TOM SLADE

ON MYSTERY TRAIL

BY

PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

_Author of_

TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT, TOM SLADE AT TEMPLE CAMP, ROY BLAKELEY, ETC. 

ILLUSTRATED BY

R. EMMETT OWEN

Published with the approval of

THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK

Made in the United States of America

 * * * * *

COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY

GROSSET & DUNLAP

 * * * * *

CONTENTS

 CHAPTER PAGE

 I THE THREE SCOUTS 1

 II ANOTHER SCOUT 4

 III THE "ALL BUT" SCOUT 10

 IV HERVEY LEARNS SOMETHING 15

 V WHAT'S IN A NAME? 26

 VI THE EAGLE AND THE SCOUT 31

 VII THE STREAK OF RED 35

 VIII EAGLE AND SCOUT 38

 IX TO INTRODUCE ORESTES 44

 X OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE, ON WITH THE NEW 48

 XI OFF ON A NEW TACK 57

 XII AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT 62

 XIII THE STRANGE TRACKS 67

 XIV HERVEY'S TRIUMPH 72

 XV SKINNY'S TRIUMPH 77

 XVI IN DUTCH 83

 XVII HERVEY GOES HIS WAY 91

 XVIII THE DAY BEFORE 96

 XIX THE GALA DAY 102

 XX UNCLE JEB 109

 XXI THE FULL SALUTE 113

 XXII TOM RUNS THE SHOW 119

 XXIII PEE-WEE SETTLES IT 123

 XXIV THE RED STREAK 132

 XXV THE PATH OF GLORY 141

 XXVI MYSTERIOUS MARKS 147

 XXVII THE GREATER MYSTERY 152

 XXVIII WATCHFUL WAITING 156

 XXIX THE WANDERING MINSTREL 161

 XXX HERVEY MAKES A PROMISE 169

 XXXI SHERLOCK NOBODY HOLMES 175

 XXXII THE BEGINNING OF THE JOURNEY 179

 XXXIII THE CLIMB 185

 XXXIV THE RESCUE 188

 CHAPTER THE LAST. Y-EXTRA! Y-EXTRA! Y-EXTRA! 194

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TOM SLADE

ON MYSTERY TRAIL

CHAPTER I

THE THREE SCOUTS

At Temple Camp you may hear the story told of how Llewellyn, scout ofthe first class, and Orestes, winner of the merit badges forarchitecture and for music, were by their scouting skill and loreinstrumental in solving a mystery and performing a great good turn. 

You may hear how these deft and cunning masters of the wood and thewater circumvented the well laid plans of evil men and coöperated withtheir brother scouts in a good scout stunt, which brought fame to thequiet camp community in its secluded hills. 

For one, as you shall see, is the bulliest tracker that ever picked hisway down out of a tangled wilderness and through field and over hillstraight to his goal. 

And the other is a famous gatherer of clews, losing sight of nosignificant trifle, as the scout saying is, and a star scout into thebargain, if we are to believe Pee-wee Harris. I am not so sure that theten merit badges of bugling, craftsmanship, architecture, aviation, carpentry, camping, forestry, music, pioneering and signaling should beawarded this sprightly scout (for Pee-wee is as liberal with awards ashe is with gum-drops). But there can be no question as to the proprietyof the music and architecture awards, and I think that the aviationaward would be quite appropriate also. 

Yet if you should ask old Uncle Jeb Rushmore, beloved manager of the bigscout camp, about these two scout heroes, a shrewd twinkle would appearin his eye and he would refer you to the boys, who would probably onlylaugh at you, for they are a bantering set at Temple Camp and wouldjolly the life out of Daniel Boone himself if that redoubtable woodsmanwere there. 

Listen then while I tell you of how Tom Slade, friend and brother ofthese two scouts, as he is of all scouts, assisted them, and of how theyassisted him; and of how, out of these reciprocal good turns, there cametrue peace and happiness, which is the aim and end of all scouting. 

CHAPTER II

ANOTHER SCOUT

It was characteristic of Tom Slade that he liked to go off aloneoccasionally for a ramble in the woods. It was not that he liked thescouts less, but rather that he liked the woods more. It was his wont tostroll off when his camp duties for the day were over and poke around inthe adjacent woods. 

The scouts knew and respected his peculiarities and preferences, particularly those who were regular summer visitors at the big camp, andfew ever followed him into his chosen haunts. Occasionally some newscout, tempted by the pervading reputation and unique negligee of UncleJeb's young assistant, ventured to follow him and avail himself of thetips and woods lore with which the more experienced scout'sconversation abounded when he was in a talking mood. But Tom was a sortof creature apart and the boys of camp, good scouts that they were, didnot intrude upon his lonely rambles. 

The season was well nigh over at Temple Camp when this thing happened. Not over exactly, but the period of arrivals had passed and the periodof departures would begin in a day or two--as soon as the events withwhich the season culminated were over. 

These were the water events, the tenderfoot carnival (not to be missedon any account) and the big affair at the main pavilion when awards wereto be made. This last, in particular, would be a gala demonstration, forMr. John Temple himself, founder of the big scout camp, had promised tobe on hand to dedicate the new tract of camp property and personally todistribute the awards. 

These events would break the backbone of the camping season, highschools and grammar schools would presently beckon their reluctantconscripts back to town and city, until, in the pungent chill of autumn, old Uncle Jeb, alone among the boarded-up cabins, would smoke his pipein solitude and get ready for the long winter. 

It was late on Thursday afternoon. The last stroke of the last hammer, where scouts had been erecting a rustic platform outside the pavilion, had echoed from the neighboring hills. The usually still water of thelake was rippled by the refreshing breeze which heralded a coolerevening, and the first rays of dying sunlight painted the ripplesgolden, and bathed the cone-like tops of the fir trees across the lakewith a crimson glow. 

Out of the chimney of the cooking shack arose the smoke of earlypromise, from which the scouts deduced various conclusions as to theprobable character of the meal which would appear in all its lusciousglory a couple of hours later. 

A group of scouts, weary of diving, were strung along the springboardwhich overhung the shore. A couple of boys played mumbly-peg under thebulletin board tree. Several were playing ball with an apple, until oneof them began eating it, which put an end to the game. Half a dozen ofthe older boys, who had been at work erecting the platform, saunteredtoward the scrub shack, leaving one or two to festoon the bunting overthe stand where the colors shone as if they had been varnished by thatmaster decorator, the sun, as a last finishing touch to his swelteringday's work. The emblem patrol sauntered over to the flag pole andsprawled beneath it to rest and await the moment of sunset. Severalcanoes moved aimlessly upon the glinting water, their occupants idlingwith the paddles. It was the time of waiting, the empty hour or twobetween the day's end and supper-time. 

Upon a rock near the lake sat a little fellow, quite alone. He was verysmall and very thin, and his belt was drawn ridiculously tight, so thatit gave his khaki jacket the effect of being shirred like the top of acloth bag. If he had been standing, he might have suggested, not alittle, the shape of an old-fashioned hour glass. A brass compassdangled around his neck on a piece of twine as if, being so small, hewas in danger of getting lost any minute. His hair was black and verystreaky, and his eyes had a strange brightness in them. 

No one paid any attention to this little gnome of a boy, and he was apathetic sight sitting there with his intense gaze, having just a touchof wildness in it, fixed upon the lake. Doubtless if his scout regaliahad fitted him properly he would not have seemed so pathetic, for it isnot uncommon for a scout to want to be alone in the great companionablewilderness. 

Suddenly, this little fellow's gaze was withdrawn from the lake and fellupon something which seemed to interest him right at his feet. He sliddown from the rock and examined it closely. His poor little thin figureand skinny legs were very noticeable then. But he picked up nothing, only kneeled there, apparently in a state of great excitement andelation. 

Presently, he started away, looked back, as if he was afraid hisdiscovery would take advantage of his absence to steal away. Again hestarted, hurrying around the edge of the cooking shack and to the littleavenue of patrol cabins beyond. As he hurried along, the big brasscompass flopped about and sometimes banged against his belt buckle, making quite a noise. Several boys laughed as he passed them, trottingalong as if possessed by a vision. But no one stopped him or spoke tohim. 

In the patrol cabin where he belonged, he rooted in great haste andexcitement among the contents of a cheap pasteboard suit case andpresently pulled out a torn and battered old copy of the scout handbook. He sat down on the edge of his cot and, hurriedly looking through theindex, opened the book at page thirty. He was breathing so hard that healmost gulped, and his thin little hands trembled visibly. . . . 

CHAPTER III

THE "ALL BUT" SCOUT

In that same hour, perhaps a little earlier or later, I cannot say, TomSlade, having finished his duties for the day, strolled along the lakeshore away from camp and struck into the woods which extended northwardas far as the Dansville road. 

He had no notion of where he was going; he was going nowhere inparticular. For aught I know he was going to ponder on theresponsibility which had been thrust upon him by the scout powers thatbe, of judging stalking photographs preliminary to awarding the Audubonprize offered by the historical society in his home town. Perhaps he wasunder the influence of a little pensive regret that the season wascoming to an end and wished to have this lonely parting with hisbeloved hills and trees. It is of no consequence. About all he actuallydid was to kick a stick along before him and pause now and again toexamine the caked green moss on trees. 

When he had reached a little eminence whence the view behind him wasunobstructed, he turned and looked down upon the camp. Perhaps in thatbrief glimpse the whole panorama of his adventurous life spread beforehim in his mind's eye, and he saw the vicious little hoodlum that he hadonce been transformed into a scout, pass through the several ranks ofscouting, grow up, go to war, and come back to be assistant at the campwhere he had spent so many happy hours when he was a young boy. 

And now there was not one thing down there, nor shack nor cabin norshooting range nor boat nor canoe, nor hero's elm (as they called it), nor Gold Cross Rock, which had the same romantic interest as had thisyoung fellow to the scouts who came in droves and watched him andlistened to the talk about him and dreamed of being just such a realscout as he. He moved about unconsciously among them, simple, childlike, stolid, but with a kind of assurance and serenity which hemay have learned from the woods. 

He was singularly oblivious to the superficial appurtenances ofscouting. He had passed through that stage. The pomp and vanity of thetenderfoot he knew not. The bespangled dignity of the second-class andfirst-class scout, these things he had known and outgrown. His medalswere home somewhere. And out of all this alluring rigmarole and romanticglory were left the deeper marks of scout training, burned into his soulas the mark is burned into the skin of a broncho. The woods, the trees, were his. That, after all, is the highest award in scouting. It is amedal that one does not lose, and it lasts forever. 

As Tom Slade stood there looking down upon the camp, one might have seenin him the last and fullest accomplishment of scouting, stripped of allelse. His face was the color of a mulatto. He wore no scout hat, he woreno hat at all. It would have been quite superfluous for him to have wornany of his thirty or forty merit badges of fond memory on his sleeves, for his sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders. He wore a pongeeshirt, this being a sort of compromise between a shirt and nothing atall. He wore moccasins, but not Indian moccasins. He was still partialto khaki trousers, and these were worn with a strange contraption for abelt; it was a kind of braided fiber of his own manufacture, thematerial of which was said to have been taken from a string tree. 

As he resumed his way through the woods he presently heard a cheery, butrather exhausted, voice behind him. 

"Have a heart, Slady, and wait a minute, will you?" Tom's pursuercalled. "I'm nearly dead climbing up through all this jungle after you. Old Mother Nature's got herself into a fine mess of a tangle throughhere, hey? Don't mind if I come along with you, do you? Look down there, hey? Pavilion looks nice. I've been wondering if I stand any chance ofbeing called up on that platform on Saturday night. Looks swell with allthe bunting over it, doesn't it?"

The speaker, who had been half talking and half shouting, now camestumbling and panting up over the edge of the wooded decline where thethick brush had played havoc with his scout suit but not with histemper. 

"Some climb, hey?" he breathed, laughing, and affecting the stagger ofutter exhaustion. "I bet you knew an easier way up. The bunch told menot to beard the lion in his den, but I'm not afraid of lions. Here I amand you can't get rid of me now. I'm up against it, Slady, and I want afew tips. They say you're the only real scout since Kit Carson. What I'mhunting for is a wild animal, but I haven't been able to find anythingexcept a cricket, two beetles and a cow that belongs on the Hasbrookfarm. Don't mind if I stroll along with you a little way, do you? Myname is Willetts--Hervey Willetts. I'm with that troop fromMassachusetts. I'm an Eagle Scout--_all but_. "

"But's a pretty big word, " Tom said. 

"You said it, " Hervey Willetts said, still wrestling with his breath;"it's the biggest word in the dictionary. "

CHAPTER IV

HERVEY LEARNS SOMETHING

They strolled on through the woods together, the younger boy's gayetyand enthusiasm showing in pleasing contrast to Tom's stolid manner. 

He was a wholesome, vivacious boy, this Willetts, with a breezinesswhich seemed to captivate even his sober companion, and if Tom had feltany slight annoyance at being thus overhauled by a comparative stranger, the feeling quickly passed in the young scout's cheery company. 

"They told me down in camp that if I need a guide, philosopher, andfriend, I'd better run you down, or up----"

"If you'd gone a little to the left you'd have found it easier, " Tomsaid, in his usual matter-of-fact manner. 

"Oh, I suppose you know all the highways and byways and right ways andleft ways and every which ways for miles and miles around, " HerveyWilletts said. "I guess they were right when they said you'd be a goodguide, philosopher, and friend, hey?"

"I don't know what a philosopher is, " Tom said, with characteristicblunt honesty, "but I know all the trails around here, if that's whatyou're talking about. "

"Oh, you mean about guides?" Hervey asked, just a trifle puzzled. "That's an expression, _guide, philosopher, and friend_. It comes fromShakespeare or one of those old ginks; it means a kind of a moral guide, I suppose. "

"Oh, " said Tom. 

"But I need, I need, I need, I need a friend, " Hervey said. 

"You seem to have lots of friends down there, " Tom said. 

"A scout is observant, hey?" Willetts laughed. 

"I mean you always seem to have a lot of fellows with you, " Tom said, ignoring the compliment. "Everybody likes your troop, that's sure. Andyour troop seems to be stuck on _you_. "

"_Good night!_" Hervey laughed. "They won't be stuck on me afterSaturday. That'll be the end of my glorious career. "

"What did you do?" Tom asked, after his customary fashion of construingtalk literally. 

"Oh, I didn't exactly commit a murder, " the other laughed, "but I felldown, Sla--you don't mind my calling you Slady, do you?"

