he perceived that they were goingalong a road so dark and narrow that it seemed like a leafy tunnel. Thesomber darkness and utter silence of this sequestered region made thedeed of these outlaws seem all the blacker. There was now no doubtwhatever of the criminal nature of their bold enterprise. For surely nolaw-abiding, civilized beings lived in such a remote wilderness as nowclosed them in. 

Soon the car came to a stop, and Pee-wee's thumping heart almost came toa stop at the same time. Suppose they should lift the robe? What wouldthey do? And quite as much to the point, what should _he_ do? A suddenimpulse to throw off his kindly camouflage and run for all he was worth, seized him. But he thought of those seventy pistols and two blackjacksand refrained. Should he face them boldly, like the hero in a story bookand say, "Ha, ha, you are foiled. The eyes of the scout have followedyou in your flight and you are caught!"

No he would not do that. A scout is supposed to be cautious. He wouldremain under the buffalo robe. 

Presently he heard the unmistakable sound and felt the unmistakablefeeling of the car being run into some sort of a shelter. The voices ofthe thieves sounded different, more hollow, as voices heard in smallquarters indoors. A little suggestion of an echo to them. 

Pee-wee Harris, scout, did not know where he was or what was going on, but he _felt_ that four walls surrounded him. The plot was growingthicker. And it was suffocating under that heavy robe, now that therewas no free air blowing about it. 

"Where's the stuff?" one of the men asked. 

"On the back seat, " said the other. 

Pee-wee trembled. 

"Oh, no, I guess it's on the floor, " the man added, "I think I put thesilver cup under the back seat--"

Pee-wee shuddered. So they had been stealing silver cups. 

"Either there or--oh, here it is. "

Pee-wee breathed again. 

Then he heard no more voices. But he heard other sounds. He heard thecreaking of a heavy rolling door. He heard a sound as if it were beingbolted or fastened on the inside. Then he heard the slamming of anotherdoor and a muffled, metallic sound as of someone locking it on theoutside. Then he heard footsteps, fainter, fainter. . . . Then he heard asound which seemed to him familiar. He could not liken it to anything inparticular, but it sounded familiar, a kind of clanking, metallic sound. Then he heard a voice say, "Let me handle her, give her a shove, holdher down, that's right. "

Pee-wee's blood ran cold. They were killing someone out there; some poorcaptive maiden, perhaps. . . . 

Then he heard no more. 

CHAPTER VIII

A DISCOVERY

The ominous sound of doors rolling and of clanking staples and padlockstold Pee-wee all too conclusively that he was a prisoner, and he wasseized with panic terror at the thought of being locked in a dungeonwhere he could hardly see his hand before his face. 

As to where he was, he had no guess more than that he was miles andmiles from home. But along with his fright came a feeling of relief thathe was no longer in company of those two scoundrels who were unwittinglyresponsible for his predicament. They would probably not return beforemorning and he would have at least a little breathing spell in which toconsider what he should do, if indeed he could do anything. 

The departure of his captors gave him courage and some measure of hope. Freedom he did not hope for, but a brief respite from peril was his. Time, time! What the doomed crave and pray for. That, at least was his. 

He had presence of mind enough to refrain from making any sound, for thethieves might still be in the neighborhood for all he knew. The last hehad heard of them they had been talking of "handling her" and "givingher a shove" and he did not want them to come back and "handle" _him_. 

So he sat on the rear seat of the big Hunkajunk car ready to withdrawbeneath the robe at the first sound of approaching footsteps. If he hadbeen free to make a companionable noise, to whistle or to hum, or tolisten to the friendly sound of his own movements he would have feltless frightened. But the need of absolute silence in that dark prisonagitated him, and in the ghostly stillness every creak made the placeseem haunted. 

If he could only have seen where he was! He knew now something of theinsane terrors of dark and solitary confinement. So strongly did thisterror hold him that for a minute or two he dared not stir upon the seatfor fear of causing the least sound which the darkness and strangenessof the place might conjure into spectral voices. 

There is but one way to dispel these horrors and that is by throwingthem off with quick movement and practical resolve. 

He jumped down out of the car, and groping his way through the darknessstumbled against a wall. Moving his hand along this he found it to be ofrough boards. Indeed, he had a more conclusive proof of this by the factthat a large splinter of the dried wood pierced his finger, painingacutely. He pulled it out and sucked the bleeding cut, then wound hishandkerchief around it. One discovery, at least, he had made; thebuilding, whatever it was, was old. The smell of the board sidesinformed him of that much. And there was no flooring. 

He now stood thinking, wondering what he should do next. And as hepaused he heard a sound near him. A sound as of quick, low breathing. Inthe open such a sound would not have been audible, but in the ghostlydarkness of that strange prison he could hear it clearly when helistened. Sometimes he could distinguish the momentary pauses betweenthe breaths and sometimes the faint sound seemed continuous. As helistened in silent, awful terror, the thumping of his heart seemed tointerrupt the steady, low sound. 

It was not normal breathing surely, but it was the sound of breathing. He was certain of that. He thought it was over near the car. 

CHAPTER IX

THE TENTH CASE

The thought that there was a living presence in that spooky dungeonstruck terror to Pee-wee's very soul. He could not bring himself tomove, much less to speak. But he could not stand idly where he was, andif he should stumble over a human form in that unknown blackness. . . . What could be more appalling than that? Was this uncanny place a prisonfor poor, injured captives? Was there, lying just a few feet from him, some suffering victim of those scoundrels? What did it mean? Pee-weecould only stand, listening in growing fear and agitation. 

"Who's there?" he finally asked, and his own trembling voice seemedstrange to him. 

There was no answer. 

"Who's there?" he asked again. 

Silence; only the low, steady sound; punctuated, as it seemed by his ownheart beats. 

"Who--is--is anybody there?"

Then, suddenly, in a kind of abandon, he cast off his fears and gropedhis way with hands before him toward the low sound. Presently his handwas upon something round and small. It had a kind of tube running fromit. He felt about this and touched something else. He felt along it; itwas smooth and continuous. 

And then he knew, and he experienced infinite relief. His hand was uponthe spare tire on the rear of the car. The air was slowly escaping inirregular jerks from the valve of this tire, making that low sound, nowhardly audible, now clearer and steadier, that escaping air willsometimes cause when passing through a leaky valve. The darkness andPee-wee's own thumping heart had contributed to the horrible illusionand he smiled in the utter relief which he experienced by the discovery. 

But one other discovery he had made also which gave him an inspirationand made him feel foolish that he had not had the inspiration before. The little round thing that he had felt in about the center of the tirewas the red tail light of the car; he realized that now. And thisdiscovery reminded him that he could have all the light he wanted by themere touching of a switch. 

"That shows how stupid I am, " said Pee-wee. He was so relieved andelated that he could afford to be generous with self accusations. "Onething sure, it shows how when you hunt for a thing you find somethingelse, so if you're mistaken it's a good thing. "

This was logical, surely, and he now proceeded to avail himself of thebenefit of his chance discovery. Presently this dank, mysterious, spookydungeon would be bathed in welcome light. Pee-wee climbed into the frontseat and moved his hand across the array of nickel dials and buttons onthe instrument board. There seemed to be a veritable multitude of littlehandles and indicators for the control of the Hunkajunk super sixtouring model. Not even a wireless apparatus, with which Pee-wee'sscouting experience had made him familiar, had such a variety of shinylittle odds and ends. 

Having no knowledge of these things he moved his hand among themcautiously, fearful lest some inadvertent touch might cause the car togo careering into the board wall. He bent his head close to theinstrument board in search of printed words indicating the purpose ofthe various buttons, but the darkness was too dense for him to seeanything but the shiny nickel. At the same time his wandering foot, conducting an exploration of its own, came against a little knob. 

Pee-wee never knew precisely what he did to cause the startlingoccurrence which followed. There were two switch buttons, side by side, and in one a small key had been left. Evidently he decided that this wasthe lighting switch. He was just able to decipher the word IGNITIONabove it. But alas, the word ignition means SPARK on an auto. 

Whether he purposely, in curiosity, stepped on the button in the floorhe never knew. In nine cases out of ten it would have required moreeffort to start the Hunkajunk touring model. But this was the tenthcase. In a frantic effort to stop the power, or perhaps in groping withhis hand, he pulled down the spark lever, and the six cylinder brute ofan engine awoke to life!

Out of the exhaust pipe in back poured the fatal volume of gaseoussmoke which spells death, horrible and suffocating, when locked andbarred doors and windowless walls enclose the wretched, gasping victimas in a tomb. 

CHAPTER X

A RACE WITH DEATH

In close confinement it is all over in a minute in these cases. Thevictim is poisoned and suffocated like a rat in a hole. Surprising as itmay seem, this deadly poison works faster than its victim can act. Andwith darkness for its ally the only hope lies in presence of mind andquick action. 

Pee-wee Harris was a scout. Laugh at him and make fun of him as youwill, he was a scout. He was at once the littlest scout and the biggestscout that ever scouting had known. He boasted and bungled, but out ofhis bungling came triumph. He fell, oh such falls as he fell! But healways landed right side up. He could save the world with a blunder. Andthen boast of the blunder. 

He was not a motorist, he was a scout. Wrong or right (and he wasusually wrong), he was a scout. He was a scout with something leftover. Like a flash of lightning he jumped into the car and shut off theswitch, but the imprisoned air was already heavy with the deadly fumesand his head swam. Shutting off the switch would not save him; nothingwould save him unless his mind and body acted together with lightningswiftness. 

Say that he made a "bull" of it in starting the engine, and you arewelcome to say that of him. But after that the spirit and training ofthe scout possessed him. _You_, with all respect to you, would have dieda frightful death in that black prison. 

Pee-wee Harris, scout, tore his handkerchief from around his cut finger, unscrewed the cap of the radiator, dipped his handkerchief into thehole, bit off two small pieces of the warm, dripping cloth, and stuffedthem into his ears. The wet handkerchief he stuffed into his mouth. Andso Scout Harris gained a few precious moments, _only a few_, in which tomake a desperate effort to find a way out!

You would have forgotten about the radiator full of water, I daresay. . . . 

Roy Blakeley (Silver Fox Patrol and not in this story, thank goodness)said, long after these adventures were over, that a handkerchief stuffedin Pee-wee's mouth was a good idea and that it was a pity it had beenremoved. But Pee-wee Harris was a scout, he was a couple of scouts, andhe saved his life by scout law and knowledge. And there you are. 

Acting quickly he now groped his way around to the rear of the car. Itwas odd how quickly his mind worked in his desperate predicament. Hiseyes stung and his throat pained him and he knew that he had won onlythe chance of a race with death. But what more does a scout want than afighting chance? His wits, spurred by the emergency, were now alert andhe recalled that the men who had stolen the car had rolled one door shutand slammed another. So perhaps the rolling door had been barred inside. Where the small door was he did not know, and there was no time now tomake a groping exploration of the sides. The rolling door must be inback of the car, he knew that. 

He was dizzy now and on the point of falling. His wrists tingled and hishead ached acutely. Only his towering resolve kept him on his feet. 

Groping from behind the car he touched the boards and felt along themfor some indication of the door. Presently his hand came upon an ironband set in a large staple through which was inserted a huge woodenplug. This he pulled out and hauling on the staple slowly rolled open agreat wide door. 

A fresh gust of autumn wind blew in upon him, a cleansing and refreshingrestorative, as if it had been waiting without to welcome the sturdylittle scout into the vast, fragrant woods which he loved. And thebright stars shone overhead, and the air was laden with the pungentscent of autumn. It seemed as if all Nature, solemn and companionable, was there to greet the little mascot of the Raven Patrol, FirstBridgeboro Troop, B. S. A. 

The car of a thousand delights had so far afforded very few delights toPee-wee Harris. 

CHAPTER XI

A RURAL PARADISE

Pee-wee looked about him at an enchanted scene. He seemed to have beentransported to a region made to order for the Boy Scouts of America. That a pair of auto thieves should have brought him to this ruralParadise seemed odd enough. 

As he gazed about and looked up at the quiet star-studded sky his fearswere all but dispelled. For were not the friendly woods and water nearhim? They seemed like rescuing allies now. In the soft, enveloping armsof those silent woods he would find safety and shelter, and so he shouldfind his way home through their dim concealment. 

The building in which the car had been left was an old weather-beatenshack, which, judging from the sawdust all about, might once have beenused as an ice-house. This seemed likely, for it stood near the shore ofa placid lake in the black bosom of which shone a myriad of invertedstars and through which was a golden path of flickering moonlight. Theice-house, or whatever it was, had never been painted and the grain stoodout on the shrunken wood like veins in an aged hand. 

At a respectable distance from the woods near the shore where Pee-weestood was a sizable village, or young town, big enough to have trafficsigns and parking zones and a main street and a movie show and such likepretentious things. Between this town and the shore were a few outlyinghouses, but mostly sparse woodland. To the north the woods were thicker. 

The lights of this neighboring town formed a cheery background to thedark, silent lake shore. This town was West Ketchem and the chiefsensation in West Ketchem during the last few years had been thedestruction by fire of the public school, a calamity for which every boywent in mourning. 

Across the lake, Pee-wee could see other and fewer lights. Thesebelonged to a smaller village in which nothing at all had ever happened, not even the burning of its school. Far from it. The school stood therein all its glory, under the able supervision of Barnabas Wise andBirchel Rodney, the local board of education. 

About in the center of the lake, Pee-wee saw a small red light. Sometimes there seemed to be two lights, but he thought that one was thereflection of the other in the water. The light seemed very lonely, yetvery inviting out there. He supposed it was on a boat Perhaps some onewas fishing. . . . 

But in all this surrounding beauty and peacefulness, Pee-wee saw no signof the murder of any captive maiden. His eagle eye _did_ see where aboat had been drawn up on shore, and if any "shoves" and other cruel andabusive "handling" had been administered by those scoundrels withseventy pistols, it must have been to that poor defenseless boat. Orperhaps they were out in the middle of the lake at that very minutesinking their victim. 

Anything might happen--in the mind of Scout Harris. 

CHAPTER XII

ENTER THE GENUINE ARTICLE

At another time Pee-wee would have delighted to linger in this scout'sUtopia. But his chief thought now was to take advantage of his fortunateescape. He had not the faintest idea where he was, more than that he wasa full two hour's ride from home. That would be a long and lonely hike, even if he could find his way in the darkness. 

He tried to recall the names of the various lakes in New Jersey and inthe neighboring state of New York, and he recalled a good many, but thatdid not help him to identify this one. So he started up toward the townin the hope of identifying that. 

The village petered out toward the lake; there were but a few houses. Itwas about eleven or twelve o'clock or after and the good people in thestraggling cottages thereabout had put out their lights and retired toslumber before that wicked hour. 

There was a stillness and gloom about these uninviting, dark houses; acheerlessness not to be found in the densest woods. They made Pee-weefeel lost and lonesome, as the dim, silent wilderness could never do. 

Soon he reached the town, and there in the center of a spacious lawn wassomething which, in his loneliness and uncertainty, seemed the pictureof gloom. The ruin of a building which had been burned to the ground. What a fire that must have been to witness! Better far than The Banditof Harrowing Highway! Over a partly fallen arch, under which manyreluctant feet had passed, Pee-wee could just make out the graven words:WEST KETCHEM PUBLIC SCHOOL. 

West Ketchem. So that was where he was. But he had never heard of WestKetchem. The fame of this lakeside metropolis had not penetrated tosurging Bridgeboro. At least it had' not penetrated to the surging mindof Scout Harris. He tried to recall West Ketchem on the map of NewJersey in his school geography. 

But evidently West Ketchem had scorned the geography. Or else thegeography had scorned West Ketchem. 

Undecided what to do, Pee-wee lingered a few moments among the mass ofcharred timbers, and desks ruined and laid, low, and broken blackboards, all in an indiscriminate heap. 

"I bet the fellers that live here are glad, " he said to himself. "Thatisn't saying they have to believe in fires, except camp-fires, butanyway after it's all over they've got a right to be glad. "

The situation of the school seemed to have been a sort of compromisebetween the claims of the lake and the claims of the town. It was nottoo far from the town and not too far from the lake. Perhaps it had beenbuilt within sight of the lake so that the West Ketchem student bodycould see it while at their lessons. A kind of slow torture. 

Pee-wee had never before seen the familiar realities of school life thusbrought low and lying in inglorious disorder at his feet. It gave him afeeling of triumph and had a fascination for him. Damp smelling bookswere here and there among the ruins, histories, arithmetics, algebrasand grammars. He could tread upon these with his valiant heel. A hugeroll call book (ah, how well he knew it even in the darkness) laycharred and soggy near the assembly-room piano. Junk heaps had alwayshad a fascination for Pee-wee and had yielded up some of his raresttreasures. But a school, with all its disciplinary claptrap reduced to ajunk heap! He could not, even in this late hour and strange country, tear himself away from it. 

But another influence caused him to hesitate. What should he do? Therewere hardly any lights in the town now. He was a scout and he could notreconcile himself to the commonplace device of going to someone's houseand asking for shelter. His scout training had taught him self-relianceand resource, and here was the chance to apply them, to go home, to findhis way without anyone's help. The lonely road called to him more thanthe dark houses did. 

But how about the car? Mr. Bartlett's stolen car? Would it be the way ofa scout to go home and tell about that? He had come in the car, Providence had made him its guardian, and he would take it back againand say, (or words to this effect) "Here is your super six Hunkajunkcar, Mr. Bartlett; they tried to steal it but I _foiled_ them! I wasdisguised as a buffalo robe. "

There was only one difficulty in the way of this heroic course and thatwas that he could not run the car. Never again would he touch one ofthose frightful nickel things on the instrument board. So, wishing tohandle this harrowing situation alone, with true scout prowess andresource, he kicked around among the ruins of that tyrannous and fallenempire, and tried to devise some plan. 

Suddenly he heard a sound near him. He paused in the darkness, his scoutheel upon a poor, defenseless crumpled spelling book. Thus he stood inmingled triumph and agitation, his heart beating fast, every nerve onedge. 

"Who--who's there?" he said. 

He moved again, and was startled as his foot slipped off the charredtimber on which he was walking. The brisk autumn wind was playing havocamong the debris, blowing damp pages over faster than anyone could turnthem. It played among a burned chest of old examination papers. Scattering them like dried leaves. Correct or incorrect, they were allthe same now. Pee-wee liked this roving, unruly wind, having its own wayin that dominion of restriction. He liked its gay disregard of all thissolemn claptrap. 

But now he heard clearly the sound of footsteps among the ruins, footsteps picking their way as it seemed to him, through the uncertainsupport of all that various disorder. Groping, careful footfalls. 

"Who's there?" he asked. And the only answer was a gust of wind. 

Could it be those thieves in search of him? Or might it be the ghost ofsome principal or teacher lingering still among these remnants andreminders of authority?

Step, step--step. 

Then from around the corner of a charred, up-ended platform appeared aface. A face with a cap drawn low over it. And presently a dark formemerged. 

"Who--who are--you?" Pee-wee stammered. 

"I'm a teacher as was here, " the stranger said. "You needn't be scaredof me, kiddo. "

"I was just kind of looking around, " Pee-wee explained apologetically. 

"Here's a pencil fur yer, " the stranger said. "I jes' picked it up. "

Pee-wee accepted this as a flag of truce, and felt somewhat reassured. Aman who would give him a pencil surely meant no harm. He had as muchright to be there as Pee-wee had. 

"If you were a teacher here I shouldn't think you'd say 'as was, '"Pee-wee ventured, "But gee whiz, " he added, "I don't care how you sayit. " No teacher had ever before called him kiddo and he rather liked it. "Maybe you taught manual training, hey?" Pee-wee said. "Because they'rekind of different. "

"There's where you hit it, " said the stranger. 

"Manual training?"

"Right the first time, and I'm just sort of collecting some of my junk. "

"That's one thing about me, I'm good at guessing, " Pee-wee said. "Ikinder knew you were that. Manual training, that's my favorite studybecause it isn't a study at all. I made a bird-house, I did, in manualtraining, a dandy big one. "

"Bird-houses is a good thing to make, " said the manual trainingteacher. 

Pee-wee could not see his new acquaintance very well or the bundle whichhe carried. If the teacher had been after his junk he seemed to havebeen fortunate in finding it, for he had collected a considerable amountof booty. Indeed, he had but a minute before succeeded in disinterringthe safe which had been in the principal's office, but here he had metwith disappointment. He had, however, hit upon a microscope of somevalue from the equipment of the student laboratory and he had found alady's handbag which he seemed to think worth keeping. 

"What are _you_ doing here?" he asked of Pee-wee. 

CHAPTER XIII

A FRIEND IN NEED

"Do you want me to let you into a secret?" Pee-wee said. "I know wherethere's a stolen automobile. Maybe you'd like to help me take it back toits owner, hey? If you do you'll get an honourable mention in ourtroop-book. I was carried away in it by two thieves who didn't know Iwas in the car, because I was disguised, sort of, under the buffalorobe. Do you want to help me foil them?"

The manual training teacher seemed interested but a bit incredulous. Helooked Pee-wee over and said, "what's all this?"

"Maybe you don't believe me but it's true, " Pee-wee said. "Do you knowhow to run a car?"

"Anything from a flivver up, " said the stranger. 

"Shh, " said Pee-wee, "this one is away, way up. It's a super sixHunkajunk, it belongs to a man where I live, in Bridgeboro, New Jersey. "

"Well, what are you doing here?" the manual training teacher asked. 

"I was kind of kidnapped accidentally. They did it but they didn't knowit. They've got pistols and blackjacks and things and I heard them talkabout stealing. I bet I'd have heard a lot more only my head was underthe buffalo robe. If you'll help me we can circum--what do you callit--you know--circum--"

The teacher did not know. But his interest was aroused at this whisperedtale of armed bandits and of a big stolen car. Pee-wee completed thetale in breathless excitement. He told all, from the beginning. "Theylocked it in, " he concluded, "and went away; but one of the doors, thebig one, was locked on the inside and I opened it. Anybody can take thecar out. Those men have gone away across the lake. If you'll drive it toBridgeboro you can stay at my house and have breakfast and I'll tell Mr. Bartlett that you helped me, and gee whiz, they'll thank, you a lot. Maybe you know about scouts because manual training teachers know a lotabout scouts on account of scouts making bird-houses and all things likethat, and so maybe you know about good turns. That'll be a peach of agood turn. And if I tell about it you'll get a kind of a medal from ourtroop with your name on it. What's your name? Mine's Walter Harris, butthe fellows in my troop call me Pee-wee, but I should worry about them. Will you help me? What's your name?"

"Mr. Swiper, " said the stranger, rather thoughtfully; "let's go and lookit over. "

He was certainly considering the proposition and Pee-wee accompanied himback to the lake, keeping up a running fire of enthusiasticencouragement and representing to him the delight and self-satisfactionof circumventing a pair of scoundrels. "They've got pistols andeverything, " he said as a clincher, "and if they'd steal a car they'dkill somebody, wouldn't they?"

"Seventy pistols is a good many, " said Mr. Swiper, incredulously. 

"Sure it is, " said Pee-wee excitedly; "it's more than Jesse James had. Iguess they belong to a big band of thieves, hey? Maybe they've gota--a--a haunt on the other side of that lake, hay? Now you can see it'sgood to go to the movies, hey? Because we could never circum--foil themif I hadn't, hey? They drove it right away from in front of the theater. Anyway, " he added excitedly as he trotted along, "I'm glad I met youbecause now I don't have to wake up the police or anything, hey? And Ibet Mr. And Mrs. Bartlett will be surprised when they see us bringing itback, won't they? I'll show you where we have our meetings. "

Mr. Swiper was not carried off his feet by Pee-wee's excited talk. Hewas thoughtful and preoccupied. 

"That's one thing I have no use for--thieves, " Pee-wee said. "Gee whiz, I never took a ride with thieves before. But anyway it's going to be allright now. We'll just toot the horn in front of the house when we getthere, hey? And I'll say--I'll say--'Here's your car Mr. Bartlett. ' Andthen I'll introduce you to him, hey? And I bet he'll--anyway, youwouldn't take anything, would you? Money or anything like that?"

"Don't insult me, " said Mr. Swiper. 

"I didn't mean it, " Pee-wee said apologetically; "scouts are like that, they won't take anything for a service, but eats don't count, you cantake eats. But I mean money----"

"Don't speak of money again, " said Mr. Swiper. 

CHAPTER XIV

SAVED!

Thanks to Pee-wee, the door of the rustic lakeside garage stoodinvitingly open. 

"I won't--I won't say anything about money; gee whiz, you needn't haveany fear, " Pee-wee said, making a play for his companion's good-will;"gee, I wouldn't do that--I wouldn't. But you could take a medal, couldn't you? A scout good-will medal?" he added anxiously. 

"Maybe, " said Mr. Swiper. 

"Gee, you'll _have_ to take it, " said Pee-wee; "our scoutmaster willmake you. "

Before entering the building, Mr. Swiper made an inspection of thelonely neighborhood, and looked out across the still, dark lake. 

"That's where they went?" he asked. 

"Sure, they won't see us, " Pee-wee said reassuringly. 

But the manual training teacher was not going to take any chances witha crew of ruffians--not he. 

"Even if they should see us or hear us, " Pee-wee encouraged, "theywouldn't dare come after it, because it isn't theirs. They thoughtnobody would ever find it in here. It's good I was on the inside, hey?"

"That's the place to be, " said Mr. Swiper. 

"You bet it is, " said Pee-wee. "Were you ever locked in a place?"

To this purely personal question, Mr. Swiper made no reply; Instead hewalked about the car thoughtfully, then climbed into the front seat andturned on the dash-light. He seemed to know what he was doing. Pee-weedid not wait but excitedly climbed in beside him. 

"Gee whiz, a feller's got to have nerve to steal a car, hasn't he?" heasked, unable in his elation to keep still. 

"That's what, " said Mr. Swiper briefly. 

"It--it kind of--sort of--makes us feel like thieves, taking it, "Pee-wee commented, looking about him rather fearfully, "but anyway we'vegot a right to, that's one sure thing. . . . Haven't we?"

"Sure. "

"And it's all right, that's one sure thing. Oh boy, I'm glad I met youand you'll get as much credit as I do, that's sure. Anyway, we've got aright to take it away from the thieves, I hope. Gee, nobody can denythat. Anyway, I guess _you_ don't feel scary. "

"Guess they won't follow us, " said Mr. Swiper. "Not if they know what'swell for them. Thieves don't come after you, they run away from you. "

"You bet they do, " said Pee-wee, delighted at his new friend's rathergenerous contribution to the talk. 

The engine now purred softly, the silent shifting into reverse gear toldthe young rescuer that a practiced hand was at the wheel. Slowly the bigcar backed out of the building and around till it headed into the darkover-grown road. 

"You didn't put the lights on, " Pee-wee said. 

"Time enough for that, " said his companion, who seemed quite accustomedto driving in the dark. 

Presently the big super six Hunkajunk touring model was rolling silentlyalong through the woods, rescued, saved! Soon to be restored to itsrightful owner by W. Harris, scout, B. S. A. 

By the dash-light, Pee-wee obtained a first glimpse of his companion'sface. There was nothing in particular about him, save a long, diagonalscar on his face which Pee-wee thought might have been caused by sometool in the ruined manual training room. The young man had also veryshort hair; it was so short, in fact, that it seemed almost like no hairat all. It was like a convict's hair. 

CHAPTER XV

IN CAMP

The light which Pee-wee had seen across the water was not on a boat ashe had supposed. It was on a small island the very name of which wouldhave delighted his heart, for it was called Frying-pan Island, becauseof its rough similarity of form to that delightful accessory of camplife. If Scout Harris could have eaten a waffle out of such a frying-panhe would have felt that he had not lived in vain. 

This frying-pan, instead of being filled with fat, was filled withwoods, and a little to the west of the center, where an omelet mighthave nestled in its smaller prototype, three tents were concealed in theenshrouding foliage. Down at the end of the handle of this frying-panwas good fishing, but it was marshy there, and sometimes after a heavyrain the handle was completely sub-merged. From an airplane the threewhite tents in the western side of the pan might have seemed like threeenormous poached eggs; that is, provided the aviator had an imagination. 

It was upon the shore of this little island that the two young men whohad driven the automobile from Bridgeboro pulled their boat ashore aboutten minutes after they had all unknowingly locked Scout Harris in theirmakeshift lakeside garage. Considering that they were cut-throats andruffians and all that sort of thing, their consciences seemed singularlyclear, for they laughed and chatted as they made their way along the fewyards of trail which led to their lair, or den, or haunt, or cave, orwhatever you care to call it. 

They were greeted by a chorus of boys who jumped up from around thecamp-fire where they had been seated making demands upon them for newsand booty. 

"How about it? Can we stay here?"

"What kept you so long?"

"Did you get the silver cup?"

"I bet you didn't find out?"

"I bet you ate supper in a restaurant. "

"We made rice cakes. "

"Did you get the cup?"

"Let's see it. "

"They didn't get it"

"Yes they did. "

"I bet they didn't. "

"I bet they did. "

"Look at the smiles on their faces. "

"I bet we have the town hall wished on us. "

"I bet it's the fire-house. "

"I feel it in my bones we have to go to school. "

"Let's see the cup. "

"Did you eat?"

"What is this, a questionnaire?" asked one of the arrivals, the one whohad driven the car. 

"Let's hear the worst. "

"Break it gently. "

"We thought your new junk wagon broke down. "

"Don't say anything against his new junk Wagon or he'll never tell usanything. "

"Did you put the baby to bed?"

"Yes and locked him in. "

"What kept you so late?"

"We got mixed up with a Bandit of Harrowing Highway. "

"Who's he?"

"He's a villyan. "

"A which?"

"A movie play. "

"That's a nice thing for two scoutmasters to go and see. Your two troopsare ashamed of you. "

"If our two troops don't shut up--"

"We'll shut up--come on, _altogether_!"

Followed a welcome silence. 

"We've gone to a lot of trouble today for you kids, " said one of thescoutmasters. "We've got the cup but we had to wait a couple of hoursfor it. The merchants in the great metropolis of Bridgeboro are so slowthat a turtle would be arrested for speeding there. Poke up the fire, Nick, we're cold, and I'll tell you all about our adventures. We've madea day of it, huh?"

The scout whom he called Nick jogged up the waning blaze while othersbrought a fresh log, and soon the camp-fire was roaring a warming, hearty welcome home to the weary scoutmasters. One of these (who wasevidently young enough to be addressed by his Christian name, for theycalled him Ned) sat on an old grocery box and related the happenings ofthe day, while the others sprawled about, listening. Occasionally hisfellow scoutmaster (Safety First they called him) contributed a fewwords. 

"Well, the first thing we did when we got ashore was to--"

"Get out of the boat?" a scout asked. There was surely not muchconstraint between scouts and scoutmasters in this outfit. 

"We went up to town and saw the school board; at least we saw Mr. Cram. He says everything's upside down and they don't know what they'lldo--says there won't be any school for a month anyway. (Cries ofdespair. ) They can't use the town hall and they can't use the fire-houseand they're talking of using the old Wilder mansion. We told him ifthere wasn't going to be any school till the middle of October or so, we'd like to bunk right here on the island and study nature. He said, 'Go to it. ' So there's no school for a month (murmurs of disappointment)and we've got to chip in and get some more groceries. 

"We squared things with your parents and most of them are glad to getrid of you. How about that, Safety First? Corby's sister is giving aparty and hopes he'll stay away. Let's see now; oh yes, we bought somefishing tackle. 

"Then we got some gas and started for Bridgeboro after the cup. We wentafter that cup like Sir Thomas Lipton. The jewelry man didn't have theengraving finished so we dropped in at a movie show and saw a fellowwith a lot of pistols. How many pistols were there, First Aid? Wecounted them off coming back in the machine, there were seventy. Crazystuff. That's the kind of stuff you kids fall for. Well, after thepistol shooting was over we got the cup and started back and here weare. Any questions?"

"Let's see the cup. "

We left it in the machine. We'll get it in the morning. Now look here, you scouts. I want every last one of you to try for that cup. There arehalf a dozen of you that need to wake up. There are a few dead oneshere; Harry, the crack shot--yes you--I'm looking right at you--I wantyou to can all this stuff about killing animals and get busy and do thebest scout stunt of the season and win that cup. Understand? I wassaying to Safety First on the way home that a fellow gets more funstealing up on an animal and piking him with a camera than he doespoking around with an old air gun that he saw advertised in _Boy'sLife_. That's what! I'm talking to you straight. 

"Now here's a silver cup and it looks pretty swell all engraved with ourpatrol names and we drove way to Bridgeboro to get it. That cup's goingto stand on the stump of that tree there--where the chipmunk hangs out. And the day we leave this island it's going to the scout that has donethe best scout stunt. Tracking, signalling, good turn, cooking, it makesno difference what. The scout that does the _biggest thing_, he gets thecup. We two scoutmasters and Mr. Wade are going to be the committee. Nowyou'd better all turn in and hurry up about it, and Ralph Gordon is notto snore; they're complaining about it over in town. "

"Can we do any kind of stunts we want to?" asked the tall scout whomthey call Nick. 

"Any kind at all that's good scouting; that's the only rule. "

"All right, then I'm going to start to-night, " said Nick; "I'm going torow across and get that cup out of the car so we all can see it. Let'shave the key, will you?"

At this there was a general laugh mingled with shouts from a dozen or sovolunteers:

"I'll go with you!"

"Take me?"

"I'm in on that!"

"I was just going to suggest it!"

"Yes you were--not!"

"Wait till morning, " said Scoutmaster Ned. 

"It can't be done, " said Nick in a funny, sober way; "a scout issupposed to have his sleep, that's the most important rule of all, yousaid so yourself. I can't sleep till I've had a squint at that cup. Comeon Fido, let's row over. "

The scout called Fido had won his name because of his doglikepersistence in following trails. "That's me, " he said, "I was just goingto propose it when you took the words out of my mouth. "

"I'd like to see a photograph of anybody taking anything out of _your_mouth, " said Scoutmaster Ned. "Go ahead, the two of you; I wish yourpeople would send you both to a private school that opens up to-morrow. Go on, get out of here. And don't wake us up when you come back. "

"Thank you kindly, " said Fido. 

"The pleasure is mine, " said Scoutmaster Ned. 

CHAPTER XVI

FOOTPRINTS

So this, then, was the explanation of the bloodthirsty talk which themighty hero of the Bridgeboro troop had heard under the buffalo robe ashe emerged from the sweet realm of slumber in the automobile. 

Pistols, killing, stealing and dead ones! To steal up to a bird and_not_ kill it! To wake up if you are a dead one! To laugh with wholesomescout humor at the silly gun play of the screen! To count the pistols inWilliam I. Smart's five reel thriller!

Alas, Scout Harris!

But we are not to accompany that redoubtable rescuer in his thrillingflight. We are going to row across the lake in which the dying camp-fireon the little island cast a golden flicker, into which the oars held byour new acquaintance, Nick Vernon, dipped silently and rose dripping ashis practiced arms drew the boat through the water, causing a musicallittle ripple at its bow. 

"Got the key?" Fido asked. 

"Do you suppose I'd come away without it?"

"Pull a little on your left. I can just make out the shed. Thereisn't, --yes there is, there's just one light in the town. "

"That's Algernon Kirkendall studying his algebra, " said Nick. 

"It's just in line with the shed. Row straight for the light and we'llhit the shore just right. I'll lift this seat and steer with it. Crinkums, it's dark on the water, isn't it?"

So the algebra was of some use in the world after all; AlgernonKirkendall was a scout without knowing it. 

"S. N. [1] thinks more of that new car than he does of the troop, " saidFido. 

"Sure, the car don't give him as much trouble, " said Nick. "We're aHunkajunk troop and Safety First's troop is a Ford troop; it's small butit makes a lot of noise. If I ever start a troop it will be air-cooled. How about it, am I headed right?"

[Footnote 1: Scoutmaster Ned he meant. ]

"Row straight ahead, I'll steer. "

"Golly, the water's black. Look! Did you see that fish jump? Lookaround, the camp-fire looks good from here. Believe me, the autumn isthe time to camp. We're in luck. I love, I love, I love my lessons, butoh you little island!"

"Ditto. "

"We're set till Columbus Day. "

"You mean Election Day. Gee, your oar touched bottom, here we are. I'llrow back. "

They pulled the boat up and started for the shack. Fido reached it firstand called excitedly, "It's open! The car's gone!"

"Stop your fooling, " called Nick. 

"I'm not fooling, come and look for yourself, hurry up, the car's gone. "

They stood in the big open doorway in gaping amazement. They walked in, too dumfounded to speak, and when they did speak their voices soundedstrange to each other within the dark, empty confines of those old driedboard walls. 

"Somebody must have broken in through the small door, " said Fido. 

"It's closed and locked, " said his companion. "How about the fasteningon the big one?"

"It's all O. K. ; nobody's been breaking in, that's sure. "

"You don't mean to tell me S. N. Would lock the small door and then comeaway leaving the big one open, do you?" Nick asked incredulously. 

"Well, what then?" his comrade retorted with greater incredulity. "Ifboth doors were closed and fastenings are all right now, could anybodyget the car out? They left the big door open--that's what they did. "

"They never did that, " said Nick; "look here, here's a fresh fingerprint on the door--you can smell the oil on it. Here, wait till I lightanother match. S. N. Did what he always does, he opened the hood andturned on the oil pet-cock and fussed around and then pulled the doorshut. Someone must have been inside this place before they got back. "

Fido Norton was by this time on his knees outside the larger door. "Hereare footprints, " said he; "two, three, --here's another one. Give meanother match. "

"Those were made by our own fellows, " said Nick, inspecting the ground, half interested. "Can't you see they were made by scout shoes? Do youthink a boy scout stole the car? Here are some others, too, S. N. 's, andSafety First's, I suppose. "

"Why should they step outside the big door?" Norton asked. "These arefresh footprints, all of them. After they got through, they'd go outthrough the small door wouldn't they? This print, and this one, and thisone, " he said, holding a match, "were made by scout shoes--_to-night_, not an hour ago. "

"All the fellows except us two are in camp, " said Nick. 