"That's what most everybody calls me, " Tom said, "except the troop I wasin. They call me Tomasso. "

"Sounds like tomato, hey?" Hervey laughed. "No, my troubles are aboutmerit badges. I've bungled the whole thing up. When a fellow goes afterthe Eagle award, he ought to have a manager, that's what I say. He oughtto have a manager to plan things out for him. I tried to manage my owncampaign and now I'm stuck--with a capital S. "

"How many merits have you got?" Tom asked him. 

"Twenty, " Hervey said, "twenty and two-thirds. Just a fraction more andI'd have gone over the top. "

"You mean a sub-division?" Tom asked. 

"That's where the little _but_ comes in, " Hervey said. "B-u-t, but. It'sa big word, all right, just as you said. "

"Is it architecture or cooking or interpreting or one of those?" Tomasked. 

Hervey glanced at Tom in frank surprise. 

"Maybe it's leather work, or machinery, or taxidermy or marksmanship, "Tom continued, with no thought further from his mind than that ofshowing off. 

"Guess again, " Hervey laughed. 

"Then it must be either music or stalking, " Tom said, dully. 

His companion paused in his steps, contemplating Tom with unconcealedamazement. "Right-o, " he said; "it's stalking. What are you? A mindreader?"

"Those are the only ones that have three tests, " Tom said. "So if youhave twenty merits and two-thirds of a merit, why, you must be tryingfor one of those. Maybe they've changed it since I looked at thehandbook. "

Hervey Willetts stood just where he had stopped, looking at Tom withadmiration. In his astonishment he glanced at Tom's arm as if heexpected to see upon it the tangible evidences of his companion's featsand accomplishments. But the only signs of scouting which he saw therewere the brown skin and the firm muscles. 

"They change that book every now and then, " Tom said. 

Still Hervey continued to look. "What's that belt made out of?" heasked. 

"It's fiber from a string tree, " Tom said; "they grow in Lorraine inFrance. "

"Were you in France?"

"Two years, " Tom said. 

"How many merit badges have you got, anyway, Mr. --Slady?"

"Oh, I don't know, " Tom said; "about thirty or thirty-five, I guess. "

"You _guess?_ I bet you've got the Gold Cross. Where is it?" Hervey madea quick inspection of Tom's pongee shirt, but all he saw there was thefront with buttons gone and the brown chest showing. 

"I couldn't pin it on there very well, could I?" Tom said, lured by hiscompanion's eagerness into a little show of amusement. 

"Where is it?" Hervey demanded. 

"I'm letting a girl wear it, " Tom said. 

"Oh, what I know about _you!_" Hervey said, teasingly. "You can bet if Iever get the Gold Cross or the Eagle Badge (which I won't this trip) nogirl will ever wear them. "

"You can't be so sure about that, " said Tom, out of his larger worldlyexperience, "sometimes they take them away from you. "

"You're a funny fellow, " Hervey said, while his gaze still expressed hisgenerous impulse of hero-worship. "I guess I seem like just a sort ofkid to you with my twenty merits--twenty and two-thirds. Maybe some girlis wearing your Distinguished Service Cross, for all I know. But wefellows are crazy to have the Eagle award in our troop. I suppose ofcourse you're an Eagle Scout?"

"I guess that was about three or four years ago, " Tom said. 

"Once a scout, always a scout, hey?"

"That's it, " Tom said. 

They strolled along in silence for a few minutes, Hervey occasionallystealing a side glimpse at his elder, who ambled on, apparentlyunconscious of these admiring glances. Now and again Tom paused toexamine a patch of moss or some little tell-tale mark upon the ground, as if he had no knowledge of his companion's presence. But Herveyappeared quite satisfied. 

"I'll tell you how it is, " he finally said, selecting what seemed anappropriate moment to speak; "I was elected as the one in our troop togo after the Eagle award. We want an Eagle Scout in our troop. Wehaven't even got one in the city where I live. "

"Hear that?" Tom said. "That's a thrush. "

"A thrush?"

"Yop; go on, " Tom said. 

"So they elected me to win the Eagle award. Some choice, hey? I hadseven badges to begin with; maybe that's why they wished it onto me. Ihad camping, cooking, athletics, pioneering, angling, that's a cinch, that's easy, and, let's see--carpentry and bugling. That's the easiestone of the lot, just blow through the cornet and claim the badge. It's ashame to take it. "

"You mean you've won thirteen more since you've been here?" Tom asked. 

"That's it, " said Hervey. "First I got my fists on the eleven that have_got_ to be included in the twenty-one, and then I made up a list of tenothers and went to it. I chose easy ones, but some of them didn't turnout to be so easy. Music--oh, boy! And when I started to play the piano, they said I wasn't playing at all, but that I really meant it. Can youbeat that?"

Tom could not help smiling. 

"So you see I've been pretty busy since I've been here, too busy to talkto interviewers, hey? I've piled up thirteen since I've been here;that's a little over six weeks. That isn't so bad, is it?"

"It's good, " Tom said, by no means carried away by enthusiasm. 

"I thought you'd say so. So now I've got twenty and I know them all byheart. Want to hear me stand up in front of the class and say them?"

"All right, " Tom said. 

"No sooner said than stung, " Hervey flung back at him. "Well, I've gotfirst aid, physical development, life saving, personal health, publichealth, cooking, camping, bird study----"

"That's a good one, " Tom said. 

"You said it; and I've got pioneering, pathfinding, athletics, and thencome the ten that I selected myself; angling, bugling, carpentry, conservation or whatever you call it, and cycling and firemanship andmusic hath charms, not, and seamanship and signaling. And two-thirds ofthe stalking badge. I bet you'll say that's a good one. "

"There's one good one that you left out, " Tom said. "I thought you'dthink of it on account of that last one. "

"You mean stalking?"

"I mean another that has something to do with that?"

"Now you've got me guessing, " Hervey said. 

"Well, how do you want me to help you?" Tom asked, thus stifling hiscompanion's inquisitiveness. 

"Well, " said Hervey, ready, even eager to adapt himself to Tom's mood, "all I've got to do is to track an animal for a half a mile or so----"

"A quarter of a mile, " Tom said. 

"And then I'm an Eagle Scout, " Hervey concluded. "But if I want to be inon the hand-outs Saturday night, I've got to do it between now andSaturday, and that's what has me worried. I want to go home from herean Eagle Scout. Gee, I don't want all my work to go for nothing. "

"You want what you want when you want it, don't you?" Tom said, smilinga little. 

"It's on account of my troop, too, " Hervey said. "It isn't just myselfthat I'm thinking about. Jiminies, maybe I didn't choose the best ones, you know more about the handbook than I do, that's sure, and I supposethat one badge was just as easy as another to _you_. Maybe you think Ijust chose easy ones, hey?"

"Well, what's on your mind?" Tom said. 

"Do you know where there are any wild animal tracks?" Hervey blurted outwith amusing simplicity. "I don't mean just exactly where, but do youknow a good place to hunt for any? A couple of fellows told me you wouldknow, because you know everything of that sort. So I thought maybe youcould give me a tip where to look. I found a horseshoe last night somaybe I'll be lucky. All I want is to get started on a trail. "

"Sometimes there are different trails and they take you to the sameplace, " Tom said. 

No doubt this was one of the sort of remarks that Tom was famous formaking which had either no particular meaning or a meaning poorlyexpressed. 

Hervey stared at him for a few seconds, then said, "I don't care whetherit's easy or hard, if that's what you mean. Is it true that there arewild cats up in these mountains?"

"Some, " Tom said. 

"Well, if you were in my place, where would you go to look for a trail?I mean a real trail, not a cow or a horse or Chocolate Drop's kitten. [Chocolate Drop was the negro cook at Temple Camp. ] If I can just digup the trail of a wild animal somewhere, right away quick, the Eagleaward is mine--ours. See? Can you give me a tip?"

Tom's answer was characteristic of him and it was not altogethersatisfactory. 

"I'm not so stuck on eagles, " he said. 

CHAPTER V

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

"_You're not?_" Hervey asked in puzzled dismay. "You can bet that everytime I look at that little old gold eagle on top of the flag pole I say, 'Me for you, kiddo. '"

"I like Star Scout better, " Tom said, unmoved by his companion'sconsternation. 

"Why, that means only ten merit badges, " Hervey said. 

"It's fun studying the stars, " Tom added. 

"Oh, sure, " Hervey agreed. "But star and eagle, they're just names. What's in a name, hey? Is that the badge you meant that I forgot about?The astronomy badge?"

"No, it isn't, " Tom said. "You're too excitable to study the stars. It'sgot to be something livelier. "

"You've got me down pat, that's sure, " Hervey laughed. 

Tom smiled, too. "Well, you want the Eagle badge, do you?" he said. 

"You seem to think it doesn't amount to much, " Hervey complained. 

"I think it amounts to a whole lot, " Tom said. 

"When I get my mind on a thing----" Hervey announced. 

"That's the trouble with you, " Tom said. 

"There you go, " Hervey shot back at him; "you've been through the gameand walked away with every honor in the book, and you know the book byheart and you can track with your eyes shut and you've been to Franceand all that and you think I'm just a kid, but it means something to bean Eagle Scout, I can tell you. "

Doubtless Tom Slade, scout, was gratified to receive this valuableinformation. "And there's just the one way to get there, is that it?" heanswered quietly, but smiling a little. "I always heard that a scout wasresourceful and had two strings to his bow. "

"You just give me a tip and I'll do the rest, " said Hervey. 

"It must be about tracking, hey?"

"That's it; test three for the stalking badge. _Track an animal aquarter of a mile. _"

"Well, let me think a minute, then, " Tom said. 

"Up on that mountain, maybe, hey?" Hervey urged. 

"Maybe, " Tom said. 

So they ambled along, the elder quite calm and thoroughly master ofhimself, the younger, all impulse, eagerness and enthusiasm. Hisgenerous admiration of Tom, amounting almost to a spirit of worship, wasplainly to be seen. It would have been hard to say how Tom felt or whathe thought. At all events he had not been jostled out of his stolidcalm. 

"Did you ever hear any one say that there is more than one way to kill acat?" he finally inquired, pausing to notice some bird or squirrel amongthe trees. 

"I don't want to kill a cat, " Hervey said. "I want to find some tracks, I----"

"You want to be an Eagle Scout, " Tom concluded; "and you've got yourmind set on it. That it?"

"That's it; but it's for the sake of my troop, too. "

Still again, they strolled on in silence. A little twig cracked underTom's foot, the crackle sounding clear in the solemn stillness. Somefeathered creature chirped complainingly at the rude intrusion of itsdomain by these strangers. And, almost under their very feet, a tinysnake wriggled across the trail and was gone. The shadows were gatheringnow, and the fragrance of evening was beginning to permeate the dimwoods. And all the respectable home-loving birds were seeking theirnests. 

And so these two strolled on, and for a few minutes neither spoke. 

"Well then, suppose I give you a tip, " Tom said. "Will you promise thatyou'll make good? You claim to be a scout. You say that when you getyour mind set on a thing, nothing can stop you. That the idea?"

"That's it, " Hervey answered. 

"You wouldn't drop a trail after you once picked it up, would you? Someanimals take you pretty far. "

"You bet nothing would stop _me_ if I once got the tracks, " Hervey said. "I wouldn't care if they took me across the Desert of Sahara or over theRocky Mountains. "

"Hang on like a bulldog, hey?" Tom said. 

"That's me, " said Hervey. 

"All right, it's a go, " Tom concluded. "I'll see if I can give you apointer or two down near camp in the morning. Ever follow awoodchuck--or a coon? Only I don't want any badge-getter falling down ona trail, if I'm mixed up with it. That's one thing I can't stand--aquitter. "

"I wouldn't anyway, " Hervey said with great fervor; "but as long as I'vegot you and what you said to think about, you can bet your sweet lifethat not even a--a--a jungle would stop me--it wouldn't. "

"That's the kind of a fellow they want for an Eagle Scout, " Tom said;"do or die. "

"That's me, " said Hervey Willetts. 

CHAPTER VI

THE EAGLE AND THE SCOUT

And so these two strolled on. And presently they came to a point wherethe wood was more sparse, for they were approaching the rugged lowerledges of a mighty mountain, and the last rays of the dying sun fellupon the rocks and scantier vegetation of this clearer area, emphasizingthe solemn darkness of the wooded ascent beyond. 

Few, even of the scouts, had ever penetrated the enshrouding wildernessof that dizzy, forbidding height. There were strange tales, usually toldto tenderfeet around the camp-fire, of mysterious hermits and ferociousbears and half-savage men who lurked high up in those all butinaccessible fastnesses, but no scout from Temple Camp had everascended beyond the lower reaches of that frowning old monarch. 

At Temple Camp, when the cheery blaze was crackling in the witching hourof yarn telling, the seasoned habitués of the camp would direct the eyeof the newcomer to a little glint of light high up upon the mountain, and edify him with dark tales of a lonesome draft dodger who hadchallenged that tangled profusion of tree and brush to escape going towar and had never been able to find his way down again--a quite justpunishment for his cowardice. But time and again this freakish glint oflight had been proven to be the reflection of that very camp-fire upon ahuge rock lodged up there and held by interlacing roots. 

Tom and Hervey stood upon a ledge of rock just outside the area of agreat elm tree, and as they looked down and afar off, Black Lake seemeda mere puddle with toy cabins near it. 

"I bet there are wild animals up there, " Hervey said. 

"Here's one of them now, " commented Tom, pointing upward. 

High above them in the dusk and with a background of golden-edgedclouds, which gave the sun's last parting message to the earth, a greatbird hovered motionless. It seemed to hang in air as if by a thread. Then it descended with a wide, circling swoop. In less than ten seconds, as it seemed to Hervey, its body and great wings, and even its curved, cruel beak, were plainly visible circling a few yards above the tree. Itseemed like a journey from the heavens to the earth, all in an instant. 

"Watch him, watch him, " Hervey whispered. 

But Tom was not watching him at all. He knew what that savage descentmeant and he was looking for its cause. Stealthily, with no more soundthan that of a gliding canoe, he stole to the trunk of the tree andlooked about with quick, short, scrutinizing glances, away up among itsbranches. 

Then he placed his finger to his lips, warning Hervey to silence, andbeckoned him into the darker shadow under the great tree. 

"Did you see anything beside the bird?" he whispered. 

"No, " said Hervey. "Why? What is it?"