"All right, " Fido Norton shot back, "they might all be at the NorthPole, but these prints were made by scout shoes _to-night_. That's whatI'm telling you. "

"All right, " said Nick with a tolerant sneer in his voice, "the car wasstolen by a boy scout, probably a tenderfoot. Maybe it was stolen by agirl scout--"

"No, they're scout shoe prints, " said Norton, ignoring his friend'ssarcasm, "and they're not an hour old, not a half hour, that's what Ithink. "

"Well, actions speak louder than footprints, " said Nick; "what are wegoing to do, that's the question?"

"Whatever you say, " said Norton cheerfully. 

CHAPTER XVII

ACTION

"Well then I say let's send up a signal, " said Nick hurriedly, "thefellows at camp will see it and everybody else for miles around will seeit. Every telegraph operator along the railroad can read it. Forgetabout scouts stealing cars and do what I tell you. Hustle up to thepolice station and tell them about it so they can't say we didn't reportit, then meet me at the town hall. "

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to use the old search-light if it will work. It hasn't beenused since the night of the armistice when they lighted up the flag withit. Climb in through the broken window on the side and come up into thecupola. Don't tell Chief Bungelheimer or he'll say it was his idea. Myfather's on the town committee, it's all right, hustle now, get thepolice department off your hands and maybe we can do something--notelling. Remember, the side window, the one that's broken. And look outfor the ladder, it's rotten. Hurry up, beat it!"

Fido Norton hurried to the police station in back of Ezra Corbett'sstore and aroused Officer Dopeson who was at the desk waiting forout-of-town speeders to be brought in. In a kind of waking dream theofficer heard an excited voice shout, "Mr. Ned Garrison's car is stolenfrom the shed down by the lake. "

When Officer Dopeson was fully aware of this noisy intrusion, theintruder had disappeared. He lost no time, however, in setting the usualmachinery in motion. By a continuous series of movements of the receiverrack on the telephone he aroused Miss Dolly Bobbitt, the night operator, from the depths of the novel she was reading, and notified the PoliceDepartment in East Ketchem across the lake to be on watch for the car. The police department over there said that he would be glad to do that. The police departments of Conner's Junction and Rocky Hollow were alsonotified. 

A long distance call to the New York police warned them to be on thelookout. Blinksboro, on the main road, did not answer. Knapp'sCrossroads had gone to a harvest festival and forgotten to come back. No answer. Lonehaven couldn't get the name of the car but said it wouldwatch out for a Plunkabunk. Wakeville said no car could possibly getthrough there as there wasn't any road. Miss Dolly Bobbitt returned toher novel. 

And meanwhile the scout raised a mighty hand up into the vast, starryheaven, like some giant traffic cop. . . . 

"Pull that canvas cover off it, " said Nick to his comrade who had justcome up the ladder. "The blamed thing's all rotten anyway, I guess. Strike a match and find where the switch is. Look out you don't slip inthe hole. Look at all the confetti and stuff, " he added hurriedly, asthe tiny flame of the match illuminated a small area of the littlecupola. "War's over, huh?"

There upon the floor were strewn the gay many-colored little paperparticles, plastered against the wood by many a rain, mementos of thenight when even West Ketchem arose and poured this festive, flutteringstuff down necks and into windows. Someone who had thought to throw thesearch-light on the flag across the street, had spilled some ofinsinuating stuff in the little cupola. How old and stale, and a part ofthe forgotten past, the war seemed! And these once gay memorials of itsending were all washed out and as colorless as the big spiders thatclaimed the little cupola as their own. It smelled musty up there. Andwhenever a match was lighted the spiders started in their webs. A lonelybat, settled for the winter, hung like an old stiff dishrag from a beam. 

"Did you find the switch?" Nick asked, as he fumbled hastily with thebig brass light. "All right, wait till I point the lens down, now turnit. "

There was no light. 

"Did you turn it?"

"Sure. "

"Pull it out, maybe it works that way. "

There was no light, Norton paused in suspense while Nick shook the brasscase and jarred the wiring to overcome a slight short circuit if therewas any there. 

"All right, turn it again. "

There was no light, and the two scouts stood baffled and heavy heartedin the lonely darkness. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE MESSAGE

"I'm a dumb-bell!" said Nick in a quick inspiration. "Go down and turn onthe main switch; it's in a box on the wall in the vestibule; just pullthe handle down and push it in below. We'll never get any juice up herewith that turned off. Hurry up. "

Norton descended the ladder and with lighted matches found his way tothe vestibule where the switch-box was. Here was the big switch on whichall other switches in the building depended. As he pulled it down onelonely bulb in the meeting-room brightened and cast a dim light in themusty, empty place. It was evidently the only bulb in which theindividual switch was turned on. Norton went through the meeting-roomand turned this off. The place smelled for all the world like aschool-room. 

When he reached the ladder it was bathed in light. Nick was pointing ashaft of dazzling brightness downward. It revealed spiders and splitrungs on the ladder and all the litter at its foot. All the rottingframework of the place and all the disorder were drawn into the light ofday. A pile of old law books became radiant, dry and dull as they were. 

"We've got it, " called Nick, "hurry up, this blamed thing will reach tothe isle of Yap. What's S? Wait, I'll give 'em the high sign first. "

A long, dusty column swept across the dark sky. 

"Attention everybody, " said Nick. "What's S?"

"Three dots, " said Norton. 

"Three flashes it is. How's that? I'm forgetting my A, B, C's. What'sT?"

"One dash. "

"Is three seconds long enough?"

"Three for dashes and one for dots. "

"O. "

The long column swung slowly to right, then slowly back to left again, then slowly back to right. 

"P's a hard one; here goes. " "Good for you, _some_ handwriting. "

In five minutes or less, Nick had sprawled across the open page of theheavens the words, "STOP BLUE CAR 50792 EAGLE ON FRONT. " He paused abouthalf a minute then repeated the message. 

That long, accusing arm crossed stars as it swayed and flashed. Itfilled the limitless sky like a rainbow. A giant spectre it was, swayingin the unknown depths, crossing clouds, and piercing realms of darkness, and speaking to those who could understand. A sick child, somewhere orother, saw it, and the watchful mother carried the little one to awindow the better to see this strange visitant. 

"It's a search-light, " she said. But to them it had no meaning. A merryparty returning home in the wee hours paused and watched it curiouslybut it spoke to them not. At Knapp's Crossroads they saw it, just as theharvest festival was breaking up, and Hank Sparker and Sophia Coysonlingered on their way home to watch it. But it spoke not their language. 

Did it speak to any one, this voice calling in the dark? Did any oneunderstand it? Were there no telegraph operators in any of the stationsalong the line? They would understand. Was there no one?

No one?. . . 

CHAPTER XIX

PAGE TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-FOUR

If Pee-wee had stolen a glimpse from the buffalo robe at about the timethat he was writing under difficulties his momentous message to theworld, he might have noticed a little old-fashioned house nestling amongthe trees along the roadside. 

At that time the house was dark save for a lamp-light in a little windowup under the eaves. Little the speeding hero knew that up in that tinyroom there sat a boy engrossed with the only scout companion that heknew, and that was the scout handbook. It had come to him by mail a fewdays before. 

This boy lived with his widowed mother, Mrs. Mehetable Piper. His namewas Peter, but whether he was descended from the renowned Peter Piperwho picked a peck of pickled peppers, the present chronicler does notknow. At the time in question he was eating the handbook alive. Thespeeding auto passed, the mighty Bridgeboro scout pinned his missive tohis remnant of sandwich and hurled it out into the dark world, the boyup in the little room went on reading with hungry eyes, and that is allthere was to that. 

Peter belonged to no troop, for in that lonely country there was notroop to belong to. He had no scoutmaster, no one to track and stalk andgo camping with, no one to jolly him as Pee-wee had. Away off inNational Headquarters he was registered as a pioneer scout. He had hiscertificate, he had his handbook, that is all. It is said in that bookthat a scout is a brother to every other scout, but this scout'sbrothers were very far away and he had never seen any of them. Hewondered what they looked like in their trim khaki attire. He couldhardly hope to see them, but he did dare to hope that somehow or otherhe might strike up a correspondence with one of them. He had heard ofpioneer scouts doing that. 

In his loneliness he pictured scouts seated around a camp-fire tellingyarns. He knew that sometimes these wonderful and fortunate beings withbadges up and down their arms went tracking in pairs, that there waschumming in the patrols. He might sometime or other induce Abner Corningto become a pioneer scout and chum with him. But this seemed a Utopianvision for Abner lived seven miles away and had hip disease and lived ina wheel-chair. 

Peter had a rich uncle who lived in New York and took care of a buildingand got, oh as much as thirty dollars a week. The next time this richuncle came to visit he was going to ask him if he had seen any realscouts with khaki suits and jack-knives dangling from their belts andaxes hanging on their hips. 

Peter experimented with the axe in the woodshed but it was so long thatthe handle dragged on the ground and he could sit on it. He had likewisepinned a Harding and Coolidge button on his sleeve and pretended it wasa signalling badge. _A signalling badge!_ He did not tell his motherwhat he was pretending for she would not understand. Out in the smallbarn he had presented himself with this, with much scout ceremony, andhe had actually trembled when he told himself (in a man's voice) to"step forward and receive this token. . . . "

The car in which Scout Harris was being carried reached the lake andstill Peter Piper poured over his scout handbook by the dim, oilysmelling lamp, up in that little room. The two scoutmasters rowed acrossand were greeted by their noisy troops and still Peter Piper read hisbook. The scout of scouts, W. Harris of the nifty Bridgeboro outfit, wasnearly suffocated, then escaped and stood triumphant over the ruins ofthe West Ketchem school, and still Peter Piper's smarting eyes werefixed upon that book. They were riveted to page two hundred andeighty-four and he was reading the words "Scouts should thoroughlymaster these two standard. . . . "

He read it again and again for his strained eyes were blinking and thepage seemed all hazy. He paused to rest his eyes, then read on. But hedid not turn the page. For an hour his gaze was fixed upon it. Just onthat one page. . . . 

CHAPTER XX

STOP

Suddenly something, it seemed like a shadow, crossed the window outside. If Peter's little room had been downstairs he might have thought that aspectre of the night was passing. He looked up, startled, dumbfounded. And while he gazed the tall dusky apparition passed back across thewindow again. 

Half frightened and very curious he raised the little sash and lookedout. The night was dark but the sky was filled with stars. Not a lightof man's making was there in all the country roundabout. He concentratedhis gaze along the back road and tried to pick out the spot wherePeace-justice Fee's house was, thinking that perhaps some signthereabout would furnish the key to this ghostly mystery. But there wasnot the faintest twinkle there, nor any sound of life. Only solemn, unanswering darkness. Somewhere in the woods a solitary screech owl washooting its discordant song. 

"Is--is--anybody here?" Peter asked, his voice shaking. There was noanswer, nothing but silent, enveloping darkness. 

Peter groped behind him for the old piece of broomstick which proppedthe window open, and with this in place, he leaned far out and gazedtoward the little graveyard where his father and his grandfather and allthe simple forbears of the lonely neighborhood had gone to their rest. Not a sound was there in that solemn little acre. He strained his eyesand tried to identify the place by Deacon Small's tall, white tombstone, but he could not make it out. 

Suddenly, just above that silent, hallowed little area, a tall graything appeared, then disappeared as suddenly. 

Peter trembled, yet gazed in fascination. He was fearful of he knew notwhat. Yet he could not withdraw his eyes from that spot. Hadsomeone--some _thing_ from that little graveyard come to his window andgone back again to its musty rest? Was it--_could_ it be--?

Hardly had he the chance to think and conjure up some harrowing fear, when the dusky column appeared again, then disappeared, then appearedagain. Then darkness. 

Whatever put it into Peter Piper's head he never know, but quick likethose very flashes occurred to him the very words that he had beensaying over and over to himself but a few minutes before--saying overand committing to memory. "Three dots or flashes--S, three dots orflashes--three dots or flashes--"

Again it arose, that ghostly apparition, and filled the dark sky abovethe little graveyard. This time it remained, for one, two, three, fourseconds. 

Peter's hand trembled now from a new kind of excitement, as he gropedbehind him for his one poor scout possession, the handbook. Then hereached for the lamp, but the night wind blew it out just as the tallthing came again, and stayed for several seconds. 

Peter groped for the little box of safety matches which always lay nearthe lamp. These were the chief ornaments of his little room, the lampand the safety matches. He held a match close over page two hundred andeighty-four while he divided his gaze between this and the nextlingering visitation of that strange, long, shadowy thing over thegraveyard. He struck match after match, as each blew out. Yes, that waswhat three short flashes meant--S. And one long flash meant T. 

Suppose--_suppose_ there should be three _long_ appearances now? Thatwould be O. Were these signs, expressed in ghostly strangeness, just thefigments of Peter's excited imagination? Just the Morse Code hauntinghim and coloring his fancy? He put his finger on the black symbol on thepage and waited. 

--Two--three--then a pause. 

S--T--O

His finger held upon the page trembled as he lighted another match andstill another and moved his finger to another printed symbol on thepage. And the long, dusty column over beyond the graveyard, came andwent, now for a second, now for several, now for several again, then forone short second. 

"STOP!" said Peter, his voice shaking as if indeed some ghostly spectrewere upon him. Somebody, somebody was talking to him! Some scout, inreal khaki attire, out in the great world?

Peter did not know where to place his waiting finger next. A mighty handhad been raised in the black, solemn night, and had said _Stop_. Hadsprawled it across the open page of the heaven. Peter waited, as onewaits for a spirit to give some sign. He kept his eyes riveted upon thegeneral service code, lighting match after match and throwing them onthe floor as the fickle things went out. Some day, _some day, maybe_, Peter would have a _real_ flashlight with a switch button, a flashlightof shiny nickel that he could polish, such a flashlight as he had seen apicture of in _Boy's Life_. A flashlight that would not blow out. Sometime he would--maybe. . . . 

CHAPTER XXI

SEEIN' THINGS

Stop-blue-car-five-o-seven-nine-two-eagle-on-front. 

Out of the solemn darkness, someone, somewhere, had called to PeterPiper of Piper's Crossroads; had stolen like a silent ghost to hislittle window and bidden him watch. 

Far away that arresting voice may have been, away off in the big world, and none could say how far or near, or where or how it spoke, calling inthe endless wilderness of night. But it spoke to Peter Piper, of Piper'sCrossroads, to Peter Piper, pioneer scout. 

And Peter Piper, with the aid of the only scout companion that he had, read it and was _prepared_, as it is the way of a scout to be. 

He did not dare to hope that he was being drawn into the actual circleof scouting; he would not know how to act among those natty strangers. Wonderful as they were, with their pathfinding and all that, they couldhardly penetrate to his humble, sequestered little home. Peter Piper ofPiper's Crossroads was not going to allow himself to dream anyextravagantly impossible dreams. The nickel flashlight and acorrespondence with some unknown "brother, " that was as far as his hopescarried. 

He had still a lingering and persistent feeling that this whole amazingbusiness was unreal; that he had been dreaming it or at least reading ameaning where there was none. He knew that he could see trees and thestars in Hawley's pond when there were none there. Might not this be thesame? He had expected sometime or other to make a signal fire and givethis scout voice a try-out with some simple word. He had not expected tobe aroused and called to service by its spectral, mysterious command. 

What should he do? Set it down to his own deceiving fancy and go back tohis handbook? Return to the wholesome realities of stalking and trailingwhich filled those engrossing pages? Poor Peter Piper felt that he hadmade a sort of bold excursion from Piper's Crossroads into the realm ofmiracles and that he had better not let that weird apparition overbeyond the graveyard dupe and mock him. Perhaps he had been "seein'things. " Yet there were the long and short flashes and they had spelledthat warning message, or else he had gone out of his senses or beendreaming. He hardly knew what to think, now that he had time to think. 

His credulity soon gained the upper hand, he began to doubt his owneyes, and he was just a bit ashamed of what he was resolved to do. Atall events he would have the delight of doing it, and no one would know. He would act just as a _real_ scout would _really_ act if the messagewas _real_ and _true_. 

Stealing down the creaky, boxed-in stairs, he got a lantern from thekitchen and lighted it. The actual performance of this practical actmade his experience of the last few minutes seem fanciful, unreal. Hewas no longer under the spell of that ghostly column and he was not sosure that he believed in it. To bestir himself upon the authority ofsuch an uncanny warning seemed rather foolish. He almost found iteasier, now, to believe that he had seen some spectral thing in thegraveyard. 

As he emerged from the house the familiar things about him seemed tomock his vision of a warning message in the sky. The startled chickensin the little hen-house resettled themselves comfortably on theirperches as if not to be disturbed by such nonsense. The calf resting atthe end of his pegged rope arose, looked about him and lay down again asif he would not be a party to poor Peter's absurd nocturnal enterprise. The darkness and the vastness of the wooded country seemed to chillPeter's hopes. Now that the gripping spell was over he hardly knew whatto think. . . . 

With his jack-knife he cut a piece from the rope which held the calf andmoved the peg nearer to the animal which looked curiously on at thisunexpected abridgment of its sphere of freedom. It almost seemed toPeter that the calf was laughing at him. 

This piece of rope he stretched across the road, fastening one end tothe rotten gate-post, long deserted by its gate, the other to a tree. Then he hung the lantern midway of this line. This seemed as much as hiswaning hope justified, but on second thought he stole into the house, took a black tomato crate marker from the kitchen shelf and on a paperflour-bag printed the words DANGER ROAD CLOSED. This he hung upon therope near the lantern. Then he sat down on the old carriage block wherethey used to stand the milk cans and waited. He felt rather foolishwaiting there and he wondered what he should do if a big car with thenumber 50792 and an eagle on it should really come along. . . . 

The night was pitch dark; somewhere in the lonely woods hard by thescreech owl was still calling, and the brisk autumn wind, freshening asthe night advanced into the wee hours, conjured up strange noises in theloose hanging sticks of the old ramshackle fence along the roadside. Dried leaves, driven by the fitful gusts of wind, sounded like someone, or some _thing_, hurrying by. 

Now, indeed, Peter's fine hopes melted away as he waited there in thedarkness. To be sure, this was a main road, as likely a route as anythereabouts for autos, and in the daytime many passed there. But as hewaited now in the deep, enveloping night, and heard no sound save thehaunting voices caused by the wind and the low, monotonous singing ofthe forest life, it seemed unthinkable that any thrilling sequel of hissingular experience in his little room could occur. Everything was thesame as usual, the crickets chirping, the owl calling, the littlegraveyard down the road wrapped in darkness. . . . Glory was not going toknock on the humble door of Peter Piper of Piper's Crossroads. . . . 

Peter glanced down the dark road toward the graveyard; he had alwayshurried past that spot when coming home from the crossroads at night. Once he had seen a ghostly figure on the stone wall, which, on morecareful inspection the next morning, proved to be the sexton's shovelwith his hat on top of it. The little church was around the bend of theroad, within the hallowed acre. 

Suddenly, as Peter glanced in the direction where the old leaninggravestones were wrapped in darkness, he saw something which harrowedhis very soul and made his blood run cold. One of those stones wasbathed in a dim, shadowy light. It was startling to see just one stoneand no others. It was not a light so much as an area of gossamerbrightness that enveloped it, a kind of gauze shroud. Peter gazed, unable to stir, his breaths coming short and fast. Then this dim shroudleft the tombstone and glided slowly through the graveyard, shedding itshovering brightness upon a small area of the stone wall as it crossed, and came steadily, steadily over toward Peter Piper. 

CHAPTER XXII

HARK! THE CONQUERING HERO COMES

"What the dickens is this, anyway; a cemetery?" said Mr. Swiper, pokingthe finding light this way and that as the car of a thousand delightscame slowly up toward the bend. "It's some rocky road to Dublin, allright. "

He cast the light along the dark road behind them and lookedapprehensively back as far as he could see. Evidently there was no causefor fear there and he dropped the car of a thousand delights into secondgear and picked his way along the narrow, rocky way, below the bend. "Iguess it will be better when we get around here, " he said; "we have towatch our step in this jungle. Nice place to build a church, huh?" Hethrew the finding light upon the little edifice ahead and brightened thesmall stained-glass window, casting a soft reflection upon DeaconSmall's slanting marble slab nearby. 

The small figure in a gray sweater with a rather tough look, cap drawnover his round face, who sat huddled up alongside the driver seemed notto partake of the delights which the big car claimed to furnish. Heseemed chilled and very much worried. He looked wistfully ahead at thegraveyard where the strange, soft, reflected light shone. 

"The people around here haven't got any 'phones, " he said. "Anywayswhat's the use 'phoning Mr. Bartlett because he'll only be in bed. Ifwe're going straight to Bridgeboro, gee whiz, what's the good of'phoning? What's the use waking people up around here, even if they havegot 'phones? Gee whiz, you're acting awful funny. Why didn't you ask meto 'phone when we were passing through a village?"

"You're going to get out and 'phone when I tell you to; see?" said ourfriend, the manual training teacher. "And you ain't going to give me nosass neither, understand? I don't let kids tell me my business. "

"You just want to get rid of me, that's what, " said Pee-wee. "Gee, youmight as well say what you mean, I'm not scared. "

"Oh, ain't you? Well you do as I tell you and you'll be all right. Youdo as I tell you if you want to get a ride home; see? Mr. Bartlett andme are grown-up men, we are, and we know what's the right way to do. When a kid is told to do something he's gotter do it. You know so muchabout them scout kids; don't you know that?"

"I'll take care of this here car of Mr. Bartlett's. The next house wecome to I'm going to stop and let you out a little way past it andyou're going to show what you can do; you're going to go back and 'phoneto tell Mr. Bartlett we're on our way, and I'll wait for you. "

"You wanted me to do that at a house that was empty and where therewasn't any 'phone; I could tell because there weren't any wires. Do youthink scouts can't see things? You just want to get rid of me, that'sall. You want to get rid of me where there aren't any 'phones or peopleor anything. Gee, maybe I'm not as strong as you, but anyway I know whatyou're up to, that's one sure thing. "

"Are you going to do as I tell you?"

"I'm a scout and I'm not going to get out till you put me out, sothere. "

Slowly the big car moved up the rocky hill and around the bend andthe finding light which had been focused on the church shifted its areaof distant brightness until Mr. Swiper turned it off just as the two bigheadlights threw their glare along the straight level road. 

[Illustration: "THE ROAD IS CLOSED, " SAID PETER. ]

The small figure in the shabby gray sweater and tough looking cap wasnervous and apprehensive and angry with a righteous anger. But he didnot tremble like the poor little lonely figure waiting in the darknesswith eyes fixed upon those two dazzling, glaring eyes. Five-o-seven-nine-two. There it is, Peter; read it again as the cardraws nearer to make sure. Yes, that is a _five_. Five-o-seven-nine-two. Don't you see the little gilt eagle on the radiator? He trembled, oh howhe trembled. 

"Looker here, you kid, " said the driver to the huddled up figure besidehim; "I once croaked a boy scout that didn't do what I told him. Do yousee? I _croaked_ him. No scout kid can put anything over on me; I won'thave any kids interfering with my plans--"

Oh yes you will, Mr. Swiper. You may have escaped from jail, theauthorities of a dozen states may be after you. But just the same youare going to stop when a little trembling pioneer scout in homespunpantaloons tells you to. Look ahead, where that dim light is, Mr. Swiper, with the cropped hair. Do you see something shining there, heldin a little trembling hand? That is a knife, Mr. Swiper. The tremblinghand that holds that knife belongs to a soul possessed, Mr. Swiper. Heis crazed with a high resolve. See how he shakes? Oh he is not thinkingof _you_. He is thinking of the car, Mr. Swiper. He is not himself atall and he is going to slash your tires if you pass that rope, Mr. Swiper. So you see?

For it is said that opportunity knocks once at everyone's door, Mr. Swiper. It came to you on the ruins of that old school. And it has comeaway down here, Mr. Swiper, and knocked on the door of Peter Piper, pioneer scout, of Piper's Crossroads. 

CHAPTER XXIII

PETER FINDS A WAY

"What's all this?" asked Mr. Swiper, as the car came to a stop beforethe rope. 

With hand shaking and heart thumping, but borne up by a toweringresolve, Peter took his stand beside one of the front wheels. "The--theroad is--it's closed, " he said, his voice trembling. The hand which heldthe knife stole below the shiny mud-guard and rested on the smooth, unyielding rubber. "The road is closed, " he repeated. 

Mr. Swiper climbed down out of the car, muttering an oath. He lookedapprehensively back along the road and being sure of no danger there hecrossed the rope and advanced a few yards along the road to inspect it. 

Peter was in the grip of terrible fear, fear at his own boldness. Hiswhole form trembled. He did not stop to think, he knew that if he weregoing to do anything effectual it must be in those few brief moments. There are many ways to cripple an auto without damaging it, but Peterknew nothing of autos except that they went by gasoline. 

In an emergency he would have slashed a tire even while the machinemoved. Now that he had a little time in which to think he hurried behindthe auto and crawling beneath it turned on the outlet of the gas tank. He knew that the tank was in back and that there must be a pipe leadingfrom it. He had intended to wrench the thin pipe away, when his groping, trembling fingers stumbled on the outlet cock. This he turned on with asmuch terror as if he were setting fire to the universe. 

Aghast at his own inspiration and boldness, he stood behind the car, shaking all over, as he heard the precious fuel running away in a steadystream and pattering on the road. Well, he would take the consequencesof this decisive act. From the moment he had seen those glaringheadlights and realized that he was participating in a reality, he hadbeen frantic, wondering what to do. Well, now he had "gone and done it"and he was terror-stricken at his own act. The mere wasting of so muchgasoline was a terrible thing in the homely life of poor Peter. 

He paused behind the car listening. He had not the courage to goforward. He listened as the liquid fuel flowed away and trickled overthe spare tire-rack, and his beating heart seemed to keep time with it. 

Ah, you Hunkajunk touring model with all your thousand delights, youcannot get along without this trickling liquid any better than yourlowly brother, the humble Ford. Would _all_ of it flow away before thatterrible man came back?

Now Peter heard voices in front of the car; the man had returned, andwas speaking to his confederate, his pal. 

"I won't get out of the car and I won't desert it, " he heard the smallstranger announce sturdily. 

"Didn't you say you were with me?"

"I did, but I--"

"Then shut up. The road's all right; there's nothing the matter with it;this is some kind of a frame-up. Did you come along this way when youcopped it before; I mean you and that pair?"

"I don't know, I was under the buffalo robe. "

They were thieves all right; Peter knew it now. And his assurance onthis point gave him courage. The strangers would be no safer to dealwith, but at least Peter knew now that he had the right on his side. Ina sudden burst of impulsive resolution he stepped around and in a spiritof utter recklessness spoke up. His own voice sounded strange to him. 

"I--I know what you are--you're thieves, " he said. "I can--I can tell bythe way you talk--and--and you--you can't take the car--even an inch youcan't--because all the gasoline is gone out of it and I did it and Idon't care--and you--you can _kill_ me if you want to only you can'ttake the car. And--and--pretty soon Ham Sanders will be along with themilk cans and he's not afraid of you--"

"What did you say about ham?" Pee-wee shouted down at him. 

"Ham Sanders, " Peter called back defiantly. 

"I though you said ham sandwich, " Pee-wee retorted. 

"He can--he's even--he can even handle a bull, " shouted Peter, carriedaway by excitement. "All the--the--gasoline is gone--it is--because nowI can hear it stop dripping--so--now--_now_ what are you going to do?So?"

CHAPTER XXIV

DESERTED

Mr. Swiper lost no time upon hearing Peter's startling announcement. Rushing to the back of the car he confirmed the information by afrantically hurried inspection, keeping up a running fire of curses thewhile. For a manual training teacher he was singularly profane. 

Nor did he tarry to administer any corporeal rebukes, more than to sendpoor Peter reeling as he brushed him aside with imprecations in hisflight. Since the auto had been so generously handed to him by a kindboy scout, perhaps the loss of it was not such a shock as it mightotherwise have been. There were other autos. 

Mr. Swiper saved himself and that was his chief concern. He was notgoing to take any chances with Ham Sanders. In the last few miles oftheir inglorious journey, Pee-wee had been trouble enough to him and howto get rid of that redoubtable youngster had been a question. So Mr. Swiper paused not to make an issue of Peter Piper's audacious act. Hewithdrew into the shelter of the woods and in the fullness of time tothe more secure shelter of an Illinois penitentiary where he was enteredunder the name of Chick Swiper, alias Chick the Speeder, alias Chick theGent, alias the Car King, alias Jack Skidder--perhaps because he was soslippery. 

In his official pedigree there was nothing about his being a manualtraining teacher, though he must have had some knowledge of the use oftools for he removed the bars from his cell window with praiseworthyskill, and was later caught in Michigan, I think. 

So there sat Pee-wee glaring down upon Peter, still frightened athimself for the stir that he had made in the great world. 

"You foiled him, " said Pee-wee. "Do you know what? He was a thief; hewas stealing this auto. "

"Yes, and you're a thief too, " said Peter, removing the lantern from therope and holding it up toward the auto. He was quite brave andcollected now. "And if you want to run you'd better do it beforeanybody comes, that's what I'll tell you. You're--you're dressed up justlike a thief; I can tell. Anyway, you can't take the auto. "

"Do you call me a thief?" shouted Pee-wee. "That shows how much youknow; I'm a boy scout. Do you think scouts steal things? That shows howmuch you know about logic. "

"You're a thief, you can't fool me, " Peter retorted courageously. "Lookat the way you look. I'm not scared of you, either--or him either. "

"How can I look at the way I look?" Pee-wee fairly screamed at him. "You're crazy! I told him where it was and I told him--"

"That shows you're just as bad as he is, " Peter insisted. "Are you goingto stay here till Ham Sanders comes and be arrested? Anyhow, you'rearrested now, " he ventured, "and you have to wait. "

"You tell me I'm arrested?" Pee-wee yelled. "When I'm taking this carback to its owner? Do you know what a boy scout is?"

"I know what they look like, they're all dressed up in uniforms, " poorPeter said, "but you can be one without that. "

"Now you see, you said so yourself, " Pee-wee began. 

"But they don't get dressed like thieves, " Peter retorted. 

"I'm on your side because you stopped him, " shouted Scout Harris. 

"I don't want you on my side, " said Peter. "I'm a scout and I don't wantany--any--robbers on my side. "

"You?" said Pee-wee. 

"Yes, me. "

"I bet you don't even know--I bet you don't even know--how many--howmany--"

"That shows you don't know anything about scouts at all, " said Peter. "I've got a book that tells all about it and when a man comes you'regoing to get arrested. "

"_Me arrested_?"

"Yes you--you helped him to steal it and I don't believe anything yousay and you needn't think you can fool me. If you were a scout youwouldn't be scared to run away in the woods now. "

"I've been--I've been--I--you're crazy, " shouted Pee-wee, fairlybursting with indignation. "I--I've been lost in the woods more timesthan you have. "

"Scouts don't get lost, " said Peter. 

"They get lost so they can find their way, " Pee-wee yelled. "That showshow much you know. If scouts didn't get lost how could scouts rescuethem? You _have_ to get lost. The same as you have to get nearlydrowned. Do you want me to start a fire without a match? That'll showyou I'm a scout--only I'd have to have a certain kind of a stone. Ican--I can eat a potato from a stick without it going round; that'llprove it. Have you got a roasted potato?"

"No, and I wouldn't give one to a feller that steals automobileseither, " said Peter. "I got a signal and I stopped you. "

"I know all about signalling and you didn't get one either, " Pee-weeshouted in desperation; "I know all about everything about scouting. Iknow--I know--I can prove I can drink out of a spring without the watergoing up my nose, so that's a test. I had a lot of adventures to-night, I was with thieves, and I'll tell you all--"

"I know you were, " said Peter, "and you needn't tell me about it becauseI can tell by looking at you. Do you think you can make me think you ownthis car, and--and get roasted potatoes from me too, and run away when Ishow you where the spring is so you can prove it?"

"The man that owns this car is a friend of mine and he--he gave me aquarter--"

"You're a thief and I don't care what you say, " said Peter, hisagitation rising with his anger, "and it's miles and miles to a villageand there's nothing but woods--"

"Scouts can eat moss, they can, " Pee-wee interrupted. 

"And you can't fool me, " Peter continued. 

"I'll go scout pace for you, " Pee-wee said with a sudden inspiration--

"Yes, you'll go scout pacing away--"

"_Will you let me speak_?" Pee-wee fairly screeched. 

"No, I won't. You're a robber and now you're caught and it serves youright because you didn't find out about the scouts and join them andhave fun that way and then you wouldn't have to go to jail forstealing. "

W. Harris, mascot of the Raven Patrol, First Bridgeboro Troop, lookeddown with withering scorn upon this shabby advocate of scouting. AndPeter Piper returned the look fearfully, yet bravely. After thetremendous thing he had done he was not going to be fooled by thishoodlum crook who seemed to have haphazard knowledge of those wonderful, far-off beings in natty khaki and shining things hanging from theirbelts. He would not even discuss those misty, unknown comrades with thislawbreaker. Anybody might learn a little about the scouts, even a thief. 

"You don't know anything about them, " he said, holding up his head as ifproudly claiming brotherhood with those distant heroes in their rich, wonderful attire; "I won't talk about them. Because I know about themeven--even if they don't know _me_. They sent me a message; they didn'tknow, but they did it just the same. So I belong too. You can makebelieve you have a uniform--you can. You can be miles and miles andmiles and miles--"

He paused and listened. Down the road, in the still night, sounded thegentle melody of clanking milk cans mingled with the pensive strains ofloose and squeaking wheels. It was the melodious orchestra which alwaysheralded the approach of Ham Sanders who was so strong that he couldhandle a bull. 

"Do you think I'm scared?" said Pee-wee. 

Evidently he was not. 

CHAPTER XXV

BEDLAM

That Pee-wee Harris, the only original boy scout, positively guaranteed, should be pronounced _not_ a scout! Why that was like saying that waterwas not wet or (to use a more fitting comparison) that mince pie was notgood. 

To say that Pee-wee Harris was in the scouts would not be saying enough. Rather should it be said that the scouts were all in Pee-wee Harris. TheScout movement had not swallowed _him_, he had swallowed it, the same ashe swallowed everything else. He had swallowed it whole. He was the boyscout just as much as Uncle Sam is the United States, except that he wasmuch greater and more terrible than Uncle Sam. Oh, much. He was just asmuch a boy scout as the Fourth of July is a noise. Except that he wasmore of a noise. 

And here was a shabby, eager-faced boy, with pantaloons like stovepipesalmost reaching his ankles and a ticking shirt with a pattern like achecker-board; a quaint, queer youngster, living a million miles fromnowhere, telling him that he was no scout, that he was a thief. 

"Hey, mister, " Pee-wee shouted to Ham Sanders who drove up, "I'mrescuing this automobile from two men that stole it and I got anotherone to help me and he was trying to steal it and it belongs to a man Iknow where I live and I was at the movies with him, and that feller saidhe'd take it back and this feller says I'm a thief and I'm good andhungry. "

Ham Sanders gave one look at him and said, "Oh, is that so?"

"It's more than so, " Pee-wee shouted, "and I'm going to stick to thisautomobile, I don't care what. If you say I'm not a scout I can proveit. "

"You needn't go far to prove it, " said Ham; "we can see you're not. Maybe you're pretty wide awake--"

"I'm not, I'm sleepy, " Pee-wee shouted. "Have you got anything to sayaround here?"

"Well, I _think_ I have, I'm constable, " said Ham. 

"Then why aren't you sure?" Pee-wee retorted. "Just because I don'tknow where I am it doesn't say I don't know what I'm talking about, doesit? Will you help me drive this automobile back? You'll get some moneyif you do. I had an adventure with a couple of thieves and I foiledthem; they've got seventy pistols. I was watching The Bandit ofHarrowing Highway--"

"You got into bad company, youngster, " said Ham, surveying Pee-wee'srakish cap and lawless looking sweater. "You ought to be thankful yougot a chance to get rid of that sort o' company. You're kinder young, Ireckon, ain't you? Gosh, I calculate you ain't more'n four foot high. Kinder young to be mixed up in stealings. "

"You're the one that's mixed up, " Pee-wee shouted, "and anyway sizedoesn't count. You can--you can steal things if you're--you're only afoot high--if you want to and--"

"How about all this, Peter?" asked his friend confidentially. 

"I'll tell you, " Pee-wee shouted; "I had a lot of adventures, I know twomen that have, _shh_, they have _dead ones to their credit_! Icircum--what d'you call it--vented them, and that man that just ranaway, he was a traitor, but I can--"

"Can you keep still a second? One look at you is enough, " said HamSanders. 

"I've--I've got--three scout suits, " Pee-wee began. 

"Like enough you stole 'em, " said Ham. "You're one of them runners forcrooks, that's what you are. I know the kind; they have you to climb inthe windows for 'em and all that. Now you keep still a minute if youknow what's best for you. "

In a brief and threatened few moments of silence Peter told in a whisperhow he had seen the signal and read it and stopped the car, and of theflight of the head thief, as he called him. Between these two excitedyoungsters Ham hardly knew what to believe. He certainly did not believein talking lights appearing over graveyards. Nor did he credit Pee-wee'svehement and choppy account of bandits with seventy pistols. 

"Whar are these here dead ones?" he asked, rather confused. "Over yonderin the graveyard?"

"How do I know where they are?" Pee-wee shouted. "Do you know whatblackjacks are?"

"Dots and dashes, you can do it with lights too, " said Peter; "theytell the truth. If he says signals lie that shows he isn't a scoutanyway, and anybody can see he isn't. I stopped them, I did it bymyself. "

"That's nothing, " Pee-wee shouted from the seat, "I nearly gotsuffocated, I'm more of a hero than you are. That man that ran awayhe--he--_duped_ me. This car--will you listen--this car--"

"It's stolen; _I_ know, " said Peter. 

"It _was_ stolen but it _isn't_ stolen, " Pee-wee fairly screamed. "Can'ta thing be stolen and then not stolen? It's being--being rescued--"

"It's being stolen, the other thief ran away, " Peter persisted. "He--headmits he was friends with a thief! He's a thief too, he is. "

"Maybe Jim disguised--kind of--as a thief, " Pee-wee conceded. 

"He's trying to be disguised as a scout, " poor Peter said. 

"I was a scout before you or anybody else was born, " Pee-wee shouted. 

"He isn't, " said Peter. 