"Shh, " Tom said; "look up--shh----"

It was the most fateful moment of all Hervey Willetts' scout career, andhe did not know it. 

CHAPTER VII

THE STREAK OF RED

"Look up there, " Tom said; "out near the end of the third branch. See?The little codger beat him to it. "

Looking up, Hervey saw amid the thicker foliage, far removed from thestately trunk, something hanging from a leaf-covered branch. Even as helooked at it, it seemed to be swaying as if from a recent jolt. At firstglimpse he thought it was a bat hanging there. 

"See it?" Tom said, pointing up. "You can see it by the little streak ofred. I think the little codgers head is poking out. Some scare she had. "

Then all in an instant Hervey knew. It seemed incredible that the greatbird, hovering at that dizzy height, could have seen the littlesongster of the woods which even he and Tom had failed to see. And thethought of that smaller bird reaching its home just in time, and pokingits head out of the opening to see if all was well, went to Hervey'sheart and stirred a sudden anger within him. 

"I didn't know they could see all that distance, " he said. 

"Well, that's one thing you've learned that you didn't know before, " Tomsaid in his matter-of-fact way. 

Scarcely had he spoken the words when the foliage above shook and therewas a loud rustling and crackling of branches, while many leaves andtwigs fell to the ground. 

The monarch of the mountain crags, having circled the elm, had found away in where the foliage was least dense, and had thus with irresistiblepower carried the outer defenses of that little hanging citadel. 

And still the little streak of red showed up there in the dimness ofthose invaded branches, and one might have fancied it to be the colorsof the besieged victim, flaunting still in a kind of hopeless defiance. Down out of the green twilight above floated a feather, thenanother--trifling losses of the conqueror in his triumphal entry. 

"You're not going to get away with that, " said Hervey in a voice tensewith wrath and grim determination; "you're--you're--not----"

What happened then happened so quickly as almost to rival the descent ofthe destroyer in lightning movement. Before Tom Slade realized what hadhappened, there was Hervey's khaki jacket on the ground, his discardedhat was blowing away, and his navy blue scout scarf was plastered by thefreshening breeze flat against the trunk of the tree. 

Hervey Willetts, who had dreamed and striven all through the vacationseason of "capturing the Eagle, " as they say, was on his quest in deadearnest. 

CHAPTER VIII

EAGLE AND SCOUT

Up, up, he went, now reaching like a monkey, now wriggling like a snake. Now he loosed one hand to sweep back the hair which fell over hisforehead. Again, unable to release his hold, he threw his head back toshake away the annoying locks. Tom Slade, stolid though he was, watchedhim, thrilled with amazement and admiration. 

The great bird was embarrassed in the confines of the foliage by its bigwings. But the freedom and strength of its cruel beak and talons wereunimpaired and every second brought it nearer to the hanging nest. 

But every second brought also the scout nearer to the hanging nest. Up, up he went, now straddling some bending limb, now swinging himself withlightning agility to one above. Once, crawling on a horizontal branch, he slid over and hung beneath it, like an opossum. 

Twisting and wriggling his way out of this predicament, he scrambled on, handing himself from branch to branch, and once losing his foothold andhanging by one hand. 

Tom Slade watched spellbound, as the agile form ascended, using everyphysical device and disregarding every danger. More than once Tom almostshuddered at the chances which his young companion took upon someperilously slender limb. Once, the impulse seized him to call a warning, but he refrained from a kind of inspired confidence in that youngdare-devil who by now seemed a mere speck of brown moving in and out ofthe darkened green above him. Once he was on the point of shoutingadvice to Hervey about what to do in the unlikely event of his reachingthe nest before the eagle, or in the more serious contingency of anencounter with that armed warrior. 

For, thrilled as he was at the young scout's agility and fine abandon, he was yet doubtful of Hervey's power of deliberation and presence ofmind. But no one could advise a creature capable of being carried awayin a very frenzy of nervous enthusiasm, and Tom, sober and sensible, knew this. Hervey Willetts would do this thing or crash his brains out, one or the other, and no one could help or hinder him. 

Amid the crackling sound of breaking limbs and a shower of leaves andsmaller twigs, the mighty bird of prey, extricating himself from everyobstacle, tore his way into the leafy recess where his little victimwaited, trembling. Every branch seemed agitated by his ruthless, irresistible advance, and the hanging nest swayed upon its slenderbranch, as the cruel talons of the intruder fixed themselves in theyielding bark. The weight of the monster bird upon the very branch whichhis little victim had chosen for a home caused it to bend almost to thebreaking point, and the hanging nest, agitated by the shock, swung lownear the end of the curving bough. 

[Illustration: HERVEY SAVES THE LITTLE BIRD FROM THE EAGLE. 

_Tom Slade on Mystery Trail. Page_ 42]

That was bad strategy on the part of the invader. As the end of thebough descended under his weight, there was the appalling sound of asplitting branch, which made Tom Slade's blood run cold, and he held hisbreath in frightful suspense, expecting to see the form of his youngfriend come crashing to earth. 

But the boy who had ventured out so far upon that straining branch hadswung free of it just in time, and was swinging from the branch above. The great bird had played into the hands of his dexterous enemy when hehad placed his weight upon the branch above, from which the nest hung. 

Hervey could not have trusted his own weight upon that upper branch, andhe knew it. But even had he dared to do this he could not have passedthe enraged bird who stood guard within a yard or two of his littlevictim. When the weight of the bird's great body bent the branch down, Hervey, close in toward the trunk just below, saw his chance. He did notsee the danger. 

Scrambling out upon that slender branch, he moved cautiously but withbeating heart, out to a point where the bending branch above was withinhis reach. If the eagle had left the branch above, that branch wouldhave swung out of Hervey's reach and he would have gone crashing to theground when his own branch broke. He knew that branch must break underhim. He knew, he _must_ have known, that the chances were at least eventhat the eagle would desert the branch above in either assault orflight. 

Hervey's chance was the chance of a moment, and it lay just in this: ingetting far enough out on the branch before it broke to catch the branchabove before it sprang up and away from him. Also he must trust to theslightly heavier branch above not breaking. 

It would be impossible to say by what a narrow squeak he saved himselfin this dare-devil maneuver. His one chance lay in lightning agility. 

Yet, first and last, it was an act of fine and desperaterecklessness--the recklessness of a soul possessed and set on onedominating purpose. This was Hervey Willetts all over. And because hehad a brain and the eagle none or little, he thus used his very enemy tohelp him accomplish his purpose. 

In that very moment when Tom Slade heard with a shudder the appallingsound of that splitting branch, something beside the brown nest was alsodangling from the branch which the baffled eagle had suddenly deserted. Right close to the swaying nest the boy hung, his limbs encircling it, his two hands locked upon it, trusting to it, just trusting to it. Itbent low in a great sweeping curve, the nest swayed and swung from themovement of the swing downward, a little olive-colored, speckled headpeeking cautiously out as if to see what all the rumpus was about. 

It must have seemed to those little frightened eyes that the familiargeography of the neighborhood was radically changed. But there wasnothing near to strike terror to it now. There was nothing near but thegreen, enshrouding foliage, and the brown object hanging almostmotionless close by. 

This was Hervey Willetts of the patrol of the blue scarf, scout of thefirst class (if ever there was one) and winner of twenty-one meritbadges. . . . 

No, not twenty-one. Twenty and two-thirds. 

CHAPTER IX

TO INTRODUCE ORESTES

Hervey moved cautiously in along the limb to a point where he felt surethat it would hold his weight, and as he did so it moved slowly up intoplace. What the little householder thought of all this topsy-turvybusiness it might be amusing to know. For surely, if the world warchanged the map of Europe, the little neighborhood of leaf and branchwhere this timid denizen of the woods lived and had its being, had beensubject to jolts and changes quite as sweeping. Now and again it pokedits downy speckled head out for a kind of disinterested squint atthings, apparently unconcerned with mighty upheavals so long as itslittle home was undisturbed. 

Hervey Willetts straddled the branch and calculated the thickness ofit. 

"You all right?" he heard Tom call from below. 

"Yop, " he called back; "did you see his nobs fly away? Back to the cragsfor him, hey? Wait down there a few minutes, I'm going to bring afriend. "

Hervey had now a very nice little calculation to make. In the firstplace he must not frighten his new acquaintance by approaching too nearagain. Neither must he make any sudden and unnecessary noise or motions. He knew that a nest of that particular sort was more than a home, it wasa comparatively safe refuge, and he knew that its occupant would notemerge and desert it without good cause. One of those precious twentybadges was evidence of that much knowledge. 

His purpose was to cut the branch as near to the nest as he dared, bothfrom the standpoint of the bird's peace of mind and his own safety. Thefurther from the nest he cut, the thicker would be the branch, and themore cutting there would be to do. To cut too near to the nest mightfrighten his little neighbor on the branch, and endanger his own life. 

Yet if he cut the branch where it was thick, how could he handle itafter it was detached? How would he get down with it through all thatnetwork of lower branches?

In his quandary he hit on a plan involving new peril for himself anddoubtless some agitation to his little neighbor. He would not detach thenest from its branch, for how could he ever attach it to another branchin a way satisfactory to that finicky little householder? He knew enoughabout his business to know that no bird would continue to live in a nestwhich had been tampered with to that extent. 

So he advanced cautiously out on the branch again till he could reachthe nest. Then very gently he bound his handkerchief about the opening. Having done this, he cut into the branch with his scout knife withinabout six or eight inches of the nest. When he had cut the branch almostthrough it was a pretty ticklish matter, straddling the stubby end, forhe had the tip of the branch with the nest still in his hand and was indanger of losing his balance. 

Sitting there with his legs pressed up tight against the under side ofthe branch so as to hold his balance on his precarious seat, he heldthe end in one hand while he carefully pulled away the twigs from theend beyond the nest. Thus he had a piece of branch perhaps twenty incheslong, with the nest hanging midway of it. This he held with the greatestcare, lest in turning the branch the delicate fabric by which it hungshould strain and break away. You would have thought that that littleprisoner of the speckled head owned the tree, which in point of fact wasowned by Temple Camp, notwithstanding its distance from the scoutcommunity. So it was really Hervey's more than it was littledowny-head's if it comes to that. 

It is not every landlord that goes to so much trouble for a tenant. 

CHAPTER X

OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE, ON WITH THE NEW

"All right, we're coming down; kill the fatted calf, " Hervey called withall his former gay manner. "No more up and down trails for me. This ismoving day. "

When he had descended a little nearer, Tom heard the cheery voice moreclearly. "It's no easy job moving a house and family. I have to watch mystep. Oh, boy, _coming down!_ This tree is tied in a sailor's knot. "

"Are you bringing the bird?" Tom called. 

"I'm bringing the bird and the whole block he lived in, " Hervey calledback merrily. "I'm transplanting the neighborhood. He's going to moveinto a better locality--very fashionable. He's coming up in the world--Imean down. _O-o-h, boy_, watch your step; there was a narrow escape! Istepped on a chunk of air. "

So he came down working his way with both feet and one hand, and holdingthe precious piece of branch with its dangling nest in the other. 

"Talk about your barbed wire entanglements, " he called. Then, after aminute, "This little codger lives in a swing, " he shouted; "I shouldthink she'd get dizzy. No accounting for tastes, hey? Whoa--boy! There'swhere I nearly took a double-header. If I should fall now, I wouldn'thave so far to go. "

"You won't fall, " said Tom with a note of admiring confidence in hisbrief remark. 

"Better knock wood, " came the cheery answer from above. 

And presently his trim, agile form stood upon the lowest stalwart limb, as he balanced himself with one hand against the trunk. His khaki jacketwas in shreds, a great rent was in his sleeve, and a tear in one of hisstockings showed a long bloody scratch beneath. In his free hand he heldthe piece of branch with its depending nest, extending his arm out so asto keep the rescued trophy safe from any harm of contact. 

"Some rags, hey?" he called down good-humoredly, and exposing his figurein grotesque attitude for sober Tom's amusement. "If mother could onlysee me now! Get out from under while I swing down. Back to terracotta--I mean firma. Here goes----"

Down he came, tumbling forward, and sprawling on the ground, while heheld the branch above him, like the Statue of Liberty lighting theworld. 

"Here we are, " he said. "Take it while I have a look at my leg. It'snothing but an abrasion. It looks like a trail from my ankle up to theback of my knee. What care we? I've got trails on the brain, haven't I?"

Tom took the branch and stood looking admiringly, yet with a glint ofamusement lighting his stolid features, at the younger boy, who sat withhis knees drawn up humorously inspecting the scratch on his leg. 

"Well, what do you think of eagles now?" Tom asked, in his dull way. 

"Decline to be interviewed, " Hervey said, with irrepressible buoyancy. "What kind of a crazy bird is this that lives upside down in a housethat looks like a bat. It reminds me of a plum pudding, hanging in thepantry. What's that streak of red, anyway? His patrol colors? You'dthink he'd get seasick, wouldn't you?"

"You've got the bird badge, " Tom said, smiling a little; "can't youguess?"

What Tom did not realize was that this merry, reckless, impulsive youngdare-devil, whose very talk, as he jumped from one theme to another, made him smile in spite of himself, could not be expected to bear inmind the record of his whole remarkable accomplishment. He was nohandbook scout. 

There is the scout who learns a thing so that he may know it. But thereis the scout who learns a thing so that he may do it. And having doneit, he forgets it. Perhaps there is the scout who learns, does, andremembers. But Hervey was not of that order. He had made a plunge foreach merit badge, won it and, presto, his nervous mind was on another. It takes all kinds of scouts to make a world. 

Perhaps Hervey was not the ideal scout, but there was something veryfascinating about his blithe way of going after a thing, getting it, andburdening his mind with it no more. He lived for the present. His naïvemanner of asking Tom for a tip as to a trail had greatly amused the moreexperienced scout, who now could not understand how Hervey had used thehandbook so much and knew it so imperfectly. 

"Didn't you ever see one before?" Tom asked. 

"Not while I was conscious, " Hervey shot back, "but if he likes to livethat way it's none of my business. He's inside taking a nap, I guess. Hehad some rocky road to Dublin coming down. I wonder what he thinks? Thatwasn't the right kind of a trail, was it?"

"Wasn't it?" Tom queried. 

"No; I want a trail along the ground. "

"Still after the Eagle, huh? Do you realize what you have done?"

"I've torn my suit all to shreds, I know that. Right the first time, hey? I'd look nice going up on the platform Saturday night? Good I won'thave to, hey?"