"I am, " said Pee-wee. 

Ham Sanders scratched his head, looking from one to the other, thenlooked appealingly at his familiar milk cans. Perhaps he expected to seethem dancing around in this Bedlam. 

"I'm gonter hev both of you youngsters before the peace justice, " hefinally said; "we'll soon find out what's wrong here. Climb down out o'that car, you, and come along with me, the both of you. "

"Do you think I'm scared of him?" Pee-wee demanded as he climbed down. 

"You _will_ be scared of him, he's got a big book, " said Peter. 

"I ain't scared of big books, " Pee-wee announced; "I know bigger books, camp registers; I bet it isn't as big as a map book. "

"You'll see, " said Peter, darkly. 

CHAPTER XXVI

THE CULPRIT AT THE BAR

The book could not have been so very big, for Justice of the Peace Feelived in a very small house. It was almost concealed among trees fiftyyards or so up the road. 

Justice Fee was one of those shrewd, easy-going, stern but good-natured, lawyers that one meets away off in the country. He was altogetherremoved from that obnoxious thing, the small town lawyer. Up in the edgeof his gray hair rested a pair of spectacles, with octagon shapedlenses, almost completely camouflaged by his grizzled locks. Thesespectacles were seldom where they belonged, on his nose. 

Apparently he wore them; to bed, for after several minutes of knockingby the visitors, he appeared with them on, the while groping for thesleeve of an old coat he had partly donned. He took the callers into aroom with a desk in the middle of it and sat down at this, facing them, his legs sticking out through the space in the middle. Then he openedthe large book as if making ready to close somebody up in it as onepresses a flower. 

He contemplated Pee-wee with a rather curious frown as he listened towhat Ham and then Peter (greatly agitated) had to say. 

Our young hero, indeed, presented anything but a creditable picture. Theold gray sweater used by the man who took care of the furnace inPee-wee's home, the cap which he held, and his grimy face, made him looklike a terrible example of hoodlumism; a trolley-car hoodlum, anapple-stealing and stone-throwing and hooky-playing hoodlum; ahole-in-the-ball-field-fence hoodlum. Nor did the terrible scowl withwhich he now challenged fate and the world help to make him look likethe boy on the cover of the scout manual; the boy that Peter knew andworshipped. 

"Well now, " drawled Peace Justice Fee, casting a tolerant side glance atPee-wee, "you tell me this whole business and you tell me the _plaintruth_. See?"

"Sure I will, " Pee-wee said; "I'll tell you all my adventures--"

"Never mind about your adventures, and watch out, because the first lieyou tell--" The justice held up a warning finger. "Now answer me this, never mind anything else; we'll drop a plumb-line right down to thebottom of this thing and have no beating round the bush--"

"I beat lots of bushes for rabbits, " Pee-wee vociferated. 

"Well, don't beat any here. Now" (the justice spoke slowly andemphatically, shaking a long finger with each word), "_who--owns--that--car_? Careful now. "

"Mr. Bartlett, where I live--in Bridgeboro. "

"Sure of that?"

"Sure I'm sure; didn't I--"

"Never mind what you did. Now what's this Mr. Bartlett's full name?Now--_now!_" he added warningly, "just you answer the question I ask youand leave the rest to me. If you tell the truth you won't get in anytrouble. "

Pee-wee, somewhat awed, at last subsided. "Mr. James Bartlett, " he said. 

[Illustration: PEE-WEE BEFORE THE JUSTICE OF THE PEACE. ]

Without another word, Mr. Fee drew in his long legs, arose, went overto where a book was hanging, looked in it, then took the receiver fromthe old-fashioned box telephone on the wall. The party waited, greatlyawed by this show of calm efficiency, and ability to get right at theheart of the matter. Pee-wee was particularly elated, for presently hisidentity and whereabouts would be established and explained. Helistened, with growing interest as the justice, unperturbed by delaysand mistakes, finally succeeded in securing the desired number. 

"This two-four-eight-Bridgeboro?" Pee-wee heard. "Sorry to get you up atthis hour. You Mr. James Bartlett? Yes. This is the peace justiceat--What? I say this is the peace justice--peace--yes this is the peacejustice--_justice of the peace_--at Piper's Crossroads, Noo York State. What? Yes. Noo York State. Pipes? No _Piper's_--Piper's Crossroads. Wasyour automobile stolen? Your automobile. What? I say was your auto--"

"Sure it was stolen, " Pee-wee said; "you just mention--"

"Keep still. I say--was your automobile stolen--_STOLEN_? Well, it'sfor your sake--what's that? All right. "

There followed a pause. Justice Fee waited but did not address thecompany. A dead silence reigned. They could hear the ticking of the biggrandfather's clock in the corner. Peter thought that signalling wasbetter than this. Ham thought how wonderful it was for a man to have somuch "book learning" that he could go right to the heart of a matterlike this. Pee-wee thought how, in about ten seconds, he would be ableto denounce these strangers, and appear as the real hero that he was. Hewould ignore Peter Piper entirely and give Justice Fee an edifyinglecture on scouting. In about ten seconds they would all see. . . . 

"What's that?" said the justice, busy at the 'phone. "Your car is inyour garage? I say--what's that? Oh, you looked? Sure about that, eh?Yes--yes--yes. You haven't got two cars? Six cars? Oh, six cylinders. No--no. . . . It's all safe in your garage, you say? Yes. Well, sorry totrouble you. No, not at all. Yes. All right. Good-bye. "

Peter Piper looked at Pee-wee with a kind of awe. He had seen the otherthief escape in the darkness; everything had been exciting and confused. But now, in the lamplight and within the safety of those four walls hebeheld a real crook, caught, cornered, at bay. 

Justice Fee had simplified the whole thing, talking little, depending onhard, cold facts. He had hit the vital spot of the whole mysteriousbusiness. He had caught this little hoodlum satellite of thieves in anugly lie. Yet Peter Piper, who had in him the makings of a real scout, was not happy. He had thought that he would be happy, but now he wasnot. 

"If--if you'll--maybe--if I could take him to my house, " he began, twitching his fingers nervously as he gazed wistfully at the Justice whoembodied the relentless law, "if you'd let me do that he couldn't runaway, it's so far, and he said he was hungry and--and anyway there isn'tanything to steal at my house. "

That was better than reading the signal. And Peter Piper, pioneer scoutof Piper's Crossroads was a better scout than he knew. . . . 

CHAPTER XXVII

SOME NOISE

There was one place where the searchlight message was translated with areadier skill than at Piper's Crossroads, and where it created quite asgreat consternation. That was at the camp on Frying-pan Island. It waslike A. B. C. To half a dozen of those practiced scouts, and to others notso well practiced, for the skill of the sender had made the readingeasy. In less than a minute the camp was the scene of hurried talk andlightning preparation. 

"What do you know about that?" asked Sparrow Blake. He was in theMammoth Patrol, made up of the smaller scouts in Safety First's troop. 

"I don't know _anything_ about it, " said Scoutmaster Ned, reaching forhis plaited khaki jacket; "I don't know any more about it than you do. Nobody could get in that place, so I don't see how anyone could get out. Come ahead, Bill, " he added hastily, addressing the other scoutmaster. This was followed by a vociferous chorus. 

"Can I go?"

"I'm with you. "

"I'll row. "

"No you won't, _I_ will. "

"You mean me. "

"Get from under and go back to bed, " said Scoutmaster Ned, excitedly. "What do you fellows think this is; a regatta?"

"Aren't we going to chase them?"

"You're going to chase yourselves. Do you think we've got a battleship?We've only got one of the boats here. Chuck me that leather case--"

"Your pistol?"

"Never you mind what's in it. Come ahead, Bill, and you Norris, and lookout you don't step in the soup bucket. Is there a light over on shore?"

"Sure, they've got a lantern; trust Nick not to forget anything. "

"I'm going so as to carry the lantern. "

"Yes, you're not, " said Scoutmaster Ned; "never mind your coat, Bill, come ahead. I hope they had sense enough to get hold of a machinesomewhere. They could get Barney's flivver. "

"Shall we signal over to them?" called a dozen excited voices. 

"No, there isn't time. Come on now, _hustle_, and the rest of you go tosleep. "

"While you're chasing thieves? Did you hear what he said? Go to sleep!Can you beat that, from a scoutmaster! And him always telling us to bewide awake. "

"Get out of the way, all of you, " said Scoutmaster Bill, alias SafetyFirst. "You're like a lot oh mosquitoes. "

The whole camp followed the two scoutmasters and Norris to the shore, where there seemed likely to be a stampede for the one small boat. 

"If you're going to take Norris--"

"Norris can drive the other car back if I get mine, " interruptedScoutmaster Ned. "He has a license; now are you all satisfied?"

They saw that under his persistent good nature he was worried andpreoccupied, and like the good scouts they were, they said no more aboutgoing. They knew the pride he took in his Hunkajunk auto. They knewthat his one thought was of that now. 

Yet Scoutmaster Ned Garrison's sense of humor was ever ready, even inanxiety or disappointment. It was that which endeared him to his troop, whom he was forever denouncing and contemplating with a kind of mockdespair. He called them an infernal rabble and they loved him for it. Hewas a new kind of a scoutmaster. And I honestly believe that whenScoutmaster Ned thrust that leather case containing his revolver downinto his pocket, if he could only have known that it was for the purposeof shooting Pee-wee Harris, he would have laughed so hard that he wouldhave capsized the rowboat. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

ON THE TRAIL

The boat glided swiftly through the dark water. 

"Nick will get the silver cup for that stunt, " said Norris. 

"He'll get a punch in the eye if he doesn't have a car for us, " saidScoutmaster Ned. 

"I wonder how he did. "

"Town hall, " said Scoutmaster Ned; "that kid thinks quick. If he'd onlylearn to tie a knot he'd be a scout. Vernon's a pretty good kid, though;he's better than Mount Vernon anyway. Pull on your left a little, Bill. What's the matter; got the sleeping sickness? Pull straight for thatlight. "

"If that wasn't a stunt, what is?" said Norris. 

"You are, " said Scoutmaster Ned. "We're not handing out silver cupsto-night. Maybe I'll do a stunt to-night and win it. "

"You?"

"Yes, me. Pull on your left some more. What do you think this is, Bill;a merry-go-round? Now go straight. "

"Maybe Fido Norton found their prints, " said Norris. "He's a bear atthat. "

"He's clumsier than a bear, like all Safety First's troop. How aboutthat, Safety? Come on--_quick!_ Row!"

"Coming?" called a voice from the shore. 

"That's what, " answered Scoutmaster Ned. 

"Your car's gone. "

"So I read in the sky. Somebody break in?"

"The small door's locked, the big one was open but nothing broken. "

"Get out!"

"Wait till you see. Who's there?"

"Safety First and Norris and me? You didn't think to get a car, did you?Do you know which way they went?"

"Jim Burton is here with his Packard. "

"Hello, Jim. "

"Hello, Ned. "

"They followed the main road past the east road. We tracked the tirespast Oppie's mill. They're not likely to turn out anywhere else, tillthey get past Piper's anyway. "

"You'll be a scout yet, Fido, " called Scoutmaster Ned. 

"What did they do, wake you up?" said Safety First as they pulled theboat up on shore. 

"I should think they did, " said Jim Burton; "they rang the bell ahundred times and went out into the garage and tooted the horn. Whydon't you teach your scouts manners?"

"Can't be did, Jim. Let's take a pike at the place. Hello Fido, thatyou? You sure about them going as far as the mill?"

"Yop. "

"Yop, hey? Well, that's not so bad. You'll get a second helping ofdessert some day. Come on, who's going? Pile in. Mighty good of you, Jim. "

A brief moment's inspection of the shed and they were off. Jim Burtondrove the car and by him sat Scoutmaster Ned. The others, Safety First, Nick Vernon, Fido Norton and Charlie Norris, sat in back. 

"Too many?" asked Scoutmaster Ned. 

"She rides better with a load, " said Jim Burton. 

"I don't suppose there's much chance, " said Ned. "You notified thecops, didn't you, Nick? Good. The battery is low and there isn't anycrank on my bus and my only hope is that she'll lay down on them. Soakit to her, Jim. "

"Do you want to stop and look at the tire marks yourself?" asked Norton. "It was that new Goodyear that I was tracking, the one that's allcrisscross. "

"You tracked it past the East road? So they didn't turn down there?Sure?"

"Yop. "

"That's enough. Let's see her step, Jim. "

Jim "soaked it to her" and she stepped. Not a bit of fuss did she makeover it. Just stepped. A silent, fleet step, like the step of a deer. And the spectral trees on either side seemed to glide the other way, andeast road seemed like a piece of string across their path, and Oppie'smill was but a transient speck and Valesboro was brushed aside like aparticle of dust. 

The car of a thousand delights could not do that. . . . 

CHAPTER XXIX

VOICES

Pee-wee, the irrepressible, was subdued at last. In gaping amazement hewatched the Justice cross from the 'phone to the table, sit down, andbegin to write. The demeanor of the Justice was anything but dramatic;he was calm, matter of fact, as if this were no more than he hadexpected. 

"What do you mean, it's--in--his garage?" Pee-wee stammered. He was notat all defiant now. "Are you--were you talking--are you sure it washim?"

There was a note of sincerity, of honest surprise, in his voice whichthe Justice did not miss. And as for Peter Piper, his heart went out tothis poor, shabby, little misguided fellow, whoever and whatever he was. He was so much at a disadvantage now, that Peter felt sorry for him. 

"Now, sonny, " said Justice Fee, breaking the tense silence, "I'm goingto hold you till we get to the bottom of this. Mr. Sanders, who'sconstable, is going to look after you (Pee-wee gulped and fingered hiscap nervously) till we can overhaul that pal of yours. You're more to bepitied than blamed I reckon. There's altogether too much of this usingsmall boys in criminal enterprises. I know, " he added, holding up awarning finger, "he told you just what to say if you were caught, andyou needn't say it, because, you see, I can't believe you. "

Pee-wee was visibly sobbing now; he knew what "being taken care of"meant. He was afraid, yes, and bewildered at being caught in this cruelweb of circumstance. But most of all he was incensed and shamed by thisindignity. He could not trust himself to speak, he would break down. Something was wrong, _everything_ was wrong, fate was against him, hecould not grapple with the situation. If he spoke, he would say too muchand lose his temper in that solemn hall of justice. And what wouldhappen to him then?

His hands played nervously with his old cap, he bit his lips, and triedto repress the torrent that was surging in him. The outlandish old graysweater with its rolling collar bulging up around his small, jerkingthroat, did not seem comical now. It made him the picture of pathos. Hedid not dare try to explain; that wonderful old man would only catch himin another trap and perhaps send him to state prison. His breath camequick and fast; he could no more speak than he could escape. He wishedthat Roy Blakeley were there, and Tom Slade, who knew how to talk togrown-up men and. . . . 

"Yes, and I'll pin the merit badge over your mouth if you don't keepstill, " he heard a hearty voice say. "Sure, wintergreen is good to eat!Go and eat some poison ivy for all I care. Do you think I'm going to bepassing out merit badges for helping me to find my own car?"

"I wonder where they went?"

"I should worry where they went; I'm thankful we found the car. Maybethey've gone to join The Bandit of Harrowing Highway; he'll have pistolsenough to go around, anyway; seventy was it?"

"And a couple of blackjacks. "

"Well, we've got him beaten for a romance of the road. Let's go in thishouse and see if we can scare up some gasoline. Jim, you and I ought togo into the movies--we'd have a six reeler called The Kids of KidderLake or Fido of Frying-pan Island. How's that strike you? Most of thosekids don't need any pistols, they can kill time without them. We've gotsome dead ones over there, Jim, only they haven't got sense enough tolie down. What do you bet we don't get some gas in this house? Well, here goes for a knock on the door by Ned the Nabber, --_one_ pistol. "

Pee-wee held his breath, listening. What could this mean? Seventypistols? Blackjacks? His old friend, The Bandit of Harrowing Highway?Dead ones? Was he indeed in the spell of some horrible nightmare? Whaton earth could this mean?

In a kind of trance he heard a knocking on the door and a lot of hearty, clamoring, bantering voices. They did not seem at all like robbers andcut-throats. They were not stealthy--a couple of million miles from it. Pee-wee rubbed his glistening eyes with that old cap that he held andblinked to make sure he was awake. 

CHAPTER XXX

FACE TO FACE

Still in a daze, Pee-wee saw the old man step to the door; he heard ahearty, good-humored voice asking about gasoline. "If you could just putus on the track of some, " the voice said; "we're good at tracking. "

Tracking! Pee-wee's eyes opened. Tracking?

"Well, could we use your 'phone, then?" he heard. 

The next thing Pee-wee knew, half a dozen boys and young men spilledinto the room. All but one of them, and that was Jim Burton, were inscout attire. Pee-wee stood gaping at them as if they had dropped fromthe clouds. 

Whatever their wee hour call meant they seemed all to be in highgood-humor and amused at their own adventure. One of them, a scoutmasteras Pee-wee knew, was particularly offhand and jovial and seemed to fillthe room with his breezy talk. Peter Piper stared like one transfixed;they were scouts, the kind he had read about, the kind that were on thecover of the handbook! He backed into a corner so as not to get in theirway. . . . 

"Yes sir, we've had some night of it, " said the young scoutmaster, falling with mock weariness into a chair, throwing one knee over theother and tossing his hat very neatly onto one foot. "My car is stalledup the road in front of the next house. Lucky they ran out of gas. There's a sign up there says, 'road closed, ' but I can't see anythingthe matter with it. Anyway, they ran out of gas and then ran out of themachine as I make out. They deserted it when the supply gave out, Isuppose. All's well that ends well, only we need gas. 

"I bet--I bet we've covered a hundred and fifty miles of territoryto-night; what d'you say, Bill?" He didn't pause long enough to giveBill, or the Justice either, a chance to speak. "We saw the light inyour window and just came in to see if you had a gallon or so of gas. We've got another car up yonder. Yes, sir, we've got The Bandit ofHarrowing Highway looking like a tame canary for adventures; hey ScoutNick? Nick's our signal shark--"

Peter Piper looked at Nick with humble reverence, and backed fartherinto the corner. He could not take his eyes from him. 

Justice Fee was about to say, "Here is one of the culprits, " but he didnot get the chance. Scoutmaster Ned had the floor, also the walls andthe ceiling. He seemed not to care anything about the culprits. All heseemed to care about was getting his Hunkajunk car back and recountingtheir adventures. Perhaps he was even a little grateful to the culpritsfor affording them such opportunity for adventure. At all events, hekicked his hat around on the end of his foot and filled the room withhis quick, breezy talk. 

"Yes sir, we rode to Bridgeboro, New Jersey, got a prize cup for mykindergarten class to try for, looked in at a show, saw a guy with a lotof pistols, got home at about, oh I don't know--rowed over to the islandwhere we're camping, and these two kids rowed back to get the cup out ofthe car, and found the car gone and sent a signal that nobody saw and wecame along in this fellow's Packard. Well, we've got the old Hunkajunkback, anyway, haven't we kids? I'll say we have. These kids told theworld only the world was asleep or something. Well, we've had prettygood luck at that, I'll say; we found the car, the school burned down--"

Suddenly, like a burst of thunder rose the recovered voice of Pee-weeHarris, while in frantic accompaniment his feet beat the floor and hissmall arms swung in wild excitement. With his deadly vocal artillery hesilenced the breezy talk of Scoutmaster Ned and set the company aghastwith his triumphant clamor. 