"I thought you were going to, " Tom said soberly. 

"So I am, " Hervey shot back at him; "trails up in the air don't count. Never mind, I'll find a trail to-morrow. It's my troop I'm thinking of. I'll land it, all right. When I get my mind on a thing. . . . Hey, Slady, what in the dickens is that streak of red in the nest? Is it a trademark or something like that? You're a naturalist. "

"It's an oriole's nest, " Tom said, with just a note of good-humoredimpatience in his voice. "I thought you'd know that. "

"You see my head is full of the Eagle badge just now, " Hervey pleaded, "but I'm going to look up orioles. "

Tom smiled. 

"I'm going to look up orioles, and I'm going to get Doc to put someiodine on my leg, and I'm going to do that tracking stunt to-morrow. There's three things I'm going to do. "

Tom paused, seemingly irresolute, as if not knowing whether to say whatwas in his mind or not. And presently they started toward the camp, Hervey limping along and carrying the branch. 

"An oriole picks up everything he can find and weaves it into his nest, "Tom said; "string, ribbon, bits of straw, any old thing. He likes thingsthat are bright colored. "

"He's got the right idea, there, " Hervey said. 

Tom tried again to interest the rescuer in this little companion, imprisoned within its own cozy little home, whom they were taking backto camp. He could not comprehend how one who had performed such a stuntas Hervey had just performed, and been so careful and humane, couldforget about his act so soon and take so little interest in the birdwhich had been saved by his reckless courage. But that was HerveyWilletts all over. His heart went where action was. And his interestlapsed when action ceased. 

"Somebody in a book called the oriole Orestes, because that meansdweller in the woods, " Tom ventured. 

"He dwells in a sky-scraper, that's what _I_ say, " Hervey commented. "Ina hall bedroom upside down, twenty floors up. "

Tom tried again. "What do you mean to do with her now that you've gother?" he asked. 

"I'm going to turn her over to you, Slady. You're the real scout; nonegenuine unless marked T. S. You've got the birds all eating out of yourhands. "

"You didn't tear the nest from the branch, " Tom said. "You must have hadsome idea. "

"Well, " said Hervey, "my idea was to stick it up in an elm tree down atcamp. Think she'd stand for it?"

"Guess so, " Tom said. 

"You see I'm all through bird study, " Hervey said with amusingartlessness, "so I think you'd better adopt Erastus--is that the way yousay it?"

"Orestes, " Tom corrected him. 

"Pardon _me_, " Hervey said. 

"Maybe you don't even care if I tell them what you did?" Tom queried. 

"Tell them whatever you want, " Hervey said. "I don't care. What I'mthinking now is----"

"The next stunt, " Tom interrupted him. 

"You said it, " Hervey answered cheerily; "just about a mile or so oftracks. I guess you think I'm kind of happy-go-lucky, don't you?"

"I don't blame you for not remembering all the things you've done, " Tomsaid, "and all the rules and tests and like that. But most every scoutgoes in for some particular thing. Maybe it's first aid, or maybe it'ssignaling. And he keeps on with that thing even after he has the badge. "

"That's right, " Hervey concurred with surprising readiness. "You've gotthe right idea. My specialty is the Eagle badge. See?"

"Well, that's twenty-one badges, " Tom said. 

"Right-o, and all I need to do now is test three for the stalking badgeand I'm _it_. And if I can't go over the top between now and this timeSaturday, I'll never look the fellows in my troop in the face again, that's what. "

Tom whistled to himself a moment as they strolled along. Perhaps he knewmore than he wished to say. Perhaps he was just a little out of patiencewith this sprightly, irresponsible young hero. 

"Well, there isn't much time, " he said. 

"That's the trouble, Slady, and it's got me guessing. "

CHAPTER XI

OFF ON A NEW TACK

It is doubtful if ever there was a scout at Temple Camp for whom Tomfelt a greater interest or by whom he was more attracted than by thisirrepressible boy whose ready prowess he had just witnessed. And thefunny part of it was that no two persons could possibly have been moreunlike than these two. Hervey even got on Tom's nerves somewhat by hisblithe disregard of the handbook side of scouting, except for what itwas worth to him in his stuntful career. 

The handbook was almost a sacred volume to sober Tom. Still, he wascaptivated by Hervey, as indeed others were in the big camp. 

"Well, you were after the Eagle and you got an oriole, " he said, halfjokingly. "That's what I meant when I said that sometimes you don'tknow where a trail will bring you out. You got a lot to learn aboutscouting. What you did to-day was better than tracking a half a mile orso. "

"The pleasure is mine, " said Hervey, in bantering acknowledgment of thecompliment, "but if there's anything higher in scouting than the Eagleaward, I'd like to know what it is. "

"How much good has it done you trying for it?" Tom asked. "Nobody issupposed to go after a thing in scouting the same as he does in a game. He's supposed to learn things why he's going after something, " he addedin his clumsy way. "You went through the bird study test and you didn'teven know it was an oriole's nest that you rescued. And you forgot allabout something else too, and it makes me laugh when I think about it;when I think about you and your tracks. "

"You think I'm a punk scout, " Hervey sang out, gayly. 

"I think you're a bully scout, " Tom said. 

"If I win the Eagle you'll say so, won't you?"

"Maybe. "

"And do you mean to tell me that a scout can be any more of a scoutthan that--an Eagle Scout?"

"Sure, " said Tom uncompromisingly. 

For a few seconds the young hero of the lofty elm was too astonished toreply. Then he said, "Gee, you're a peachy scout, everybody says that, but you're a funny kind of a fellow, that's what _I_ think. I don't getyou. The Eagle award is the highest award in scouting. It means, oh, itmeans a couple of hundred stunts--hard ones. You can't get above that. You're one yourself, you can't deny it. No, sir, you can't get abovethat--no, _siree_. . . . Do you mean to tell me that there's anythinghigher in scouting than the Eagle award?" he asked defiantly, after apause. 

"Yop, there is, " said Tom, unmoved. 

Hervey paused in consternation. "Well, I'm for the Eagle award, anyway, "he finally said. "That's good enough for _me_. And I'm going to get it, too; right away, quick. "

"You'll get it, " Tom said. 

"Think I will?"

"I don't think, I know. "

"You mean you're _sure_ I will?"

"That's what I said. "

"_Positive?_"

"That's what I said. "

"Well, then I'd better get busy hunting for some tracks, hadn't I? I'vegot to make good to _you_ as well as to my troop, haven't I?"

"You ask a lot of questions, " said Tom in his funny, sober way. "Youdon't need to make good with me. "

"Believe _me_, I've got you and my troop both on my mind now. Are yougoing to give me a tip about some tracks?"

"Maybe--to-morrow, " Tom said. 

"Do you know what I think I'll do, Slady?" Hervey suddenly vociferatedas if caught by an inspiration. "I think I'll follow this ledge around alittle way and see if there are any prints. Good idea, hey?"

This was too much for Tom. "Aren't you coming back to camp with me?" heasked. "They'll want to hear about your adventure. It's getting prettylate, too. "

"Oh, I'm a regular night owl, " Hervey said. "You take Asbestos back tocamp and hang him up in a tree and I'll blow in later. I'm going on thewar path for tracks. So long. "

Before Tom had recovered from his surprise, Hervey was picking his wayalong the rocky ledge at the base of the mountain, apparently obliviousto all that had happened, and intent upon a rambling quest for tracks. It was quite characteristic of him that he based his search upon no hintor well considered plan, but went looking for the tracks of a wildanimal as one will hunt for shells, along the beach. 

And there stood Tom, holding the memorial of Hervey's heroism in hishand. Hervey had apparently forgotten all about it. . . . 

CHAPTER XII

AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT

Hervey picked his way among the rocks, looking here and there in thecrevices and upon the intervening ground as if he had lost something. Amore random quest could scarcely be imagined. Tom watched him for a fewminutes, then took the shorter way to camp with his little charge. 

Hervey followed the rocky ledge for about fifty yards to a point wherethe dry bed of a stream came winding down out of the mountain. It ran ina tiny canyon between two rocks and so out upon the level fields to thesouth where the camp lay. 

The twilight was well advanced now, the last vivid patches were mellowedinto a pervading gray, which seemed to cover the rocks and woods like amantle. Clad in this somber robe, the wooded height which rose to thenorth seemed the more forbidding. Not a sound was to be heard but thevoice of a whip-poor-will somewhere. Even Hervey's buoyant nature wassubdued by the solemn stillness. 

Suddenly something between the two rocks caught his eye. The caked earthlooked as if a narrow board had been drawn over it. Bordering this broadline, about half an inch from it on either side, were two narrow fancylines--or at least that is what Hervey called them. Examining thesecarefully, he saw that they were made up of tiny, diagonal lines. In theplace where this ran between the rocks, in the deep shadow, thesesingular marks were surprisingly legible, and bore not a little theappearance of a border design. The big stones formed a sort of shadowbox, causing the markings to appear in bold relief. 

Hervey knew nothing of the freakish influence of light on tracks andtrails, but he saw here something which he knew had been made by amoving object. The continuous design was so nearly perfect that itseemed like the work of human beings, but Hervey knew that it couldhardly be this. 

What, then, was it?

Where the lines emerged from between the rocks the marking was lessregular and less clear, but plain enough in the damp, crusted earthwhich covered the mud in the old stream bed. 

With heart bounding with joy and elation, Hervey followed the bed of thestream. The tracks, or whatever they were, were so clear that he couldkeep to the side of the muddy area and still see them. 

It was characteristic of him that having made this great discovery, hedid not trouble himself about the direction he was taking. In point offact he was going in a southwesterly direction toward the camp. 

For perhaps a quarter of a mile the strange markings were clearlylegible in the dusk, running as they did in the yielding caked surfaceof the stream bed. They were as clear as tracks in caked snow. Then thepath of the dried up waterway petered out in an area of rocks andpebbles and beyond that there was no clearly defined way; the brook hadevidently trickled down into the lower land taking the path of leastresistance among the rocks. 

No doubt Tom Slade could have followed that water path to its end, butHervey was puzzled, baffled. Yet the enthusiasm which carried him, asthough on wings, to his triumphs was aroused now. He had the prophecy ofTom Slade to strengthen his determination. He must make good for Tom'ssake now, as well as for the sake of his troop. He had told Tom that ifhe only once found a trail, nothing would stop him--_nothing_. Veryfine. All that talk about there being something higher than the Eagleaward was nonsense, and Tom Slade knew it was nonsense. "He said I'd doit, and I'm going to, " Hervey muttered to himself. 

Hervey had no patience with obstacles, he must be always moving, so nowhe began frantically scrutinizing the ground to see if he could findsome sign of the marks which had eluded him. Since he could no longerdistinguish the stream bed, he looked for some sign of those marksoutside the stream bed. 

And presently he was rewarded by the discovery of tracks, animal trackssure enough, without any ribbon, so to speak, printed between them. There they were upon the hard, bare earth, two lines of claw marks, continuing to a point where they disappeared again at the edge of aclose cropped field. Evidently his mysterious predecessor had known justwhere he wished to go and had forsaken the stream bed when it no longerwent in his direction. These were no aimless tracks, they were thetracks of a creature that had particular business in the southwest, andthat knew how to get there. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE STRANGE TRACKS

Hervey had not the slightest idea in which direction he was going, butin point of fact he was heading straight in the direction of TempleCamp. But he had found his precious tracks and nothing would stop himnow. He would go over the top in a blaze of glory next day, and thenperhaps a telegram could be sent to scout headquarters to have the Eaglebadge sent up immediately so that he could receive the very award itselfon Saturday night. He was on the home stretch now, as luck would haveit, and nothing would stop him--nothing. . . . 

_Nothing!_ He would send a line to his mother that very night and tellher all about it, and put E. S. After his name. _Eagle Scout. _ Thebicycle his father had promised him when he should attain that pinnacleof scout glory, he would now demand. That would be where dad lostout. . . . 

If Tom Slade knew some secret about a higher award, that meant morestunts, Hervey would do those stunts, too; the more the merrier. Heshould worry. . . . 

Yes, he was on the trail at last, and at the end of that trail was thestalking badge--and the Eagle award. _Hervey Willetts, Eagle Scout. _ Itsounded pretty good. . . . 

He realized now that this discovery of his was just a streak of luck, that the chances would have been altogether against his finding realtracks in these two remaining days. "I'm lucky, " he said. Which musthave been true, else he would have lost his life long ere that. . . . 

Darkness was now coming on apace, and it must be long past supper-time. But this was no time to be thinking of eating. Nothing would stop himnow, _nothing_. When he set his mind on a thing. . . . 

The tracks changed again in traversing the fields. They were not tracksat all, in fact, but a narrow belt of trampled grass, which was notvisible close by. It was only by looking ahead that Hervey coulddistinguish it. Half way across the field he lost it altogether, but, remembering the fact that it could be seen better at a distance, heclimbed a tree and there lay the long narrow belt of trampled grassrunning under the rail fence at the field's edge and into the sparsewoods beyond. He had not to follow it, only pick out the rail of thefence near where it passed and hurry to that spot. 

And there it was, waiting for him. If Hervey had been well versed intracking lore and less of a seeker after glory, he would havescrutinized the lowest rail of the fence, under which the track went, for bits of hair. But Hervey Willetts was not after bits of hair. It wasquite like him that he did not care two straws about what sort of animalhe was tracking. He was tracking the Eagle badge. 

In the sparse woods the tracks appeared as regular tracks again, sharplycut in the hard earth. Where the ground was bare under the trees, thetracks were as clear as writing on a slate, but in the interveningspaces the vegetation obscured them and he found them with difficulty. This tracking in the woods was the hardest part of his task because itrequired patience and deliberation, and Hervey had neither. 

But he managed it and was beginning to wonder how far his tracking hadled him and whether he was near to covering the required distance. Whenhe felt certain of that, he would drive a stake in the ground, fly hisnavy blue scarf from it to prove his claim, and go back to camp intriumph. He had made up his mind that he would at once report his featin Council Shack, and offer to escort any or all of the trustees backover the ground in verification of his crowning accomplishment. The onlyEagle Scout at Temple Camp, except Tom Slade; and Tom Slade didn'tcount. . . . 

Still, as he looked back, the base of the mountain seemed almost as nearas when he had made his discovery, the fields and wood which had seemedso long to the tracker were but small to the casual glance and herealized that his whole journey was yet far short of a quarter mile. 

The tracks now ran, as clear as writing, across one of those curiouspatches of damp ground with a thin, slippery skin, which was tornstraight across in a kind of furrow. Hervey was so intent on studyingthis that he did not notice in the shadow about a hundred feet ahead ofhim a log directly in line with the tracks. When suddenly he looked up, he paused and stared ahead of him in consternation. 

Some one was sitting on the log. 

CHAPTER XIV

HERVEY'S TRIUMPH

As soon as Hervey's dismay subsided he approached the log, and as he didso the figure appeared familiar to him. There was something especiallyfamiliar in the scout hat which came down over the ears of the littlefellow who was underneath it, and in the hair which straggled out underthe brim. The belt, drawn absurdly tight around the thin little waist, was a quite sufficient mark of identification. It was Skinny McCord, thelatest find, and official mascot of the Bridgeboro troop, one of thecrack troop of the camp. Alfred was his Christian name. 

The queer little fellow's usually pale face looked ghastly white in thelate dusk, and the strange brightness of his eyes, and his spindle legsand diminutive body, crowned by the hat at least two sizes too large, made him seem a very elf of the woods. At camp or elsewhere, Skinny wasalways alone, but he seemed more lonely than ever in that still wood, with the night coming on. Nature was so big and Skinny was so little. 

"Hello, Skinny, old top!" Hervey said cheerily. "What do you thinkyou're doing here? Lost, strayed, or stolen?"

Skinny's eyes were bright with a strange light; he seemed not to hearhis questioner. But Hervey, knowing the little fellow's queerness, wasnot surprised. 

"You look kind of frightened. Are you lost?" Hervey inquired. 

For just a moment Skinny stared at him with a look so intense thatHervey was startled. The little fellow's fingers which clutched a branchof the log, trembled visibly. He seemed like one possessed. 

"Don't get rattled, Skinny, " Hervey said; "I'll take you back to camp. We'll find the way, all right-o. "

"I'm a second-class scout, " Skinny said. 

"Bully for you, Skinny. "

"I--I just did it. I'm going to do more so as to be sure. Will you staywith me so you can tell them? Because maybe they won't believe me. "

"They'll believe you, Skinny, or I'll break their heads, one afteranother. What did you do, Alf, old boy?"

"Maybe they'll say I'm lying. "

"Not while I'm around, " Hervey said. "What's on your mind, Skinny?"

"I ain't through yet, " Skinny said. "I know your name and I like you. Ilike you because you can dive fancy. "

"Yes, and what are you doing here, Alf?" Hervey asked, sitting downbeside the little fellow. 

"I'm a second-class scout, " Skinny said; "I found the tracks and Itracked them. See them? There they are. Those are tracks. "

"Yes, I see them. "

"I tracked them all the way up from camp and I've got to go further upyet, so as to be sure. You got to be _sure_--or you don't get the badge. So now I won't be a tenderfoot any more. Are you a second-class scout?"

"First-class, Skinny. "

"I bet you don't care about tracks--do you?"

Hervey put his arm over the little fellow's shoulder and as he did so hefelt the little body trembling with nervous excitement. 

"Not so much, Skinny. No, I don't care about tracks. I--eh--I likediving better. How far up are you going to follow the tracks?"

"I'm going to follow them away, way, way up so as I'll be _sure_. Theymight say it wasn't a half a mile, hey?"

The hand which rested on the little thin shoulder, patted itreassuringly. 

"Well, I'll be there to tell them different, won't I, Skinny, old boy?"

"Will you go with me all the way up to where the mountain begins--willyou?"

"Surest thing you know. "

"And will you prove it for me?"

"That's me. "

"Then I won't be a tenderfoot any more. I'll be a second-class scout. "

"Is that what you have to do to be a second-class scout, Skinny? Iforget about the second-class tests. You have to track an animal, orsomething like that? I've got a rotten memory. "

"And I'll--I'll have a trail named after me, too; it'll be called McCordtrail. These are _my_ tracks, see? Because I found them. Only maybethey'll say I'm lying. Anyway, how did _you_ happen to come here?" heasked as if in sudden fear. 

"I was just taking a walk through the woods, Skinny. "

Skinny continued to stare at him, still with a kind of lingeringmisgiving, but feeling that gentle patting on his shoulder, he seemedreassured. 

"I was just flopping around in the woods, Skinny; just flopping around, that's all. . . . "

CHAPTER XV

SKINNY'S TRIUMPH

And that was the triumph of Hervey Willetts, who would let nothing standin his way. "_Nothing!_"

A hundred yards or so more and the stalking badge would have been won, and with it the Eagle award. The bicycle that he had longed for wouldhave been his. The troop which in its confidence had commissioned him towin this high honor would have gone wild with joy. Hervey Willetts wouldhave been the only Eagle Scout at Temple Camp save Tom Slade, and, ofcourse, Tom didn't count. 

Yet, strangely enough, the only eagle that Hervey Willetts thought ofnow was the eagle which he had driven off--the bird of prey. To havekilled little Skinny's hope and dispelled his almost insane joy wouldhave made Hervey Willetts feel just like that eagle which had arousedhis wrath and reckless courage. "Not for mine, " he muttered to himself. "Slady was right when he said he wasn't so stuck on eagles. He's a queerkind of a duck, Slady is; a kind of a mind reader. You never know justwhat he means or what he's thinking about. I can't make that fellow outat all. . . . I wonder what he meant when he said that a trail sometimesdoesn't come out where you think it's going to come out. . . . "

Hervey had greatly admired Tom Slade, but he stood in awe of him now. "Well, anyway, " said he to himself, "he said I'd win the award and Ididn't; so I put one over on him. " To put one over on Tom Slade was ofitself something of a triumph. "He's not _always_ right, anyway, " Herveyreflected. 

He was aroused from his reflections by little Skinny. "I followed themfrom camp, " he said. "They're _real_ tracks, ain't they? And they're_mine_, ain't they? Because I found them? Ain't they?"

"Bet your life. I tell you what you do, Alf, old boy. You just followthem up a little way further toward the mountain and I'll wait for youhere. Then we can say you did it all by yourself, see? The handbook saysa quarter of a mile or a half a mile, I don't know what, but you mightas well give them good measure. I can't remember what's in the handbookhalf of the time. "

"You know about good turns, don't you?"

"'Fraid not, except when somebody reminds me. "

"I'm going to keep you for my friend even if I _am_ a second-classscout, I am, " Skinny assured him. 

"That's right, don't forget your old friends when you get up in theworld. "

"Maybe you'll get that canoe some day, hey?"

"What canoe is that, Alf?"

"The one for the highest honor; it's on exhibition in Council Shack. Allthe fellows go in to look at it. A big fellow let me go in with him, 'cause I'm scared to go in there alone. "

"I haven't been inside Council Shack in three weeks, " Hervey said. "Idon't know what it looks like inside that shanty. I'm not strong onexhibitions. I'll take a squint at it when we go down. "

"The highest honor, that's the Eagle award, isn't it?" Skinny asked. 

"I suppose so, " Hervey said; "a fellow can't get any higher than the topunless he has an airplane. "

"Can he get higher than the top if he has a balloon?" Skinny wanted toknow. 

"Never you mind about balloons. What we're after now is the second-classscout badge, and we're going to get it if we have to kill a couple ofcouncilmen. "

"Did you ever kill a councilman?"

"No, but I will, if Alf McCord, second-class scout, doesn't get hisbadge. I feel just in the humor. Go on now, chase yourself up the line aways and then come back. I'll be waiting at the garden gate. "

"What gate?"

"I mean here on this log. "

"Do you know Tom Slade?"

"You bet. "

"He likes me, he does; because I used to steal things out of grocerystores just like he did--once. "

"All right, " Hervey laughed. "Go ahead now, it's gettinglate--Asbestos. "

"That isn't my name. "

"Well, you remind me of a friend of mine named Asbestos, and I remindmyself of an eagle. Now don't ask any more questions, but beat it. "

And so the scout who had never bothered his head about the more seriousside of scouting sat on the log watching the little fellow as hefollowed those precious tracks a little further so that there might beno shadow of doubt about his fulfilling the requirement. Then Herveyshouted to him to come back, and shook hands with him and was the firstto congratulate him on attaining to the dignity of second-class scout. Not a word did Hervey say about the amusing fact of little Skinny havingfollowed the tracks backward; backward or forward, it made nodifference; he had followed them, that was the main thing. 

"They're _my_ tracks; all mine, " Skinny said. 

"You bet, " said Hervey; "you can roll them up and put them in yourpocket if you want to. "

Skinny gazed at his companion as if he didn't just see how he could dothat. 

And so they started down for camp together, verging away from the tracksof glory, so as to make a short cut. 

"I bet you're smart, ain't you?" Skinny asked. "I bet you're the bestscout in this camp. I bet you know everything in the handbook, don'tyou?"

"I wouldn't know the handbook if I met it in the street, " Hervey said. 

Skinny seemed a bit puzzled. "I had a bicycle that a big fellow gaveme, " he said, "but it broke. Did you ever have a bicycle?"

"Well, I had one but I lost it before I got it, " Hervey said. "So Idon't miss it much, " he added. 

"You sound as if you were kind of crazy, " Skinny said. 

"I'm crazy about you, " Hervey laughed; and he gave Skinny a shove. 

"Anyway, I like you a lot. And they'll surely let me be a second-classscout now, won't they?"

"I'd like to see them stop you. "

CHAPTER XVI

IN DUTCH

That Hervey Willetts was a kind of odd number at camp was evidenced byhis unfamiliarity with the things that were very familiar to most boysthere. He was too restless to hang around the pavilion or sprawl underthe trees or idle about with the others in and near Council Shack. Henever read the bulletin board posted outside, and the inside was a placeof so little interest to him that he had not even seen the beautifulcanoe that was exhibited there, and on which so many longing eyes hadfeasted. 

Now as he and Skinny entered that sanctum of the powers that were, hesaw it for the first time. It was a beautiful canoe with a gold stripearound it and gunwales of solid mahogany. It lay on two sawhorses. Within it, arranged in tempting style, lay two shiny paddles, a canedback rest, and a handsome leather cushion. Upon it was a littletypewritten sign which read:

 This canoe to be given to the first scout this season to win the Eagle award. 

"That's rubbing it in, " said Hervey to himself. "That's two things, abicycle and a canoe I've lost before I got them. "

He sat down at the table in the public part of the office while Skinny, all excitement, stood by and watched him eagerly. He pulled a sheet ofthe camp stationery toward him and wrote upon it in his free, sprawling, reckless hand. 

 TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

 This will prove that Alfred McCord of Bridgeboro troop tracked some kind of an animal for more than a half a mile, because I saw him doing it and I saw the tracks and I came back with him and I know all about it and it was one good stunt I'll tell the world. So if that's all he's got to do to be a second-class scout, he's got the badge already, and if anybody wants to know anything about it they can ask me. 

 HERVEY WILLETTS, Troop Cabin 13. 

After scrawling this conclusive affidavit and placing it under a weighton the desk of Mr. Wade, resident trustee, Hervey sauntered over to thecabins occupied by the two patrols of his troop, the Leopards and thePanthers. They were just getting ready to go to supper. 

"Anything doing, Hervey?" his scoutmaster, Mr. Warren, asked him. 

"Nothing doing, " Hervey answered laconically. 

"Maybe he doesn't know what you're talking about, " one of his patrol, the Panthers, suggested. This was intended as a sarcastic reference toHervey's way of losing interest in his undertakings before they werecompleted. 

"Have you got a trail--any tracks?" another asked. 

Hervey began rummaging through his pockets and said, "I haven't got onewith me. "

"You didn't happen to see that canoe in Council Shack, did you?" Mr. Warren asked him. 

"Yes, it's very nice, " Hervey said. 

Mr. Warren paused a moment, irresolute. 

"Hervey, " he finally said, "the boys think it's too bad that you shouldfall down just at the last minute. After all you've accomplished, itseems like--what shall I say--like Columbus turning back just beforeland was sighted. "

"He didn't turn back, " Hervey said; "now there's one thing I didn'tforget--my little old history book. When Columbus started to cross theDelaware----"

"Listen, Hervey, " Mr. Warren interrupted him; "suppose you and I walktogether, I want to talk with you. "

So they strolled together in the direction of the mess boards. 

"Now, Hervey, my boy, " said Mr. Warren, "I don't want you to be angry atwhat I say, but the boys are disgruntled and I think you can't blamethem. They set their hearts on having the Eagle award in the troop andthey elected you to bring it to them. I was the first to suggest you. Ithink we were all agreed that you had the, what shall I say, the pep andinitiative to go out and get it. You won twenty badges with flyingcolors, I don't know how you did it, and now you're falling down all onaccount of _one single requirement_. 

"Is that fair to the troop, Hervey? Is it fair to yourself? It isn'tlack of ability; if it was I wouldn't speak of it. But it's because youtire of a thing before it's finished. Think of the things you learnedin winning those twenty badges--the Morse Code, life saving, carpentrywork. How many of those things do you remember now? You have forgottenthem all--lost interest in them all. I said nothing because I knew youwere after the Eagle badge with both hands and feet, but now you see youhave tired of that--right on the threshold of victory. You can't blamethe boys, Hervey, now can you?"

"Tracks are not so easy to find, " Hervey said, somewhat subdued. 

"They are certainly not easy to find if you don't look for them, " Mr. Warren retorted, not unpleasantly. "I heard a boy in camp say only thisevening that that queer little duck in the Bridgeboro troop had foundsome tracks near the lake and started to follow them. There is no pairof eyes in camp better than yours, Hervey. But you know you can't expectto find animal tracks down in the village. "

"In the village?"

"Two or three of your own patrol saw you down there a week ago, Hervey;saw you run out of a candy store to follow a runaway horse. You know, Hervey, horses' tracks aren't the kind you're after. Those boys wereobservant. They were on their way to the post office. I heard themtelling Tom Slade about it. "

"What did _he_ say--Tom Slade?" Hervey queried. 

"Oh, he didn't say anything; he never says much. But I think he likesyou, Hervey, and he'll be disappointed. "

"You think he will?"