"I've got an insulation--I mean an inspiration--listen--keepstill--everybody! I'm the one that--that fixed it so you could have allthose adventures--I'm the one--I got into the wrong car--inBridgeboro--I saw that show and I thought you were the ones that hadpistols and now I know that you're not murderers--because I was halfasleep and I came out because I hate educational films but I likebandits, but I don't like real ones--"

"He likes _reel_ ones, " suggested Safety First. 

"--And I met a thief and he was disguised as a manual training teacherand now he's foiled because I asked him to help me take Mr. Bartlett'scar back and it's already back, because this is a different car and Iwas under--I was disguised under the buffalo robe--and I wrote a letterunder there and pinned it to a piece of sandwich with a safety pin thatI was being kidnapped--you can ask anybody so that shows I'm not abandit and I can prove I'm a scout--I don't care what anybody saysbecause you can hang an apple on a string and I can bite it withouttouching it with my hands, and I'm the only one in my patrol that can dothat and I'm not an enemy to you because if that school burned down I'mglad too and I've got seven merit badges and the bronze cross and if youfind that letter I wrote you can see how that piece of sandwich fits mymouth where I bit it and that's better than finger-prints and I canprove it--I don't care what anybody says--I got into the wrong car andeven the smartest man in the world--even--even--even George Washingtoncould do that. I've got seven merit badges, " he concluded breathlesslyas a climax to his outburst. 

With an air of profound solemnity Scoutmaster Ned arose and made thefull scout salute to the mascot of the Raven Patrol, F. B. T. B. S. A. "MayI ask the name of the hero who was disguised as my buffalo robe?" heasked. 

"Pee-wee Harris, only size doesn't count, " said the scream ofBridgeboro's crack troop. 

"Quite so, " said Scoutmaster Ned; "George Washington might have beensmall once himself. Am I right, Nick?"

"Positively, " said Nick. 

"And the manual training bandit? May I ask about him?"

"He's _foiled_, " said Pee-wee. "I met him when I escaped from yourgarage; he gave me a lead pencil and he said he'd help me take the carback to Mr. Bartlett that took me to the show in his car. Gee whiz, youget sleepy sometimes, don't you?"

"Very, but I don't get a chance to sleep much with bronze cross scoutsand manual training teachers to keep me on the move. "

"Gee whiz, I'm sorry I woke you up. "

"Not at all, the pleasure is mine, " said Scoutmaster Ned. "I live in aden of wild Indians; I seldom sleep. And our friend escaped? It doesn'tspeak very well for teachers, does it? School--"

"Gee whiz, I'll help anybody to foil a school. "

"Good. Come over here, Pee-wee Harris, and let us get at the details ofthis adventure; I have a hunch that you and I are going to be friends. You are a--what shall I say?--a bandit after my own heart. So you haveseven merit badges and the bronze cross, eh? Do you think you couldsteal--excuse me--_win_ a silver cup?"

"Can you drink out of it?" Pee-wee demanded. 

"Positively--lemonade, grape juice, root beer--"

"Malted milk also. And a sandwich goes with it. I think that cup wasmade for a bronze cross scout. Come over here a minute. "

Pee-wee went over and stood between the knees of Scoutmaster Ned. "He'smine, Bill, " said Ned to his fellow scoutmaster, "I saw him first. "

Meanwhile you should have seen the face of Justice of the Peace Fee. Hesat at his desk, with his long legs projecting through the middle, acigar screwed away over into the corner of his mouth, contemplatingPee-wee with a shrewd, amused twinkle. Not a word did he say asScoutmaster Ned asked questions of the Raven's mascot, while the otherslistened and laughed. 

CHAPTER XXXI

ALONE

But there was one there who smiled almost fearfully, as if doubting hisprivilege of mirth in that gay, strange company. He smiled, not as oneof them, but in silent awe, and did not dare to laugh aloud. He hopedthat they would not notice him and tell him to go home. He had dreamedof some day seeing such wondrous boys as these, and here they werebefore him, all about him, in their natty khaki, self-possessed, unabashed, merry, free. Was not that enough for Peter Piper of Piper'sCrossroads?

Yes, that was enough, more than he had ever expected. It was like thescene he had "pretended" out in the little barn when he had presentedhimself with the fancied signalling badge. 

Stealthily his hand moved to his ticking shirt and removed the campaignbutton. For there before him was a boy with a real, a _real_, signallingbadge. His eyes were riveted upon that badge; he could not take themfrom it. Suppose someone should ask him about the button; why he waswearing it now that Harding and Coolidge were in office? He would blush, he could not tell them. 

He hoped that they would not notice him for he knew he could not talk tothem, that his voice would shake and that he would go to pieces. Nowthat he saw them, joyous, uproarious, bantering, wearing badges on theirsleeves, he realized that what _he_ had done was nothing at all. Heheard Scoutmaster Ned humorously belittling the exploits of his ownheroes. No, Peter Piper would not step rashly into that bantering throngwith that one exploit of his own. 

So he stood in the bay window, half concealed by the old-fashionedmelodeon, and watched them. Just gazed at them. . . . 

And when they all crowded out he lingered behind and whispered to themusic-master of the milk cans, "Don't tell them, Ham; please don't tellthem anything--about me. "

And so the party made their way along the dark road and Peter followedand heard the flattering comments and fraternal plans involving thelittle hero from Bridgeboro. Evidently they were going to keep ScoutHarris with them and have him patented, from what Peter overheard. 

When they came to Peter's little home, Scoutmaster Ned discovered andspoke to him while Pee-wee was making an enthusiastic pronouncementabout Jim Burton's Packard car. 

"You live here, sonny?"

"Y--yes, sir, " stammered Peter, quite taken aback. 

"Well, now, I'll tell you what we're going to do. We're going to rollthis stalled car a little way into your yard to get it off the road. Allright?"

"Y--yes, sir. "

"Then we're going on to where that little fellow lives. I have to seehis folks and he has to get some scout duds and junk and stuff and thenwe're coming back. We ought to be here early in the morning. "

"Y--yes, sir. "

"You just keep your eye out for that car, will you? It has a way ofdisappearing. "

"Y--yes, sir. "

"I don't mean to watch it all the time, but just sort of have an eyeout. I'm taking this little jigger out of the distributer, so no onecould run the old bus anyway. But you just have an eye out, will you?"

"Y--yes, sir, " said Peter anxiously. 

"That's the boy, and some fine day you'll have a couple of autos of yourown to worry about. "

Peter smiled bashfully, happily. That was a wonderful joke. And a realscoutmaster, just like the pictures, had said it to _him_. He thoughtthat, with the exception of Theodore Roosevelt, Scoutmaster Ned was themost wonderful scout that ever lived. He wondered how it would seem toknow him all the time. Peter had no idea what a distributer was, but heknew now that _his_ method of crippling an automobile was very crude. Hewas glad they did not know so they could not laugh at him. . . . 

After the Packard car, with its noisy load, had started for that fairyregion where they had movie shows and things and where Scout Harrislived, Peter was beset by an awful problem. He was not sleepy, he wouldnot be sleepy for at least a year after what he had seen, and heintended to watch the car as it should be watched. The question thatpuzzled him was whether he dared get into it or whether he had bettersit on the old carriage step. He finally compromised by sitting on therunning board. And there he sat till the owl stopped shrieking and thefirst pale herald of the dawn appeared in the sky. 

And when the sun peaked over the top of Graveyard Hill and painted thetombstones below with its fresh new light and showed the gray frost ofthe autumn morning spread over the lonesome, bleak fields, and finallycast its cheery light upon the tiny, isolated home, it found PeterPiper, pioneer scout, of Piper's Crossroads, seated there upon therunning board of Scoutmaster Ned's car, waiting for one more glimpse ofthose heroes. . . . 

CHAPTER XXXII

ON TO BRIDGEBORO

Scoutmaster Ned Garrison had a middle name. Handling parents, that washis middle name. He was a bear at that. He could make them eat out ofhis hand. Had he not engineered the camping enterprise pending thepreparation of a makeshift school? Parents did not trouble him, he atethem alive. 

"You leave them to me, " he said to Pee-wee as they advanced against poordefenseless Bridgeboro. "They'll either consent or we'll shoot up thetown, hey, Safety First? We're on the rampage to-night; somebody's beenfeeding us meat. "

It was not Pee-wee's custom to leave a thing to somebody else. Heattended to everything--meals, awards, hikes, ice cream cones, campinglocalities, duffel lists, parents, everything. He was the world'schampion fixer. You can see for yourselves what a triumph he made of notrescuing the wrong car. That was merely a detail. If the car had beenthe right one and no one had stopped him from rescuing it he would haverescued it. Since everything worked out all right, he was triumphant. And he was better than glue for fixing things. 

"I'll handle them, " he said. 

"Well, well both handle them, " said Scoutmaster Ned. 

A little farther along the road Safety First said, "I don't see why theroad was closed off. It seems to me to be all right. "

Pee-wee was now sufficiently subdued to think and speak calmly, and hesaid, "That feller with the shirt put it there; he said he read thesignal. I guess he's crazy, hey?"

"Oh, the fellow with the shirt?" queried Fido Norton, humorously. 

"I seem to remember a shirt, " said Nick. 

"That was it, " Pee-wee said. 

"He was just a little rube, " said Charlie Norris. 

"He's the one that said I was a thief, " said Pee-wee. "I told him Icould prove I was a scout by eating a potato a certain way. "

"And be didn't take you up?" said Scoutmaster Ned. 

"He didn't have a potato, " Pee-wee said. 

"It's best always to carry potatoes with you, " said Scoutmaster SafetyFirst. 

"After this I'm always going to carry five or six, " said Pee-wee. 

"The proof of the potatoes is in the eating, " said Nick. 

"I know nine different ways to cook them, " said Pee-wee; "and I can eatthem raw so that makes ten. I can eat potato skins too, so that makeseleven. "

"If you could eat potato-bugs that would make twelve, " said CharlieNorris. 

"If you eat lightning bugs, that will make you bright, " said Pee-wee;"that's what Roy Blakeley says; he's in my troop. He's crazy and he sayshe's glad of it. We've got three patrols in my troop and I'm a member ofthe Ravens but I'm kind of in all of them. I know all about camping andeverything. In the fall you're supposed to camp east of a hill, do youknow why?"

"No, break it to us gently, " said Nick. 

"When you said _break it_, that reminded me that I can break an appleinto halves with one hand. "

"Do tell, " said Charlie; "what do you do with the other half?"

"What other half?"

"The other one. "

"If they're both the same how can there be another one? I eat them. "

"Really?"

"I eat mushrooms too, only if they're toad-stools they kill you. "

"Why don't you eat a couple?"

"I _will_ not, because you bet I'm going to stay alive. I'll show youhow you can tell the difference when we get to that island. I'll showyou a lot of things. Do you know how to pump water with anewspaper--rolled up? Gee, that's easy, I learned that when I was atenderfoot. "

"What are you now, a second hand scout?"

"I'm a first class scout and I'm a first aid scout and--Do you know howto make things out of peanut shells?"

"Will you show us that, too?"

"Sure, but anyway I never use chalk for scout signs; I use charred wood. Do you know why?"

"Because chalk reminds you of school?"

"Because it's got too much civilization in it. "

"Do they put that in it?"

"No, but it's there. Gee whiz, I've got no use for civilization, I don'tcare what kind it is. "

"Well, what about that codger?" asked Scoutmaster Ned. "He said he readthe signal?"

"Sure, and he was the one that stopped us when that fellow ran away. Geewhiz, I didn't see any signal but I didn't look behind. Maybe he's justdisguised as a rube, hey? Anyway, he stopped us, that's one sure thing, because we stopped and that proves it, doesn't it?"

"There's nothing the matter with the road, " Safety First repeated. 

"That's what has me guessing, " said Scoutmaster Ned. "He couldn't haveread the message, that little codger. He's just a poor, little countrykid. I'd give a doughnut to know how he happened to put that rope acrossthe road. He never, _never_ read that message, you can bet on that. "

"I know! I know!" vociferated Pee-wee. "He had a--a--inspiration. Giveme the doughnut. "

CHAPTER XXXIII

HARK! THE CONQUERING HERO COMES BACK

We need not linger in Bridgeboro, the native haunt of Scout Harris, andof Roy Blakeley and his Silver-plated Fox Patrol, and the othercelebrities of Pee-wee's troop. For the adventures of these world heroesmay be found recorded by Roy's own hand. 

It will be sufficient to say that the delegation from Kidder Lakedescended upon the peaceful home of Pee-wee Harris (peaceful during hisabsence at all events) and carried it by storm. The anxiety of Mr. AndMrs. Harris over the whereabouts of their son being set at rest by hisdramatic appearance at the head of his martial following, there wasnothing for them to do but surrender to Scoutmaster Ned, while the partypartook of breakfast in the fallen fortress. 

"He will eat you out of house and home, " warned Mrs. Harris; "I onlywant to warn you beforehand. "

"We are prepared for the worst, " said Scoutmaster Ned, as hecontemplated his discovery wrestling with a saucer of breakfast foodacross the table. "In return for our poor hospitality he is going toshow us how the world should be run, and we are to be his pupils. Nowthat we have stumbled upon him we couldn't close our season withouthim. "

"I'll show you how to close it, " said Pee-wee. 

The one obstacle which might have stood in the way of these delectableplans--school--was removed by the fact that Scout Harris was to enter aprivate school (pity the poor private school) which did not open untilafter Columbus Day. We shall see him wished onto this institution in asubsequent volume. 

The outlandish sweater and rakish cap in which Pee-wee had masqueradedthrough that eventful night were now discarded by order of his mother, and on the journey to Kidder Lake he appeared a vision of sartorialsplendor in his full scout regalia including all appurtenances andsundries. 

As a tribute, perhaps, to the island of which he was to be the imperialhead, he flaunted his aluminum frying-pan, its handle stuck in his belt, ready to fry an egg at a second's notice in case of emergency. That hemight never be at a loss to know where he was at, his scout compassdangled by a cord tied in a double sheep-shank knot to harmonize withthe knot of his scarf which could only be removed by lifting it over hishead. Thus, though he might be lost to his comrades, he could never belost to his scarf. 

Twisted into the cord of his scout hat was an arrow pointing forward, which gave him an exceedingly martial appearance and was useful, too, inpointing out the way he should go and safeguarding him from the dangerof going backward. But if, by an accident, he _should_ go backward orsideways, he had the empty funnel of an old auto horn with which tomagnify his voice and make the forest ring with his sonorous cries forhelp. And if the help did not come, he had still one cylinder of an oldopera glass, with the lens of which he could ignite a dried leaf by dayor observe the guiding stars by night. And if there were no dried leaveshe had his crumpled piece of tissue paper. And if the stars did notshine, he had a rag for extracting confidential information from thewind. And if there was no wind, he should worry, he had gum-dropsmobilized in every pocket. Every safety device known to scout science(and many of quite original conception) were upon the martial form ofScout Harris, so that he could not possibly go wrong or starve. 

So it was without any fear that he set forth for the untrodden wilds ofFrying-pan Island notwithstanding that it was a quarter of a mile wideand nearly a third of a mile long. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

PEE-WEE HOLDS FORTH

It was a delightful ride to Kidder Lake in the daytime. There is no timelike the autumn--except the spring. And the spring is only good becauseit is the beginning of the summer. Just the same as the winter is bestbecause the spring comes after it. As Roy Blakeley would have said, "Youcan do that by algebra. " But there is nothing, either before or after, to make algebra good. 

As Jim Burton's big Packard car sped along, the country looked bleak andthe fields wan with their yellow corn-stalks. Even the little shackswhere fresh fruit and vegetables had been displayed to motorists werenow boarded up. Their cheerless, deserted look contributed quite as muchas the changing foliage to the scene of coldness, desolation. The sadlook which Nature assumes when school opens. The wind blew and theleaves fell and the West Ketchem scouts fell too, for Scout Harris, whowas also blowing. 

"That's what you call a proincidence, how I don't have to go to schoolyet, the same as you don't on account of yours burning down. Gee whiz, Ilike camp-fires, but I like school fires better. "

"And you'll show us how to make a camp-fire?"

"Sure I will; 111 show you how they do at Temple Camp. Is there anybodyliving on that island?"

"No one but us, and we'll have to be going home soon, " said CharlieNorris. 

"I like desert islands best, " Pee-wee said; "they remind you of dessert. Sometimes I spell it that way. Don't you care, we have a month yet. Didyou ever eat floating island? It has gobs of icing floating around init. We have that Sunday nights at Temple Camp. When I said dessert itmade me think of it. Sometimes islands disappear. "

"I bet the ones in that dessert do all right, " laughed Nick Vernon. 

"You said it!" Pee-wee vociferated with great emphasis. "I'll show youhow to make tracking cakes, too, only you can't eat them. "

"No?"

"No-o-o, they're for chipmunks and birds to step on so you can savetheir footprints. Gee whiz, did you think you could eat them?"

"We didn't know, " said Fido Norris. 

"Gee, there are lots of things _I_ don't know too, " said Pee-weegenerously. "But anyway I fixed it so a scout could stay at Temple Campan extra week. "

"Bully for you. A good turn?"

"You said it. I gave him a whole pail of berries I picked and he gotsick and couldn't go home. "

"Some fixer. "

"I've fixed lots of things. "

"Maybe you can give us all berries the day before our temporary schoolopens, " said Fido Norton. 

"Don't you worry, " said Pee-wee reassuringly; "maybe the men who aregetting it ready will go on a strike; maybe there'll be measles orwhooping cough or something. I've had those. "

"You're not missing much, hey?"

"You said it. I've been lost in the woods too. Roy Blakeley says I getlost at C when I sing. He's crazy, that feller is. He started the SilverFoxes. There's a feller in that patrol can move his ears withouttouching them. I should worry as long as I can move my mouth. I'll showyou how to flop a fried egg in the pan only you have to look it doesn'tcome down on your head. You can scramble eggs but you can't unscramblethem. Once one came down on my head. I took a bee-line hike, too. "

"With a fried egg on your head?"

"No-o-o. I'll show you how to make a thing to get olives out of thebottom of a bottle too; it's better than a hatpin, but a hatpin is goodto catch pollywogs with. There's a Pollywog Patrol that comes to TempleCamp. Gee, I never knew that silver cup was in the car with me all thetime. "

"Well, we expect you to walk away with that, " said Scoutmaster Ned. "Yourode away with it once. So now we expect you to walk away with it. "

"It's won already, " said Charlie Norris. "Nick's the one. "

"Gee whiz, I wish I had seen that signal, " said Pee-wee, "but anyway Ihave to admit it was a stunt sending it. Gee, I guess you'll get the cupall right. "

It was characteristic of Pee-wee that his thoughts did not recur to hislonely adversary at Piper's Crossroads. His thoughts were always of themoment and aroused by the present company. He was just as ready to shoutfor others as he was to shout for himself, and that is saying a greatdeal. It was immaterial to him who he shouted for so long as he couldshout. 

Nick Vernon was the nearest and likeliest, so he was all for Nick'sstunt. And he was not in the least curious about the things said by thatlonely boy with wide eyes who had stopped the car. He was thinking ofother things now. 