"You know, Hervey, Tom Slade never won his place by jumping from onething to another. The love of adventure and something new is good, butresponsibility to one's troop, to oneself, is more important. How willyour father feel about the bicycle he had looked forward to giving you?You see, Hervey, you regarded the winning of the Eagle award as anadventure, whereas the troop regarded it as a commission--a commissionentailing responsibility. "

"I'm not so stuck on eagles, " said Hervey, repeating Tom Slade's verywords. "There might be something better than the Eagle award, you can'ttell. "

"Oh, Hervey, my boy, don't talk like that, and above all, don't let theboys hear you talk like that. There's nothing better than to finish whatyou begin--_nothing_. You know, Hervey, I understand you thoroughly. You're a wizard for stunts, but you're weak on responsibility. Nowyou've got some new stunt on your mind, and the troop doesn't count. AmI right?"

Hervey did not answer. 

"And now the chance has nearly passed. Tomorrow we all go to the collegeregatta on the Hudson, the next day is camp clean-up and we've all gotto work, and the next night, awards. Even if you were to do theunexpected now, I don't know whether we could get the matter through andpassed on for Saturday night. I'm disappointed with you, Hervey, and soare the boys. We all expected to see Mr. Temple hand you the Eagle badgeon Saturday night. I expected to send your father a wire. Walley hasbeen planning to take our picture as an Eagle troop. "

"Well, and you'll all be disappointed, " said Hervey with a kind ofheedlessness that nettled his scoutmaster. "And if anybody should askyou about it, any of the troop, you can just say that I found outsomething and that I'm not so stuck on the Eagle award, after all. That's what you can tell them. "

"Well, I will tell them no such thing, for I would be ashamed to tellthem that. I think we all know what the highest honor is. Perhaps theboys are not such reckless young adventurers as you, but they know whatthe highest scout honor is. And I think if you will be perfectly honestwith me, Hervey, you'll acknowledge that something new has caught yourfancy. Come now, isn't that right?"

"Right the first time, " said Hervey with a gayety that quite disgustedhis scoutmaster. 

"Well, go your way, Hervey, " he said coldly. 

CHAPTER XVII

HERVEY GOES HIS WAY

So Hervey went his way alone, and a pretty lonesome way it was. Themembers of his troop made no secret of their disappointment andannoyance, he was clearly an outsider among them, and Mr. Warren treatedhim with frosty kindness. Hervey had been altogether too engrossed inhis mad career of badge-getting to cultivate friends, he was alwaysrunning on high, as the scouts of camp said, and though everybody likedhim none had been intimate with him. He felt this now. 

In those two intervening days between his adventure in the elm tree andthe big pow-wow on Saturday night, he found a staunch friend in littleSkinny, who followed him about like a dog. They stuck together on thebus ride down to the regatta on the Hudson and were close companions allthrough the day. 

Hervey did not care greatly for the boat races, because he could not bein them; he had no use for a race unless he could win it. So he andSkinny fished for a while over the rail of the excursion boat, butHervey soon tired of this, because the fish would not coöperate. Thenthey pitched ball on the deck, but the ball went overboard and Mr. Warren would not permit Hervey to dive in after it. So he made a wagerwith Skinny that he could shinny up the flag-pole, but was foiled in hisattempt by the captain of the boat. Thus he was driven to the refuge ofconversation. 

Balancing himself perilously on the rail in an unfrequented part of thesteamer, he asked Skinny about the coveted award. "They're not going toput you through a lot of book sprints, are they?" he inquired. 

"I'm going to get it Saturday night, " Skinny said. "I bet all my troopwill like me then, won't they? I have to stand up straight when I go onthe platform. Some fellows get a lot of clapping when they go on theplatform. I know two fellows that are going to clap when I go on. Willyou clap when I go on? Because I like you a lot. "

"I'll stamp with both feet, " said Hervey. 

"And will you clap?"

"When you hear me clap you'll think it's a whole troop. "

"I bet your troop think a lot of you. "

"They could be arrested if they said out loud what they think of me. "

"My father got arrested once. "

"Well, I hope they won't trip you up. That was a fine stunt you did, Skinny. When those trustees and scoutmasters once get busy with thehandbook, _good night_, it reminds you of boyhood's happy school days. "

"It's all on page thirty, " Skinny said; "and I've done all of those tenthings, because the tracking made ten, and Mr. Elting said as long asyou said you saw me do it, it's all right, because he knows you tell thetruth. "

"Well, that's one good thing about me, " Hervey laughed. 

"And he said you came near winning the Eagle award, too. He said youonly just missed it. I bet you're a hero, ain't you?"

"Some hero. "

"A boy said you gave the eagle a good run for it, even if you didn't getit. He said you came near it. "

Hervey just sat on the rail swinging his legs. "I came pretty near theeagle, that's right, " he said; "and if I'd got a little nearer I'd havechoked his life out. That's how much I think of the eagle. "

Skinny looked as if he did not understand. 

"Did you see that bird that Tom Slade got? He got the nest and all. It'shanging in the elm tree near the pavilion. There's an oriole in thatnest. "

"Get out!"

"Didn't you see it yet?"

"Nope. "

"All the fellows saw it. That bird has got a name like the one youcalled me. "

"Asbestos?"

"Something like that. Why did you call me that name--Asbestos?"

"Well, because you're more important than an eagle. See?"

"That's no good of a reason. "

"Well, then, because you're going to be a second-hand scout. "

"You mean second-_class_, " Skinny said; "that's no good of a reason, either. "

"Well, I guess I'm not much good on reasons. I'd never win the reasonbadge, hey?"

"Do you know who is the smartest fellow in this camp?" Skinny asked, jumping from one thing to another in his erratic fashion. "Tom Slade. Heknows everything. I like him but I like you better. He promised to clapwhen I go on the platform, too. Will you ask your troop to clap?"

"I'm afraid they don't care anything about doing me a favor, Alf. Maybethey won't feel like clapping. But your troop will clap. "

"Pee-wee Harris, he's in my troop; he said he'd shout. "

"Good night!" Hervey laughed. "What more do you want?"

CHAPTER XVIII

THE DAY BEFORE

So it seemed that Tom Slade had brought the rescued oriole, bag andbaggage, back to camp, and had said nothing of the circumstance of hisfinding it. He was indeed a queer, uncommunicative fellow. 

Surely, thought Hervey, this scout supreme could have no thought ofpersonal triumphs, for he was out of the game where such things wereconcerned, being already the hero of scout heroes, living among themwith a kind of romantic halo about his head. 

Hervey was a little puzzled as to why Tom had not given him credit forfinding that little stranger who was now a sort of mascot in the camp. For the whole scout family had taken very kindly to Orestes. 

In the loneliness of the shadow under which he spent those two days, Hervey would have welcomed the slight glory which a word or two from TomSlade might have brought him. But Tom Slade said nothing. And it was notin Hervey's nature to make any claims or boasts. He soon forgot theepisode, as he forgot almost everything else that he had done and gotthrough with. Glory for its own sake was nothing to him. He had climbedthe tree and got his scout suit torn into shreds and that wassatisfaction to him. 

The next and last day before that momentous Saturday was camp clean-upday, for with the lake events on Labor Day the season would about close. All temporary stalking signs were taken down, original conveniences inand about the cabins were removed, troop and patrol fire clearings wereraked over, two of the three large mess boards were stored away, andmost of the litter cleared up generally. What was done in a small wayeach morning was done in a large way on this busy day, and every scoutin camp did his share. 

Hervey worked with his own troop, the members of which gave him scantattention. If they had ignored him altogether it would have been betterthan according him the cold politeness which they showed. No doubt theirdisappointment and humiliation were keen, and they showed it. 

"What'll I do with this eagle flag?" one of them called, as he displayedan emblem with an eagle's head upon it, which one of the sisters of oneof the boys had made in anticipation of the great event. 

"Send it back to her, " another shouted. "We ought to have a flag with achicken's head on it. We counted our chickens before they were hatched. "

"_Some_ fall-down; we should worry, " another said, busy at his tasks. 

"Eagle fell asleep at the switch, didn't you, Eagle?"

They called him Eagle in a kind of ironical contempt, and it cut himmore than anything else that they said. 

"Eagle with clipped wings, hey?" one of the troop wits observed. 

"Help us take down this troop pole, will you?" Will Connor, Hervey'spatrol leader, called. "We should bother about the eagle; our eagleisn't hatched yet. "

"Some eggs are rotten, " one of the Panthers retorted, which created ageneral laugh. 

Hervey turned scarlet at this and his hands trembled on the oven stonewhich he was casting away. He dropped it and stood up straight, only toconfront the stolid face of the young camp assistant looking straight athim. 

"Getting all cleared up?" Tom asked in his usual sober but pleasant way. 

Hervey Willetts was about to fly off the handle but something in Tom'squiet, keen glance deterred him. 

"You fellows going home soon?"

"Tuesday morning, " volunteered the Panthers' patrol leader. "We usuallydon't stick to the finish. We're a troop of quitters, you know. "

"What did you quit?" asked Tom, taking his informant literally. 

"Oh, never mind. "

"It's all right, as long as you don't quit each other, " Tom said, andstrolled on to inspect the work of the other troops. 

Hervey followed him and in a kind of reckless abandonment said, "Well, you see you were wrong after all--I don't care. You said I'd win it. SoI put one over on you, anyway, " he laughed in a way of mock triumph. "Tom Slade is wrong for once; how about that? The rotten egg put oneover on you. See? I'm the rotten egg--the rotten egg scout. I shouldbother my head!"

"Go back and pick up those stones, Willetts, " said Tom quietly, "andpile them up down by the woodshed. "

"You didn't even tell them I saved that little bird, did you?" Herveysaid, giving way to his feelings of recklessness and desperation. "Whatdo you suppose _I_ care? I don't care what anybody thinks. I do what Ido when I do it; that's me! I don't care a hang about your oldbadges--I----"

"Hervey, " said Tom; "go back and pile up those stones like I told you. And don't get mad at anybody. You do just what I tell you. "

"Did you hear----"

"Yop. And I tell you to go back there and keep calm. I'm not interestedin badges either; I'm interested in scouts. They'll never be able tomake a badge to fit you. Now go back and do what I told you. Who'srunning this show? You or I?"

CHAPTER XIX

THE GALA DAY

As long as the cheerful blaze near the lakeside gathers its scouts aboutit on summer evenings, Temple Camp will never forget that memorableSaturday night. It is the one subject on which the old scout alwaysdiscourses to the new scout when he takes him about and shows him thesights. 

The one twenty-two train from the city brought John Temple, founder ofTemple Camp, sponsor of innumerable scout enterprises, owner ofrailroads, banks, and goodness knows what all. He was as rich as theblackberry pudding of which Pee-wee Harris (official cut-up of theRavens) always ate three helpings at mess. 

His coming was preceded by telegrams going in both directions, talksover the long distance 'phone, and when at last he came in all hisglory, a rainbow troop consisting of honor scouts was formed to go downto Catskill Landing and greet him. One scout who would presently behanded the Gold Cross for life saving was among the number. Others weredown for the Star Scout badge, and the silver and the bronze awards. Others had passed with peculiar distinction the many and difficult testsfor first-class scout. One, a little fellow from the west, had won thecamp award for signaling. There were others, too, with attainments lessconspicuous and who were not in this gala troop, but the whole camp wasout to honor its heroes, one and all. 

Roy Blakeley, of the Silver Foxes, had a wooden rattle which he claimedcould be heard for seven miles--eight miles and a quarter at a pinch. The Tigers, with Bert Winton at their head, had some kind of an originalcontrivance which simulated the roar of their ferocious namesake. TheChurch Mice, from down the Hudson, with Brent Gaylong as theirscoutmaster, had a special squeal (patent applied for) which sounded asif all the mice in Christendom had gone suddenly mad. Pee-wee had hisvoice--enough said. 

The Panthers and the Leopards, with Mr. Warren, watched the departure ofthis rainbow troop with wistful glances. Then the scoutmaster took hischagrined followers to their bare cabins, stripped of all that had madethem comfortable and homelike in their long stay at camp. Hervey was notamong them. No one in all the camp knew how he had suffered fromhomesickness in those two days. He wanted to be home--home with hismother and father. 

To his disappointed troop Mr. Warren said:

 Scouts, we have not won the coveted award. But in this fraternal community, every award is an honor to every scout. We will try to find pride in the achievements of our friends and camp comrades. Our mistake was in selecting for our standard bearer one whose temperament disqualified him for the particular mission which he undertook. No shortcoming of cowardice is his, at all events, and I blame myself that I did not suggest one of you older boys. 

 If we have not won the distinction we set our hearts on, our stay here has been pleasant and our achievement creditable, and for my part I give three cheers for the scouts who are to be honored and for the fortunate troops who will share their honors. 

This good attempt to revive the spirits of his disappointed troop wasfollowed by three feeble cheers, which ought to have gone on crutches, they were so weak. 

Hervey was not in evidence throughout the day, and since no news is goodnews, one or two unquenchable spirits in his troop continued to hopethat he would put in a dramatic appearance just in the nick of time, with the report of a sensational discovery--the tracks of a bear or awild cat, for instance. It is significant that they would have beenquite ready to believe him, whatever he had said. 

But Mr. Warren knew, as his troop did not, of Hervey's saying that hewasn't so stuck on eagles, and he was satisfied from the talk that hehad had with him that Hervey's erratic and fickle nature had asserteditself in the very moment of high responsibility. He could not helpliking Hervey, but he would never again allow the cherished hopes of thetroop to rest upon such shaky foundation. 

Whatever lingering hopes the troop might have had of a last minutetriumph were rudely dispelled when Hervey came sauntering into camp atabout four o'clock twirling his hat on the end of a stick in anannoyingly care-free manner. Tom Slade saw him passing Council Shackintent upon his acrobatic enterprise of tossing the hat into the air andcatching it on his head, as if this clownish feat were the chief concernof his young life. 

"You going to be on hand at five?" Tom queried in his usual off-handmanner. 

"What's the use?" Hervey asked. "There's nothing in it for me. "

Tom leaned against the railing of the porch, with his stolid, halfinterested air. 

"Nothing in it for me, " Hervey repeated, twirling his hat on the stickin fine bravado. 

"So you've decided to be a quitter, " Tom said, quietly. 

Hervey winced a bit at this. 

"You know you said you weren't so stuck on eagles, " Hervey reminded him, rather irrelevantly. 

"Well, I'm not so stuck on quitters either, " Tom said. 

"What's the good of my going? I'm not getting anything out of it. "

"Neither am I, " said Tom. 

"You got stung when you made a prophecy about me, didn't you?" Herveysaid with cutting unkindness. "You and I both fell down, hey? We're punkscouts--we should bother our heads. "

Again he began twirling his hat on the stick. "I couldn't sit with mytroop, anyway, " he added; "I'm in Dutch. "

"Well, sit with mine, then; Roy Blakeley and that bunch are all from myhome town; they're nice fellows. You know Pee-wee Harris--the littlefellow that fell off the springboard?"

"I ought to like him; we both fell down. "

"Well, you be on hand at five o'clock and don't make matters worse, likea young fool. If you've lost the eagle, you've lost it. That's no reasonyou should slight Mr. Temple, who founded this camp. We expect everyscout in camp to be on hand. You're not the only one in camp who isn'tgetting the Eagle award. "

"You call me a fool?"

"Yes, you're twenty different kinds of a fool. "

"Almost an Eagle fool, hey?"

He went on up the hill toward his patrol cabin, tossing his hat in theair and trying to catch it on his head. As luck would have it, justbefore he entered the little rustic home of sorrow, the hat landedplunk on his head, a little to the back and very much to the side, andhe let it remain in that rakish posture when he entered. 

The effect was not pleasing to his comrades and scoutmaster. 

CHAPTER XX

UNCLE JEB

At five o'clock every seat around the open air platform was occupied. Every bench out of Scout Chapel, the long boards on which the hungrymultitude lined up at supper-time, every chair from Council Shack andMain Pavilion, and many a trunk and cedar chest from tents and cabinsand a dozen other sorts of makeshift seating accommodations were laidunder contribution for the gala occasion. And even these were notenough, for the whole neighboring village turned out in a body, andgaping summer boarders strolled into the camp in little groups, thankfulfor something to do and see. 

There was plenty doing. Those who could not get seats sprawled under thetrees in back of the seats and a few scouts perched up among thebranches. 

Upon the makeshift rustic platform sat the high dignitaries, scoutmasters, trustees--the faculty, as Hervey was fond of calling them. In the big chair of honor in the center sat Mr. John Temple andalongside him Commissioner Something-or-Other and Committeeman SomethingElse. They had come up from the big scout wigwam, in the dense woods onthe corner of Broadway and Twenty-third Street, New York. 

Resounding cheers arose and echoed from the hills when old Uncle JebRushmore, retired ranchman and tracker, and scout manager of the bigcamp, took his seat among the high dignitaries. He made some concessionto the occasion by wearing a necktie which was half way around his neck, and by laying aside his corn-cob pipe. 

Tom Slade, who sat beside his superior, looked none the less romantic inthe scout regalia which he wore in honor of the occasion. His popularitywas attested as he took his seat by cries of "Tomasso!" "Oh, you, Tomasso!" "Where did you get that scout suit, Tomasso?" "Oh, you, Tommyboy!"

Tom, stolid and with face all but expressionless, received thesetributes with the faintest suggestion of a smile. "Don't forget to smileand look pretty!" came from the rear of the assemblage. 

As was usual at Temple Camp festivities, the affair began with threeresounding cheers for Uncle Jeb, followed by vociferous appeals for aspeech. Uncle Jeb's speeches were an institution at camp. Slowlydragging himself to his feet, he sprawled over to the front of theplatform and said in his drawling way:

 "I don't know as thar's anything I got ter say. We've come out t'the end of our trail, en' next season I hope we'll see the same faces here. You ain't been a bad lot this year. I've seen wuss. I never seed a crowd that ate so much. I reckon none uv yer hez got homes and yer wuz all starved when yer come. 

 "Yer made more noise this season than anything I ever heard outside a Arizona cyclone. (Laughter) You've been noisy enough ter make a thunder-shower sound like a Indian lullaby. (Roars)

 "If these here honor badges thet Mister Temple is goin' ter hand out'll keep yer quiet, I wish thar wuz more uv them. As the feller says, speech is silver and silence is gold, so I'm for gold awards every time. Onct I asked Buffalo Bill what wuz th' main thing fer a scout n' he says _silence_. (Uproarious laughter) So I reckon th' best kind uv a boy scout is one that's deaf and dumb, but I ain't never seen none at this camp. I guess they don't make that kind. 

 "I wish yer all good luck and I congratulate you youngsters that are getting awards. If yer all got your just deserts----"

"I get three helpings, " came a voice from somewhere in the audience. Itwas the voice of Pee-wee Harris. "I get _my_ just desserts!"

Amid tumultuous cheering and laughter, old Uncle Jeb lounged back to hisseat and Mr. John Temple arose. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE FULL SALUTE

Great applause greeted Mr. Temple. He said:

 "Gentlemen of our camp staff, visiting scoutmasters, and scouts:

 "A friend of mine connected with the scout organization told me that he heard a scout say that Temple Camp without Uncle Jeb would be like strawberry short cake without any strawberries. (Great applause) I think that most scouts, including our young friend in back, would wish three helpings of Uncle Jeb. (Laughter)

 "Coming from the bustling city, as I do, it is refreshing to see Uncle Jeb for I have never in all my life seen him in a hurry. (Laughter) All scouts can claim Uncle Jeb, he is the universal award that every boy scout wears in his heart. (Uproarious applause)

 "Scouts, this is a gala day for me. It beats three helpings of dessert----"

"Sometimes we get four, " the irrepressible voice shouted. 

 "I have been honored by the privilege of coming here to visit you in these quiet hills----"

A voice: "Sometimes it isn't so quiet. "

 "and to distribute the awards which your young heroes have earned. You can all be scouts; you cannot all be heroes. That is well, for as the old song says, 'When every one is somebody then no one's anybody. ' (Laughter)

 "I wonder how many of you scouts who are down for these awards realize what the awards mean? They are not simply prizes given for feats--or stunts, as you call them. To win a high honor merely as a stunt is to win it unfairly. Every step that a scout takes in the direction of a coveted honor should be a step in scouting. The Gold Cross is given _not_ to one who saves life, but to a _scout_ that saves life. Before you can win any honors in this great brotherhood, you must first be a scout. And that means that you must have the scout qualities. 

 "Scouting is no game to be won or lost, like baseball. After all, the high award is not for what you _do_ alone, but for what you _are_. You are not to use scouting as a means to an end. 

 "In trying for a high award a scout is not running a race with other scouts. There is no spirit of contest in scouting. To be a hero, even that is not enough. One must be a _scout_ hero. He must not use the animals and birds and the woods to help in his quest of glory, whether it be troop glory or individual glory. He must not ask the birds and animals to tell him their secrets simply that he may win a piece of silver or gold to hang on his coat. But he must learn to be a friend to the birds and animals. For that is true scouting. 

 "You will notice that on the scout stationery is printed our good motto, _'Do a good turn daily. '_ There is nothing there about high awards. Evidently the good turn daily is considered of chief importance. Nothing can supersede that. It stands above and apart from all awards. Kindness, brotherliness, helpfulness--there is no metal precious enough to make a badge for these. "

As Mr. Temple turned to take the first award from Mr. Wade theassemblage broke into wild applause. Perhaps Mr. Warren, sitting amonghis disappointed troop, hoped that Mr. Temple's words would be taken toheart by the absent member. But none of the troop made any comment. 

After the distribution of a dozen or so merit badges, Mr. Temple calledout, "Alfred McCord, Elk Patrol, First Bridgeboro, New Jersey Troop. "

There was a slight bustle among the Bridgeboro boys to make way fortheir little member who started threading his way among the throng, histhin little face lighted with a nervous smile of utter delight. 

"Bully for Alf!" some one called. 

"Greetings, Shorty, " another shouted. 

He stood before Mr. Temple on the platform, trembling all over, and yetthe picture of joy. His big eyes stared with a kind of exaltation. Foronce, his hair was smooth, and it made his face seem all the more gauntand pale. This was the crucial moment of his life. He stood as straightas he could, his little spindle legs shaking, but his hand held up inthe full scout salute to Mr. Temple. Oh, but he was proud and happy. IfHervey Willetts, wherever he was, saw him one brief thrill of pride andsatisfaction must have been his. 

"Alfred McCord, " said Mr. Temple; "your friends and I greet you as ascout of the second-class. Let me place on you the symbol of yourachievement. "

He stepped forward, just one step. Oh, but he was happy. He stood uponthe platform, but he walked on air. Mr. Temple shook hands with him--Mr. John Temple, founder of Temple Camp! Yes, sir, Skinny and Mr. JohnTemple shook hands. And then the little fellow turned so that theaudience might see his precious badge. And the wrinkles at the ends ofhis thin little mouth showed very clearly as he smiled--oh, such asmile. 

Then the scouts of Temple Camp showed that their wonted disregard ofSkinny was only because they did not understand him, queer little impthat he was. For cheer after cheer arose as he stood there in a kind ofbewilderment of joy. 

"Hurrah, for the star tracker!"

"Three cheers for the sleuth of the forest!"

"No more tenderfoot!"

"Hurrah for S-S-S!" Which meant Skinny, second-class scout. 

"I congratulate you, Alfred, " said Mr. Temple, pleased at the ovation. "You have the eyes that see, and this feat of tracking which I haveheard of is a fitting climax to all your efforts to win your goal--tofinish what you began. Let every tenderfoot follow your example. And maythe scouts of the second-class welcome you with pride. "

Skinny saw Mr. Temple's hand raised, saw the fingers formed to make thefamiliar scout salute--the _full_ salute. The full salute for him! Hesaw this and yet he did not see it; he saw it in a kind of daze. 

Then he went down and stepped upon the earth again and made his way backto his seat. Those who saw him thought that he was walking, but he wasnot walking, he was floating on wings. And the noise about and the bigtrees in back, and the faces that smiled at him as he passed, were asthings seen and heard in a dream. . . . 

CHAPTER XXII

TOM RUNS THE SHOW

"William Conway, Anson Jenks, and George Winters, for Star Scout badge, and Merritt Roth and Edward Collins for bronze life saving medals. Thesescouts will please step forward. "

Amid great applause they made their way to the platform and one by onereturned, greeted with cheers. 

"Gaynor Morrison of Edgemere Troop, Connecticut, is awarded the GoldCross for saving life at imminent hazard of his own. Congratulations tohim but more to his troop. Scout Morrison will please come forward. "

That was the moment of pride for Edgemere Troop, Connecticut. GaynorMorrison, tall and muscular, stood before Mr. Temple and listened tosuch plaudits as one seldom hears in his own honor. He went downoverjoyed and blushing scarlet. 

"And now, " said Mr. Temple, "the last award is properly not anorganization award at all. It is the Temple Camp medal for order andcleanliness in and about troop cabins. It is awarded to Willis Norton ofthe Second Oakdale, New Jersey, Troop. And that, I think, concludes thispleasant task of distributing honors. I think you will all be glad toknow that one who is a stranger to no honor wishes himself to say a fewwords to you now. Whatever Tom Slade may have to say goes with me----"

He could not say more. Cries of "Bully old Tom!" "Hurrah for Tomasso!""What's the matter with old Hickory Nut?" "Oh, you, Tom Slade, " "Spooch, spooch!" "Hear, hear!" arose from every corner of the assemblage and thecries were drowned in a very tempest of applause. 

[Illustration: MR. TEMPLE CONGRATULATES HERVEY WILLETTS. 

_Tom Slade on Mystery Trail. Page_ 124]

He never looked more stolid, nor his face more expressionless than whenhe arose from his chair. He was neither embarrassed nor elated. If hewas at all swayed by the sudden tribute, it was as an oak tree might beswayed in a summer breeze. He knew what he wanted to say and he wasgoing to say it. He waited, he _had_ to wait, for at least five minutes, till Temple Camp had had its say. 

Then he said, slowly, deliberately, with a kind of mixture of clumsinessand assurance which was characteristic of him. 

 "Maybe I haven't got any right to speak. I'm not on the staff, and as you might say, I'm through being a scout----"

"Never, Tomasso!" said a voice. 

 "But I saw something that none of you saw and I know something that none of you know about--except Mr. Temple, that I told it to, and the trustees. 

 "Since I been assistant to Uncle Jeb--that's two years--I saw the Eagle award given out twice----"

"You won it yourself, Tomasso!"

 "I saw it given to a scout from Virginia and one from New York. You always hear a lot of talk about the Eagle award here in camp. Lots of scouts start out big and don't get away with it. I guess everybody knows it isn't easy. If you're an Eagle Scout you're everything else. You got to be. 

 "I've seen scouts get it. But in the last couple of days I saw one chuck it in the dirt and trample on it. That's because when a fellow gets so far that he's really an Eagle Scout, he doesn't care so much about it. A fellow's got to be a scout to win the Eagle badge. And if he's enough of a scout for that, he's enough of a scout to give it up if there's any reason. What does _he_ care? If he's scout enough to be an Eagle Scout, and gives it up, he doesn't even bother to tell anybody. Being willing to give it up is part of winning it, as you might say. 

 "Maybe you people didn't know who you were cheering when you cheered Alfred McCord. But I'll tell you who you were cheering. You were cheering the only Eagle Scout in Temple Camp. And he doesn't care any more about the Eagle badge than he does about what every little tin scout in his own troop thinks of him, either. And I'm standing here to tell you that. I saw that scout give up one badge and win another at the same time. I saw him lose the stalking badge and win the animal first aid badge all inside of an hour. He thought he lost out by giving up his tracks to Alfred McCord, when he might have scared the life out of the little fellow and chased him back to camp. 

 "But all the time he had an extra badge and he didn't know it. That's because he doesn't bother about the handbook and because he wins badges so fast he can't keep track of them. He's an Eagle Scout and he doesn't know it. He threw one badge away and caught another and he's coming up here now to stand still for two minutes if he can and listen to the paper that Mr. Temple is going to read to him. Come ahead up, Hervey Willetts, or I'll come down there and pull you out of that tree and drag you up by the collar!"

CHAPTER XXIII

PEE-WEE SETTLES IT

For half a minute there was no response, and the people, somewhatbewildered, stared here and there, applauding fitfully. 

"Come ahead, I know where you are, " Tom pronounced grimly; "I'll giveyou ten seconds. "

The victim knew that voice; perhaps it was the only voice at camp whichhe would have obeyed. There was the sound of a cracking branch, followedby a frightened cry of "Look out!" Some one called, "He'll killhimself!" Then a rustling of leaves was heard, and down out of the treehe came and scrambled to his feet, amid cries of astonishment, HerveyWilletts was running true to form and the moment of his triumph wascelebrated by a new stunt. 