CHAPTER XXXV

SCOUTMASTER NED DOESN'T SEE

But Scoutmaster Ned was curious and when they reached the little cottagehe jumped out and, taking the can of gasoline he had brought, he badethe others go on their way, saying that he would follow when he got hiscar started. 

"Well sir, you haven't been sitting here all this time, I hope?" he saidto Peter. "Nice brisk morning, hey? The kind of weather to give you anappetite. "

"Wouldn't they wait for you?" Peter asked. 

"I'm glad to get rid of them, " said Scoutmaster Ned in a way of friendlyconfidence; "they make a noise like an earthquake; that little fellow'sthe worst of the lot; he ought to have a muffler. "

"Is he a real scout?" Peter ventured. 

"Oh, he's two or three scouts. What d'you think of them? Crazy bunch, hey?"

"They're all real scouts--are they?" Peter asked hesitatingly. 

"They think they are. Now look here, " he added, sitting down on therunning board in a companionable way beside Peter, "I want you to tellme what made you say that road was closed. There was a light in the sky;you saw that? Big, tall light?"

"That--that fellow--named Nick--he made it. "

"Yes, and what made you close the road? Somebody tell you the lightmeant something?"

"There isn't anybody around here, " said Peter, growing more at ease aseveryone did with Scoutmaster Ned, "except Aunt Sarah Wickett and she'scrazy. There's nobody in this house but my mother. "

"How about Mr. Fee? No? Well then, who told you to close the road? Comenow, you and I are pals and you have to tell me. "

A scoutmaster, a real, live scoutmaster, a pal of _his?_ Why that wasmore wonderful than reading a signal. Peter's hands rubbed togethernervously and he hedged, as a scout should never do. 

"I want that scout to get that cup, the one that sent the message. Could--maybe could I see that cup--if it's in this car?"

In the excitement of the night, Scoutmaster Ned had forgotten all aboutthe stunt cup (as they had come to call it). He now brought it forthfrom under the rear seat and unwound the flannel rag that was around itand polished it a little as he held it up. It shone in the brightmorning sunlight and Peter saw his face in it. That was strange, thatPeter Piper of Piper's Crossroads should see his own face looking at himfrom the radiant surface of a scout prize cup. He had never even seensuch a good mirror before. He just gazed at it, and continued to gaze, as Scoutmaster Ned held it up. _Awarded for the_--it shone so, hecould hardly make out the words--_for the best all scout stunt of theseason. _

"It cost a lot of money, didn't it?"

"Oh, something less than a couple of thousand dollars. Look nice, standing on a scout's table, huh?" Scoutmaster Ned gave it anotherlittle rub and contemplated it admiringly. "We had enough of a fussgetting it, that's sure. See that Maltese Cross on it? That's ourbi-troop sign. We have two troops; always hang together. A troop's onebunch in scouting. That kid thought the Maltese Cross meant that the cupwas to drink malted milk out of. He's a three-ring circus, that kid. "

"It was a stunt to send that--to make that light, wasn't it?" Peterasked. 

"Well, I'll say it was, " said Scoutmaster Ned, giving the cup anotheradmiring rub. 

That settled it for Peter. He could not match his poor little exploitagainst such miraculous performances. The sight of those uniforms in thebroad daylight had cowed him. The sight of Nick Vernon's signallingbadge had brought him to his sober senses, and he felt ashamed even ofhis dreams and his pretending. The brief glimpse he had had of ScoutHarris in all his flaunting array, going forth to new conquestssurrounded by infatuated disciples, these things settled it for poorPeter. He thought himself lucky not to have drawn attention and beenmade a fool by those heroes. Maybe they would not all have been asconsiderate as Scoutmaster Ned. The safest thing, as well as the thingnearest to his heart, was to stand for Nick Vernon. He could stand forhim even if he was afraid of him. After all, a pioneer scout was notreally and truly a scout. . . . 

"I don't know why I put the rope up, " he said nervously; "I just did. There is a--a bad place in the road if you're going fast--I'll--I justas soon show it to you--if you don't believe me. I thought maybe thelight--but anyway I wasn't sure--and I'll show you that bad place. Iguess he'll _sure_ win the cup, won't he; the scout that made thelight?"

"Shouldn't wonder, " said Scoutmaster Ned, a little puzzled, butapparently satisfied. "Didn't you say something about a signal? To thatlittle codger? Or was he dreaming? Or am I dreaming?" He scrutinizedPeter very curiously but seeing no sign of the scout about him, hedismissed the receiving end of this business with Peter's rather awkwardexplanation, and let it go at that. 

As for what Pee-wee had said, that did not worry Scoutmaster Ned. Pee-wee's dream and experiences seemed to be all mixed up together likethe things in a hunter's stew. Scoutmaster Ned went by the _signs_, which scouts do, and the signs were a funny ticking shirt and a pair ofpantaloons like stove pipes. No hint of scouting there. 

For you see the scout was _inside_ of Peter Piper of Piper's Crossroads. That was why he was for Nick Vernon. It was _inside_ him, and"disguised" (as Pee-wee would have said) as a checker-board shirt. Andthat was why Scoutmaster Ned couldn't see it. . . . 

CHAPTER XXXVI

MORE HANDLING

And so Peter Piper, of Piper's Crossroads, proved too much forScoutmaster Ned. He kept his secret. But he had a very narrow escapefrom being a hero. 

Scoutmaster Ned had his way, too. "So you think you'd like to have apike at that camp, eh?" he said. 

Scoutmaster Ned's theory about camping was to keep open house. If helacked discipline (which it is to be feared he did) he made up in pep, and the surprises that he was forever springing on the camp were aperpetual joy. I suspect that he was not well versed in hisscoutmasters' handbook. He was a sort of human north wind. He adoptedthe pose of being driven to distraction by "those kids" and he denouncedthem roundly and said there were too many of them and that he was goingto pick out one and drown the rest. Then he would show up with a newone. He was a sort of free-lance scoutmaster and I wonder how he everdrifted into the movement. Probably he didn't drift in, but blew in. Scoutmaster Safety First (Bill) was his balance-wheel. 

"Where is she? I'll talk to her, " he said to Peter. 

So he talked with Mrs. Piper while Peter stood by. He sat down in thekitchen and drank a glass of milk and ate a piece of pie and told herthat it was the first real piece of pie he had ever eaten in his life. Would he have another? Well, he'd say he would! Mrs. Piper thought hewas about the finest "young gent" she had ever seen. 

He told her all about his adventures of the night as if she were a paland when she said she had slept through all the rumpus outside, he said, "Well, you've got West Ketchem, where I come from, beaten twenty ways. Could I have just one little sliver--no, not as much as that--well, allright. That town, why you couldn't wake it up, Mrs. Piper, not with anearthquake. It would just fall down through the crack in the earth andgo right on sleeping--no I couldn't eat another speck. We must be off. "

"We?"

"Oh yes, Pete's going with me. He's going to make us a little visit fora week or two. We have lessons and everything, study nature, and allthat, and all he wants to eat. I'll bring him back, he wants to see thereal scouts in captivity. No accounting for tastes, hey, Mrs. Piper?You'd better bring along a coat, Pete; but don't change your clothes, you're not going to church; come just as you are, so I'll be able totell you from the rest in case I should decide to kill them all. Thatlet's you out, see? Come ahead before your mother changes her mind. "

Poor Mrs. Piper had not yet made up her mind, so she could not very wellchange it. Scoutmaster Ned had made up her mind for her. 

"I'll have to get Sally Flint ter come over and visit with me, " saidMrs. Piper doubtfully. 

"Just the one, " said Scoutmaster Ned. "She'll keep you company andyou'll have a little peace with this youngster gone. Mrs. Piper, if Ihad my way I'd chloroform every boy in creation. I wonder you look soyoung with a wild Indian like that around. "

"Oh, I ain't lookin' so young, " she smiled, greatly pleased. 

Before she realized it she was shaking hands with Scoutmaster Ned whileher other arm was around Peter. "I'm going to come here and stay amonth, " the young man said. "I'm going to churn butter and eat pie--if Ican escape from that outfit. Well good-bye, we're off. I hope the oldbus runs. "

"It looks reel smart with all the blue paint, " said Mrs. Piper. 

"Handsome is as handsome does, " said Scoutmaster Ned. "Climb in, Pete, what are you scared of? It won't eat you. Anybody'd think you werestalking--stepping so carefully. Know what stalking is? They'll showyou. "

Mrs. Piper stood holding her gingham apron to her eyes as they rode off. It was of exactly the same pattern as Peter's shirt. He looked funnysitting rather fearfully on the front seat. She had never dreamed ofseeing him enthroned amid such sumptuousness. Perhaps some day he wouldgo away and come back _rich_--a hero. Her Peter. And this strangerliked him. She was weeping because she had never heard her boy calledPete since his father died. She liked to hear him called Pete, it was sofriendly, and recalled the past so vividly. . . . 

As if Scoutmaster Ned would have called him anything else than Pete!

CHAPTER XXXVII

HINTS

They showed him. As Scoutmaster Ned had told him they would do, theyshowed him. And Peter Piper was in dreamland; it was all too good to betrue. They showed him how to track and stalk. And how to signal. 

Nick showed him how to make a smudge fire, and Peter was doubly sure, then, that Nick would win the cup. In the nights he dreamed of thewinning of that cup, of Nick winning it. Yes, they showed him. FidoNorton showed him how to track a rabbit, and a small-sized, pocketedition of a scout in the Elephant Patrol showed him (very difficult)how to trail a hop-toad. Charlie Norris showed him how to use a deadlykodak, which Peter had never seen before. He liked it because it pulledopen the way a turtle's neck comes out, and then went in again. Oh yes, they all showed him. 

And meanwhile Peter Piper kept his secret and no one ever knew of hislittle exploit, for which the handbook really deserved all the credit. The adventure of the stolen car was now forgotten in a hundred newactivities, and with it the rope across the road and the lantern and allthat. Sometimes when they spoke of that, Peter was troubled. But theydid not often speak of it. And he did not even tell them that he was apioneer scout. Harding and Coolidge he now kept in the pocket of hisstove-pipe pantaloons. For Peter Piper was approaching scouthood throughthe tenderfoot class. Yes, they were all busy showing him. 

Scout Harris showed him. Oh yes, he showed him. But Scout Harris was toobusy showing all the rest of them to do any exclusive showing for thepioneer scout. And besides, Peter, who was too new and too bashful andtoo awed by his companions and surroundings to be a good general mixer, was mostly occupied with his hero, Nick Vernon. Pee-wee, who was a mixeras well as a fixer, went on mixing and fixing and soon he performed hisgreatest of all "fixing" feats; probably the greatest fixing feat inscout history. Perhaps the greatest fixing stunt in the history of theworld. 

But Peter was satisfied to laugh at Pee-wee with the rest of them, withthat bashful, hesitating laugh, which endeared him to them all. 

It was natural that he should follow Nick Vernon about the island, foreveryone liked Nick, who was quiet, humorous, modest and withal veryresourceful and skilful. He had a kind of a contained air, as if he knewmore than he gave out, in contrast to Scout Harris who gave out morethan he knew. A bantering, off-hand way he had, as if all the things hedid (and he could do many) were done just to kill time. Skilful thoughhe was, he did not take himself too seriously. Everything he did heseemed to do incidentally. 

He would wander aimlessly into some triumph. "Going tracking?" theywould say. "Guess so, " he would answer. He never made a fuss. Thegeneral impression that he gave was that scouting was a good enough wayto while away a summer. Peter Piper worshipped at the shrine, winningscout personality. He hoped that his mother would allow him to stay forthe finish so that he could see Nick receive the cup. He watched, jealously, anxiously, the stunts of the other scouts, but none of themcould be mentioned along with Nick's signalling. 

One morning Nick sauntered down to the shore, Peter with him. 

"Going to wigwag?" they asked him. 

"Maybe, if there's anyone to wigwag to. No use talking if there isn'tanyone in town to listen. "

"Scout Harris talks whether there's anyone to listen or not, " one said. 

"Shall I bring the card to wigwag with?" Peter asked. 

"No, don't bother. Got some matches? Never mind if you haven't. "

Peter ran back and got some. 

"If you're signalling tell them not to hurry with the school, we canwait. Scout Harris is giving us an education. He's going to move thelake to-morrow. "

"He's a queer duck, " one of the party sprawling around the tents said asthe two made their way down toward the shore. 

"Who, Pete?"

"No, Nick; jiminy, it always seems as if--I don't know--as if he hassomething up his sleeve. "

"It's his arm, " commented a joker. 

"Maybe he knows about a mystery, " Pee-wee said; "maybe there's treasureburied on this island. "

"There'll be some scouts buried on this island if we all die laughing atyou, " another scout observed. "Come on, let's dig some bait. "

Nick did not decide what he was going to do till he reached the shore. That was just like him. Peter was all excitement. 

"Are you going to signal?" he asked. 

Nick often signalled over to town and sometimes he got an answer, forthere were other scouts over there. He did it just for pastime. Usuallyit was the wigwag that he used. But on this morning, noticing the driedleaves all about, he said, "We'll try a smudge, that's pretty goodsport; Morse Code, you know. " He looked about half-interestedly andbegan kicking leaves into a pile, Peter doing the same. If Nick had anyparticular purpose in this business, at least you would not havesupposed so. He seemed as aimless as a butterfly. "Are you going to askabout school?"

"No, " laughed Nick, dragging some leaves with his foot; "there's noschool for a month, we know that. If you know a thing you know it; isn'tthat so?"

"I don't know many things. "

"No? Well, get some water in your hat--here, take mine. These blamedscout hats are made to hold water. "

Peter brought some water, which Nick poured on the leaves. 

"Now haul that old raft up here and we'll hold it up. We'll just say'_hello_' to be sociable, show the town we're not stuck-up. "

They held the old raft, of about the area of a door, slanting ways overthe leaves, and Nick showed Peter how to manipulate it so as to controlthe column of black smoke arising from the damp leaves. Peter wasgreatly interested, even excited, over this new kind of signalling. Hewas not quite as careful as he had been in talking with Scoutmaster Ned. 

"Make one long one first to call their attention, " he said, quitearoused by the novel enterprise. 

"Yes?" said Nick, half interested apparently. "Who told you that?"

"I--I just knew it. I know now--let _me_ do it--it's easy. Only theyhave to be careful over there. That's--that's the hard part. I hopethey have a--one of those books over there--and then--maybe--I hope theykeep it open at page two hundred and eighty-four. Let _me_ try it--"

"Ned give you one of those books?"

"N--no, I--I saw one. "

"Hmm. "

"Well, let's get busy with the message, Pete. "

Nick Vernon did not seem greatly interested in where or when or howPeter had seen the handbook, nor how he happened to remember page twohundred and eighty-four. But one thing Nick Vernon knew (it was areflection on Scoutmaster Ned and just exactly like him) and that wasthat _there was not a single copy of the scout handbook on Frying-panIsland_. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE FIXER

"All right, you can do as you choose, " said Pee-wee; "only I'm justtelling you. There's always better fishing on the east side of an islandbecause that's what Uncle Jeb up at Temple Camp said and he knows--heknows--"

"He knows all the fish personally, " said Charlie Norris. 

"You think you're smart, don't you?" thundered Pee-wee. "There's abetter spring over there than there is here and then besides, the rainwill drain out better on account of the ground being higher, because Iknow all about camping, you can ask my scoutmaster. It won't be so coldover there at night, either; you see. You move the tents over there, geewhiz, Arabs move their tents every day, and look at gypsies, they keepmoving all the time. "

"It will be a scout movement, " said Scoutmaster Safety First, ratherimpressed with Pee-wee's arguments. 

"I'm game for anything, " said Scoutmaster Ned. "Variety is the spice oflife. The housing situation--"

"I know all about the housing situation, " said Pee-wee; "my father ownsa house and the water's calmer on the east side of an island, because Ican prove it by the Pacific Ocean. "

"The Pacific Ocean is west of here, " said Scoutmaster Ned. "At least itwas when I went to school. I dare say it's there yet. Put another log onthe fire, Nick. How about it, Pete? Where's the Pacific Ocean? I'llleave it to Pete. "

"It's in the school geography, " Pee-wee shouted from the other side ofthe camp-fire, "and it's on the east of China. You have to know whereyou're at before you can tell where it is and there's better fishing inChina than there is here, because in Japan they catch sardines! TempleCamp is on the east side of Black Lake, and anyway there's a dandy placeover there for tents and there are a lot of birds' nests and there's abetter spring and you don't have to carry water so far and you alwaysspill a lot of it and there are a couple of pine trees and the leavesdon't fall off them, because there aren't any leaves and leaves keep therain and wind off but not if there aren't any and these trees aregetting bare--"

"Enough! Enough!" said Scoutmaster Ned, rising, and sticking his fingersinto his ears. "We ask for an armistice. All we ask for is three hours'time in which to move--"

"I'll fix it, " vociferated Pee-wee. 

"We surrender to the world's greatest fixer, " said Scoutmaster Ned. "Thehigh authority from Temple Camp--"

"He isn't so high!"

"Size don't count, " roared Pee-wee. 

"Shall be followed, " said Scoutmaster Ned. "To-morrow morning we'll moveto the east side of the island in view of the thriving metropolis ofEast Ketchem. Its four lights will cheer us at night. This spilling ofwater must be stopped. Pretty soon the island will be under water andthen where will we be?"

"Worse off than in school, " called a voice. 

"I am for the pine trees, " said Scoutmaster Ned. "I am for the highland and the fishing and the birds' nests and the shelter. In short, I'mfor Scout Harris!"

"I'm for the view of East Ketchem as long as I don't have to go there, "said Fido Norton. 

It was the silly, tail end of the season; they were ready to do almostanything, except go to school. They were going to have the last minuteof the last day of this delightful little supplementary season, thisautumnal climax of their camping life. But aside from this resolutionthey cared not what they did. Pee-wee, instead of getting on theirnerves, had gotten into their spirits. A change of location wouldn't behalf bad. And Pee-wee was right too, in much that he had said; theyrealized this. And he admitted it. 

"Sure, I'm right, " he said; "you leave it to me. I'll fix it. We'll moveover there to-morrow and if you're sorry now you'll be glad of itbecause--"

"Oh, it will be a day of rejoicing, " said Scoutmaster Ned. 

"Anything goes, " said Charlie Norris. 

"Lead and well follow, Scout Harris, " chimed Fido Norton. 

"One place is as good as another if not better, " shouted another scout. 

"All in favor of moving, say Aye. "

"Aye!" shouted Pee-wee, in a voice of thunder. 

CHAPTER XXXIX

BETRAYED!

The next morning they folded their tents like the Arabs and moved to aspot which Pee-wee recommended, on the opposite side of the island. Whyhe liked it I do not know, for it was a quiet spot. Perhaps he liked itbecause it was retiring and modest, and kept in the background, as onemight say. It seemed to breathe peacefulness, which was Pee-wee's middlename. It afforded a fine view of East Ketchem, the thriving community onthe east shore of Kidder Lake; and the crystal spring, and stalkingfacilities, and better shelter of the stately, solemn pines, seemed inaccordance with scout requirements. 

"Well, we're here because we're here, " said Scoutmaster Ned, sittingdown on two loaded grocery boxes after his last trip. "If the springwater doesn't come to us, we come to the spring water. Not half bad atthat, " he added, looking about. Indeed they had not been familiar withthe eastern shore of the island and now they contemplated the discoveryof Christopher Columbus Pee-wee, not without surprise and satisfaction. 

"When I go to a place I always leave it--"

"Lucky for the place, " interrupted Nick in his dry, drawling way. 

"I always go on expeditions, " Pee-wee explained. "I even discoveredislands and things, I discovered a mountain once, up at Temple Camp, only somebody discovered it before I did. I discovered this place daybefore yesterday when I was tracking a mud-turtle. Once I found apeninsula only it wasn't there the next day. "

"Who took it?"

"The tide came up and it was under water. Do you want me to show you howto make drain ditches around tents?"

They put up the tents and dug drain ditches around them and cleared aplace for the camp-fire and brought wood for it. They chopped supportsfor their messboard and drove them into the pine-carpeted earth and laidthe long boards upon them. To do Pee-wee justice, the place was anideal camping spot. And what was one day's work of moving, againstalmost an entire month of camping in that sequestered glen, amongfragrant pines?

"You've got the right idea, Scout Harris, " said Scoutmaster Ned. 

"It was a--a inspiration, " said Pee-wee. 

"Do you have those often?" Nick asked. 

"_Oh boy_! I have them all the time. "

"But how about a landing place?" a scout asked. 

"Who wants to go to East Ketchem, anyway?" said Norris. "We shouldbother our heads about a landing place. "

"Leave it to me. I'll fix it, " Pee-wee said. 

In the late afternoon they sprawled about and found the velvet coverletof pine needles restful to their weary bodies. 

"Well, it's all over but the shouting, " said Scoutmaster Ned. "All weneed is sup--"

"I'll do it!" shouted Pee-wee. 

"What, the shouting?" asked Nick. 

"Here comes a boat, " said another scout. 

"Maybe somebody's going to discover the island, " said Pee-wee. 

"There are two men in it, " said another; they're rowing straight forus. "

"Maybe this is their camping spot, " said Fido Norton; "I knew this placewas too good to be missed all this time. "

"If it's their place--"

"Leave them to me, I'll fix it, " Pee-wee announced vociferously. 

"That relieves us, " said Scoutmaster Ned, lying back on the ground, after sitting up to inspect the approaching boat; "we are safe in thehands of Scout Harris. Let them come. We should worry our young lives. "

The boat made straight for the new camp, and it appeared to contain twomen. The one who was rowing wore a large straw hat and his suspenderswere visible. 

"They're scoutmasters!" Pee-wee shouted. This seemed as good a guess asany. 

The two men landed, drew the boat up very methodically and approachedthe camp. 

"Good afternoon, " said Scoutmaster Ned, dragging himself to his feet andseating himself upon a grocery box. "Beautiful fall weather we'rehaving. Just a little crisp out on the water, eh? Won't you sitdown--if you can find something to sit on?"

Whether the weather was crisp or not, the man who spoke first was verycrisp indeed. 

"You in charge of these lads?" he asked. 

"Well, we're all sort of in charge of each other, " said Scoutmaster Ned. "I guess I'm the goat. "

"He's all right, " Pee-wee said; "you take it from me. "

"Well, " said the man in a drawling but ominously conclusive tone, "myname is Rodney, Birchel Rodney; and this is Mr. Wise, Mr. Barnabas Wise. We came from East Ketchem. "

"I don't blame you, " said Scoutmaster Ned. "I'm happy to meet you, gentlemen. This is a sort of table d'hote scout outfit that you seehere; two troops and a couple of sundries. Will you stay and have supperwith us?"

"We ain't fer interferin' in no boys' pleasures, " said Mr. BarnabasWise, "but it's our dooty to tell you that we're the school committee ofthe village of East Ketchem, and s'long as these youngsters hez movedinside the taown limits of East Ketchem they'll hev to report forschool at nine o'clock to-morrow morning. The taown line between EastKetchem and West Ketchem runs right through the middle of this island. "

A gaping silence followed this horrible pronouncement. 

"We--eh--we are just camping here, pending--" began Scoutmaster Ned. 

"It ain't no question uv pendin', " said Mr. Birchel Rodney. "Theordinance of the village of East Ketchem says that every minor--"

"We're not miners, we're scouts!" Pee-wee shouted. 

"The ordinance of the village of East Ketchem, " Mr. Rodney proceeded, ignoring the boisterous interruption, "says that every _minor_, which isspelled with a o, between the ages of eight years and fifteen years, resident _or_ visiting _or_ otherwise domiciled--"

"You can't say I'm domiciled--" Pee-wee began. 

"Or otherwise domiciled, " the terrible man continued, "must attendschool in said village except upon cause of illness--"

[Illustration: "WE'RE NOT MINERS, WE'RE SCOUTS!" PEE-WEE SHOUTED. ]

"I'm sick a lot, " Pee-wee yelled. 

"I expect to have a cold very shortly, " said Nick in his funny way. 

"Determined and certified by a physician _in_ good standing. Them's thevery words of the village law and we come to tell you that all theseyoungsters will hev ter _re_port for school at nine A. M. To-morrermorning, _in_ said village of East Ketchem. "

"Foiled!" said Nick, falling back on the ground. 

"Horrors and confusion!" said Fido Norton. 

"That we should live to hear this!" moaned Charlie Norris. 

"Oh, what have we stepped into?" another groaned, holding his foreheadin a way of despair. 

"You mean what have we been drawn into!" said another. "Oh, that itshould come to this!"

"What have we done? What have we done?" sighed still another. 

As for Scoutmaster Ned, he gave one terrific groan (or perhaps it was aroar of abandoned mirth) and fell backward off the grocery box. 

Only the fixer remained silent. His eyes stared, his mouth gaped. Butnot a word said he. It was Napoleon at Waterloo. Scout Harris had nowords. Or else he had so many that they got jumbled up in his throat andwould not come out. And as he stood there, bearing up under that mortalblow, the conquering legion, consisting of the two members of the EastKetchem school board, withdrew with an air of great collusiveness anddignified solemnity to the shore. 

Then, and only then, did Scoutmaster Ned sit up and rub his eyes, holding his splitting sides, the while he gazed after that officialdelegation constituting the entire school board. He gave one look at thefixer (and the fixer's face was worth looking at) and at the gapingcountenances all about him. Then he fell back again and shook as if hehad a fit and rolled over and buried his face in his folded arm androared and roared and roared. 

"Retreat! Retreat across the line! A disorderly retreat! That is ouronly hope! Who will lead a disorderly retreat?"

The desperate cry was not unanswered. "_I will!_" said Fido Norton. "Getthe stuff together! Every scout for himself! Our freedom hangs on adisorderly retreat! Vaccination--I mean evacuation--is our only hope!Our freedom is more dear than our lives! Give me vacation or give medeath! We've been foiled by a school principal disguised as a boy scout!Remember his pal, the manual training teacher? Spies! Traitors! We fellinto their clutches. Follow me, we will foil the schools yet! Everyscout grab his own stuff, or anybody else's, and retreat as disorderlyas possible. Our liberty is at stake! I love the west shore so muchlynow that I wouldn't even knock the West Shore Railroad. "

CHAPTER XL

GUESS AGAIN

Alas, such is fame! The thunderous voice of P. Harris was mute, hisblankly staring eyes spoke volumes, libraries in fact, but they did notmake a noise. The voice which had aroused the echoes at Temple Camp, which had filled the crystal back room at Bennett's Candy Store inBridgeboro, was still. And it did not speak again for--nearly twentyminutes. Even then it did not speak in its former tone of thunder. Itcould not have been heard for more than--oh, half a mile. 

The first occasion on which the voice of Scout Harris arose to itsformer height was on the last day before West Ketchem summoned itsbronzed scouts over to the makeshift school which had been prepared in avacant, old-fashioned mansion. They had had plenty of fun in themeantime and they went with a good will. Far be it from me to publishany unworthy hopes, but if your school should ever burn down in thesummer, try camping in the autumn. You will find the woods more friendlythen. Even the birds and chipmunks and squirrels seem to say, "Come on, let us get together and be friends, for it's getting cool. "

But to return to Pee-wee's-voice. On the last day of the autumn camping, the silver stunt cup was to be awarded. It was an open secret that thiswas to go to Nick Vernon, and the scouts of both troops were agreeableenough to this disposition of it. 

Many of them had performed conspicuous stunts, but they were all agreedthat Nick's feat in flashing the message by searchlight was the stunt ofthe season. Perhaps Nick's personality, and consequent popularity, hadsomething to do with this. At all events when the two troops wereordered to congregate under the old half-naked elm, to which they hadreturned after their inglorious invasion of the east, it was generallyunderstood that the ceremony of presentation was to be purelyperfunctory having no surprises for anybody. 

Safety First had been asked to do the honors but he had insisted onScoutmaster Ned making the address. That address has even been memorablein West Ketchem history. It was (as Scoutmaster Ned himself said) thebest address ever made on Frying-pan Island, because it was the onlyone. 

"Bunch, " he said "this is the happiest day of the year, for school opensto-morrow (groans). Hereafter, whenever I see a frying-pan I'll think ofyou and wish you were in it, being fried to a turn. (Laughter. ) Don'tlaugh, it's no laughing matter. I'm on the verge of nervous presumptionor whatever you call it, and I'll be glad to get rid of you--every oneof you!

"I've been asked to hand out this cup and it goes to St. Nicholas Vernonbecause he sprawled the nice clean sky all up with scribbling and allthat kind of stuff. Nobody read the message but that makes nodifference, because the proof of the message is in the sending just thesame as the proof of the pudding is in the eating. How about that, ScoutHarris?

"I guess you fellows are all satisfied and I should fret my heart outwhether you are or not. Nick showed resource, and alertness, and a lotof other stuff that's in the handbook, page something or other. If itisn't there it's somewhere else. Shut up and give me a chance to speak. Here you go, Nick, catch this. Your silver cup of joy is full and weshall all live happily ever afterwards. Anything more, Safety First?"

Nick Vernon never seemed more at ease, and less interested, than when heambled toward the stump from which Scoutmaster Ned was descending, andsaid in a quiet, drawling voice, "Yes, something more. May I have thatstump a minute?"

He stood there, holding the silver cup in one hand, his other handagainst his hip, in an attitude familiar to them all. 

"A little speech of thanks, " someone shouted; "make it short. "

There was one who stood in that group, unnoticed. His eyes were fixedupon the winner, and he was actually trembling with delight. 

"Good idea, I'll make it short and snappy, " said Nick. "Actions speaklouder than words. "

"No, they don't, " shouted Pee-wee. 

"The signal I sent, " said Nick, "was read and the one who read it was ascout. He's the one that stopped the car. The cup was in the car and sohe saved the cup. It's his. He tried to keep his scouting a secret andhe didn't get away with it. He beat Scoutmaster Ned hands down. He lefthim guessing. Scoutmaster Ned is easy. But this kid can't put anythingover on _me_; I've got him red-handed; he's a scout and he's got us alllooking like thirty cents. He's a scout and he'll tell the truth, if youcorner him. He won't lie. Here you go, catch this, Pete, hold yourhands steady; if you don't hold them up I'll chuck it plunk in yourface. As sure as I'm standing here I will! _I'm_ making this speech ofpresentation, not Scoutmaster Ned. You know so much about the handbook, remember law one, about telling the truth. Here you go, Peter Piper, you're the only scout that ever dropped into this Frying-pan. Catch itor by gosh--"

But he didn't catch it, because his eyes were glistening, and his handswere trembling, and you can't catch things in such a state. 

He stood there like one transfixed, hearing the uproar all about him. Nervously he stooped and picked up the glittering cup and held it as ifhe were afraid of it. Peter Piper, pioneer scout, of Piper'sCrossroads. He would go home famous and rich, a hero, just as his motherhad dreamed that some day he would do. . . . 

It was just at that moment that Scout Harris really recovered his voice. He recovered it in the moment of having an "inspiration. " He jumped upona barrel, released his teeth from the apple into which he had plungedthem, and dancing like a maniac, sang at the top of his voice:

 "Peter Piper picked A peck of pickled peppers; A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked. If Peter Piper picked A peck of pickled peppers; Where's the peck of pickled peppers, Peter Piper picked?"

Then, finding the place in the apple where his mammoth bite had beeninterrupted by his inspiration, he completed the bite, eating andsinging at the same time. 

It was one of the great scout stunts of the season. 

 * * * * *

_This Isn't All!_

Would you like to know what became of the good friends you have made inthis book?

Would you like to read other stories continuing their adventures andexperiences, or other books quite as entertaining by the same author?

On the _reverse side_ of the wrapper which comes with this books youwill find a wonderful list of stories which you can buy at the samestore where you got this book. 

_Don't throw away the Wrapper_

_Use it as a handy catalog of the books you want some day to have. Butin case you do mislay it, write to the Publishers for a completecatalog. _

 * * * * *

THE PEE-WEE HARRIS BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of "Tom Slade, " "Roy Blakeley, " "Westy Martin, " Etc. 

_Illustrated. Individual Picture Wrappers in Color. Every VolumeComplete in Itself. _

All readers of the Tom Slade and the Roy Blakeley books are acquaintedwith Pee-wee Harris. These stories record the true facts concerning hissize (what there is of-it) and his heroism (such as it is), his voice, his clothes, his appetite, his friends, his enemies, his victims. Together with the thrilling narrative of how he foiled, baffled, circumvented and triumphed over everything and everybody (except wherehe failed) and how even when he failed he succeeded. The whole recordedin a series of screams and told with neither muffler nor cut-out. 

 PEE-WEE HARRIS PEE-WEE HARRIS ON THE TRAIL PEE-WEE HARRIS IN CAMP PEE-WEE HARRIS IN LUCK PEE-WEE HARRIS ADRIFT PEE-WEE HARRIS F. O. B. BRIDGEBORO PEE-WEE HARRIS FIXER PEE-WEE HARRIS: AS GOOD AS HIS WORD PEE-WEE HARRIS: MAYOR FOR A DAY PEE-WEE HARRIS AND THE SUNKEN TREASURE PEE-WEE HARRIS ON THE BRINY DEEP PEE-WEE HARRIS IN DARKEST AFRICA

GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK

 * * * * *

GARRY GRAYSON FOOTBALL STORIES

By ELMER A. DAWSON

Individual Colored Wrappers and Illustrations by WALTER S. ROGERS

Every Volume Complete in Itself

Football followers all over the country will hail with delight this newand thoroughly up-to-date line of gridiron tales. 

Garry Grayson is a football fan, first, last, and all the time. But morethan that, he is a wideawake American boy with a "gang" of chums almostas wideawake as himself. 

How Garry organized the first football eleven his grammar school had, how he later played on the High School team, and what he did on the PrepSchool gridiron and elsewhere, is told in a manner to please all readersand especially those interested in watching a rapid forward pass, aplucky tackle, or a hot run for a touchdown. 

Good, clean football at its best--and in addition, rattling stories ofmystery and schoolboy rivalries. 

 GARRY GRAYSON'S HILL STREET ELEVEN; or, The Football Boys of Lenox. 

 GARRY GRAYSON AT LENOX HIGH; or, The Champions of the Football League. 

 GARRY GRAYSON'S FOOTBALL RIVALS; or, The Secret of the Stolen Signals. 

 GARRY GRAYSON SHOWING HIS SPEED; or, A Daring Run on the Gridiron. 

 GARRY GRAYSON AT STANLEY PREP; or, The Football Rivals of Riverview. 

GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publisher, _ NEW YORK

 * * * * *

THE TOM SLADE BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of "Roy Blakeley, " "Pee-wee Harris, " "Westy Martin, " Etc. 

_Illustrated. Individual Picture Wrappers in Colors. Every VolumeComplete in Itself. _

"Let your boy grow up with Tom Slade, " is a suggestion which thousandsof parents have followed during the past, with the result that the TOMSLADE BOOKS are the most popular boys' books published today. They takeTom Slade through a series of typical boy adventures through histenderfoot days as a scout, through his gallant days as an Americandoughboy in France, back to his old patrol and the old camp ground atBlack Lake, and so on. 

 TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT TOM SLADE AT TEMPLE CAMP TOM SLADE ON THE RIVER TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS TOM SLADE ON A TRANSPORT TOM SLADE WITH THE BOYS OVER THERE TOM SLADE, MOTORCYCLE DISPATCH BEARER TOM SLADE WITH THE FLYING CORPS TOM SLADE AT BLACK LAKE TOM SLADE ON MYSTERY TRAIL TOM SLADE'S DOUBLE DARE TOM SLADE ON OVERLOOK MOUNTAIN TOM SLADE PICKS A WINNER TOM SLADE AT BEAR MOUNTAIN TOM SLADE: FOREST RANGER TOM SLADE IN THE NORTH WOODS

GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK

 * * * * *

THE WESTY MARTIN BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of the "Tom Slade" and "Roy Blakeley" Books, Etc. 

_Individual Colored Wrappers. Illustrated. Every Volume Complete inItself. _

Westy Martin, known to every friend of Roy Blakeley, appears as the heroof adventures quite different from those in which we have seen himparticipate as a Scout of Bridgeboro and of Temple Camp. On his foray tothe Yellowstone the bigness of the vast West and the thoughts of thewild preserve that he is going to visit make him conscious of his ownsmallness and of the futility of "boy scouting" and woods lore in thisgreat region, Yet he was to learn that if it had not been for his scouttraining he would never have been able to survive the experiences he hadin these stories. 

 WESTY MARTIN WESTY MARTIN IN THE YELLOWSTONE WESTY MARTIN IN THE ROCKIES WESTY MARTIN ON THE SANTA FE TRAIL WESTY MARTIN ON THE OLD INDIAN TRAILS

GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK

 * * * * *

THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of "Tom Slade, " "Pee-wee Harris, " "WestyMartin, " Etc. 

Illustrated. Picture Wrappers in Color. Every Volume Complete in Itself. 

In the character and adventures of Roy Blakeley are typified the veryessence of Boy life. He is a real boy, as real as Huck Finn and TomSawyer. He is the moving spirit of the troop of Scouts of which he is amember, and the average boy has to go only a little way in the firstbook before Roy is the best friend he ever had, and he is willing topart with his best treasure to get the next book in the series. 

 ROY BLAKELEY ROY BLAKELEY'S ADVENTURES IN CAMP ROY BLAKELEY, PATHFINDER ROY BLAKELEY'S CAMP ON WHEELS ROY BLAKELEY'S SILVER FOX PATROL ROY BLAKELEY'S MOTOR CARAVAN ROY BLAKELEY LOST, STRAYED OR STOLEN ROY BLAKELEY'S BEE-LINE HIKE ROY BLAKELEY AT THE HAUNTED CAMP ROY BLAKELEY'S FUNNY BONE HIKE ROY BLAKELEY'S TANGLED TRAIL ROY BLAKELEY ON THE MOHAWK TRAIL ROY BLAKELEY'S ELASTIC HIKE ROY BLAKELEY'S ROUNDABOUT HIKE ROY BLAKELEY'S HAPPY-GO-LUCKY HIKE ROY BLAKELEY'S GO-AS-YOU PLEASE HIKE

GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers, _ NEW YORK