"Never mind brushing off your clothes, " said Tom grimly; "come up justthe way you are. "

But he did not go up the steps, not he. He vaulted up onto the platformand stood there brushing the dirt from his torn khaki suit. The crowd, knowing but yet only half the story of his triumph, was attracted by hisvagabond appearance, and his sprightly air. The rent in his sleeve, hisdisheveled hair, and even the gaping hole in his stocking seemed to be apart of him, and to bespeak his happy-go-lucky nature. As he stood thereamid a shower of impulsive applause, he stooped and hoisted up onestocking which seemed in danger of making complete descent, and that wastoo much for the crowd. 

Even Mr. Temple smiled as he said, "Come over here, my young friend, andlet me congratulate the only Eagle Scout at Temple Camp. "

And so it befell that Hervey Willetts found himself clasping in cordialgrip the friendly hand of Mr. John Temple with one hand while he stillhauled up his rebellious stocking with the other. It was a sight todelight the heart of a movie camera man. His stocking was apparently theonly thing that Hervey could not triumph over. 

"My boy, " said Mr. Temple, "it appears that we know more about you thanyou know about yourself. It appears that your memory and your handbookstudy have not kept pace with your sprightly legs and arms----"

"How about his dirty face?" some one called. 

"And his stocking?" another shouted. 

"These are the honorable scars of war, " Mr. Temple said, "and I think Iprefer his face as it is. I think we shall have to take Hervey Willettsas we find him, and be satisfied. 

"Hervey Willetts, " he continued, "you stand here to-day the easy winnerof the greatest honor it has ever been my pleasure to confer. Stand up, my boy, and never mind your stocking. (Laughter. ) You have won the Eagleaward, and you have made your triumph beautiful and unique by workinginto it one of the best good turns in all the history of scouting. Idoubt whether a youngster of your temperament can ever really appreciatewhat you have done. But of course you could not escape Tom Slade--no onecould. He has your number, as boys say----"

"Bully for Tom Slade!" a voice called. 

"What's the matter with Tomasso?"

"Hurrah for old Sherlock Nobody Holmes!"

"Oh, you, Tommy!"

"Tag, you're it, Hervey!"

"I have here a paper procured by Tom Slade, " Mr. Temple continued, "andbearing the signatures of three scouts--John Weston, Harry Bonner andGeorge Wentworth. These scouts testify that they were in Catskillvillage drinking soda water----"

"That's all they ever go there for, " a voice shouted. 

"They saw Hervey Willetts stop a runaway horse, saw him unfasten theharness of the animal when it fell, frightened and exhausted, and sawhim procure and pour cool water on the animal's head. This was neverreported in camp till Tom Slade made inquiries. Hervey Willetts hadneglected to report it. "

"He's a punk scout, " some one called. 

"I have here also, " Mr. Temple continued, "the testimony of Tom Sladehimself that Hervey Willetts climbed a tree and in a daring manner saveda bird and its nest from the ruthless assault of an eagle. That bird'snest, with its little occupant, hangs now in the elm tree at the cornerof the pavilion. " (Great applause. )

"Thus Hervey Willetts won the animal first aid badge without so much asknowing it. (Applause. ) He had won twenty-one merit badges and he didnot know it. (Great applause. ) He was then and there an Eagle Scout andhe did not know it. (Deafening cheers. ) But Tom Slade knew it and saidnothing----"

"Thomas the Silent, " some irreverent voice called. 

"So you see, my friends, it really made no difference whether our younghero tracked an animal or not. He was an Eagle Scout. He could go nohigher. He had reached the pinnacle--no, not quite that. To his triumphhe must add the glory of a noble, unselfish deed. Never knowing that thecoveted honor was already his, he set out to win it by a tracking stuntwhich would fulfill the third requirement to bring him the stalkingbadge, and with it the Eagle award. He had said that nothing would standin his way, not even mountains. He had made this boast to Tom Slade. 

"And that boast he failed to make good. Something _did_ stand in hisway. Not a mountain. Just a little tenderfoot scout. You have seen himup here. Alfred McCord is his name. (Applause. )

"And when Hervey Willetts found this little scout hot upon the trail, heforgot about the Eagle award, forgot about his near triumph, braved theanger and disappointment of his friends and comrades----"

The troop of which Hervey was a member arose in a sudden, impetuousburst of cheering, but Mr. Temple cut them short. 

"Just a moment and then you may have your way. Hervey Willetts cared nomore about the opinion of you scouts than this big oak tree over my headcares about the summer breeze. There were two trails there, one visible, the other invisible. One on the ground, the other in his heart. AndHervey Willetts was a scout and he hit the right trail. If it were notfor our young assistant camp manager here, Hervey Willetts would thisminute be witnessing these festivities from yonder tree, and littlewould he have cared, I think. 

"But he reckoned without his host, as they say, when he sought the aidof Tom Slade. (Deafening applause. ) Tom Slade knew him even if he didnot know himself. 

"My friends, many scouts have sought the Eagle award and a few have wonit. But the Eagle award now seeks Hervey Willetts. He threw it aside butstill it comes to him and asks for acceptance. He deserves somethingbetter, but there is nothing better which we have to give. For there isno badge for a noble good turn. Tom Slade was right. "

"You said something!" some one shouted. 

"To be enough of a scout to win the Eagle award is much. To be scoutenough to ignore it is more. But twenty-one badges is twenty-one badges, and the animal first aid badge is as good as any other. The technicalquestion of whether a bird is an animal----"

"Sure a bird's an animal!" called a voice from a far corner whichsounded suspiciously like the voice of Pee-wee Harris. "Everybody's ananimal--even I'm an animal--even you're an animal--sure a bird's ananimal! That's not a teckinality! Sure a bird's an animal!"

"Well, then, that settles it, " laughed Mr. Temple amid a very tempestof laughter, "if that is Mr. Harris of my own home town speaking, wehave the opinion of the highest legal expert on scouting----"

"And eating!" came a voice. 

Thus, amid an uproarious medley of laughter and applause, and ofcheering which echoed from the darkening hills across the quiet lake, Hervey Willetts stood erect while Mr. John Temple, founder of the campand famous in scouting circles the world over, placed upon his jacketthe badge which made him an Eagle Scout and incidentally brought him thecanoe on which so many eyes had gazed longingly. 

And then one after another, pell-mell, scouts clambered onto theplatform and surrounded him, while the scouts of his own troop edgedthem aside and elbowed their way to where he stood and mobbed him. Andamid all this a small form, with clothing disarranged from closecontact, but intent upon his purpose, squirmed and wriggled in and threwhis little skinny arms around the hero's waist. 

"Will you--will you take me out in it?" he asked. "Just once--willyou?"

"The canoe?" Hervey said. "You'll have to ask my troop, Alf, old top; itbelongs to them. What would a happy-go-lucky nut like I am be doing, paddling around in a swell canoe like that?"

"Let me--let me see the badge, " little Skinny insisted. 

But already Hervey had handed the badge over to his troop. Probably hethought that it would interfere with his climbing trees or perhaps falloff when he was hanging upside down from some treacherous limb orscrambling head foremost down some dizzy cliff. No doubt it would bemore or less in the way during his stuntful career. . . . 

CHAPTER XXIV

THE RED STREAK

There was one resident at Temple Camp who did not attend that memorablemeeting by reason of being sound asleep at the time. This was Orestes, the oriole, who had had such a narrow squeak of it up at the foot of themountain. Orestes always went to bed early and got up early, being inall ways a model scout. 

It is true that just at the moment when the cheering became tumultuous, Orestes shook out her feathers and peered out of the little door of herhanging nest but, seeing no near-by peril, settled down again to sweetslumber, never dreaming that the cheering was in honor of her scoutrescuer. 

The housing problem did not trouble Orestes much. One tree was as goodas another so long as her architectural handiwork was not desecrated, and having once satisfied herself that her little home still dependedfrom the very branch which she had chosen, she did not inquire tooparticularly into the facts of that magic transfer. The branch restedacross two other branches and Orestes was satisfied. 

That was a happy thought of Tom's to call the oriole Orestes, whichmeans dweller in the woods, but thanks to Hervey the name becamecorrupted in camp talk, and the nickname of Asbestos caught thecommunity and became instantly popular. 

The shady area under Asbestos' tree was already a favorite loungingplace for scouts, and lying on their backs with knees drawn up (afavorite attitude of lounging) they could see that mysterious little redstreak in their little friend's nest. In the late afternoon, which wasever the time of sprawling, the sun had a way of poking one of his raysright down through the dense foliage plunk on Asbestos' nest, and thenthe little red streak shone like Brick Warner's red hair after he hadbeen diving. But no one ventured up to that little home to investigatethat freakish streak of color. 

"I'd like to know what that is?" Pee-wee Harris observed as he lay onhis back, peering up among the branches. 

Half a dozen scouts, including Roy Blakeley and Hervey Willetts, weresprawling under the tree waiting for supper, on the second afternoonafter Hervey's triumph. Waiting for supper was the favorite outdoorsport at Temple Camp. Orestes was already tucked away in bed, havingdined early on three grasshoppers and an angleworm for dessert. 

"That's easy, " said Roy Blakeley; "Asbestos is a red--she's ananarchist. We ought to notify the government. "

"Asbestos is an I. W. W. He ought to be deported, " Hervey said. 

"He's a _she_, " Pee-wee said. 

"Just the same I'd like to know what that red streak really does mean, "Roy confessed. 

"It's better than a yellow streak anyway, " Hervey laughed; "maybe it'sher patrol color. "

"That's a funny thing about an oriole, " another scout observed; "anoriole picks up everything it sees, string and ribbon and everythinglike that, and weaves it into its nest. "

"They should worry about building material, " Roy said. 

"I read about one that got hold of a piece of tape and weaved it in, "said the scout who had volunteered the information. "Maybe that's tape. "

"Sure, she ought to work for the government, there's so much red tapeabout her, " Roy observed. 

"It's the color of cinnamon taffy, " Pee-wee said. 

"There you go on eats again, " Roy retorted; "it's the color of pie. "

"What kind of pie?" Pee-wee asked. 

"Any kind, " Roy said; "take your pick. "

"You're crazy, " Pee-wee retorted. 

Their idle banter was interrupted by Westy Martin of Roy's and Pee-wee'stroop who paused at the tree as they returned from the village. Westywas waving a newspaper triumphantly. 

"What do you know about this?" he said, opening the paper so that thescouts could see a certain heading. 

"Oh, me, oh, my!" Roy said. "Isn't Temple Camp getting famous? Talkabout _red!_ Oh, boy, watch Hervey's beautiful complexion when he hearsthis. He'll have cinnamon taffy beat a mile. "

Willy-nilly, Roy snatched the news sheet from Westy and read:

 TEMPLE CAMP HAS NEW HERO

 Yesterday was a gala day up at the scout camp. More than five hundred people from hereabouts, as well as the whole population of the famous scout community, cheered themselves hoarse when Mr. John Temple, founder of the big camp, distributed the awards for the season. 

 For the first time in four years Temple Camp produced an Eagle Scout in Hervey Willetts of a Massachusetts troop who won the award under circumstances reflecting unusual credit on himself and bringing honor to his troop comrades. Mr. Temple's remarks to this young hero were flattening in the last degree----

"You mean flattering, " Pee-wee shouted. 

"Excuse myself, " said Roy. 

 and it was decided to give Hervey the award, because Scout Harris proved excruciatingly--I mean exclusively--I mean conclusively--that a bird is an animal just the same as Mr. Temple is, only different----

"Let me see that!" shouted Pee-wee. "You make me sick! Where is it?"

"Here's something to interest you more, " Roy said; "here's the realstuff--a kidnapping. A kid was taking a nap and got kidded. "

"Where?" Pee-wee demanded. 

"There, " Roy said, pointing triumphantly to a heading which put theTemple Camp notice in the shade. "Just read that. "

But for that sensational article, doubtless Hervey would have been moreof a newspaper hero instead of being stuck down in a corner. The articlewas indeed one to arouse interest and call for big headings, and thescouts, gathered about Roy, peered over his shoulders and read iteagerly. 

 MILLIONAIRE HARRINGTON'S SON KIDNAPPED

 ALARM SENT OUT FOR CHILD MISSING MORE THAN WEEK

 TRAIN HAND GIVES CLEW

 Police authorities throughout the country have been asked to search for Anthony Harrington, Jr. , the little son of Anthony Harrington, banker, of New York. The child, aged about ten, disappeared about a week ago and since then an exhaustive search privately made has failed to yield any clew of the little fellow's whereabouts. 

 When last seen the child was playing on the lawn of his father's beautiful estate at Irvington-on-Hudson on Friday a week ago. From that time no trace of him has been discovered. 

 The only bit of information suggesting a possible clew comes from Walter Hanlon, a trainman who told the authorities yesterday that on an afternoon about a week ago his attention was drawn to a child accompanied by two men leaving his train at Catskill Landing. Hanlon's train was northbound. He reported what he had seen as soon as the public alarm was given. 

 Hanlon said that he noticed the child, a boy, as he helped the little fellow down the car steps, because of an open jack-knife which the youngster carried, and which he good-naturedly advised him to close before he stumbled with it. To the best of Hanlon's recollection the little fellow wore a mackinaw jacket, but he did not notice this in particular. It is known that the child wore a sweater when he disappeared. 

 Hanlon paid no attention to the child's companions and his recollection of their appearance is hazy. He says that the three disappeared in the crowd and he thought they joined the throng which was waiting for the northbound boat of the Hudson River Day Line. If such was the case, the authorities believe that the party left the train and continued northward by boat in hopes of baffling the authorities. 

 One circumstance which lends considerable color to Hanlon's statement is the positive assurance of the child's parents that their son had no jack-knife of any description. This, therefore, may mean that the child was not the Harrington child at all, or on the other hand, it may mean, what seams likely, that the men gave the little fellow a jack-knife as a bribe to accompany them. Hanlon thinks that the knife was new, and is sure that the child was very proud of it. 

So much of this sensational article was in conspicuous type. The rest, in regulation type, pertained to the unsuccessful search for the childby private means. A couple of ponds had been dragged, the numerous acresof the fine estate had been searched inch by inch, barns and haystacksand garages and smokehouses had been ransacked, an old disused well hadbeen explored, the neighboring woodland had been covered, but littleAnthony Harrington, Jr. , had disappeared as completely as if he had goneup in the clouds. 

"You fellows had better be getting ready for supper, " said Tom Slade, ashe passed. 

"Look here, Tomasso, " said Roy. 

Tom paused, half interested, and read the article without comment. 

"Some excitement, hey?" said Roy. 

"It's a wonder they didn't mention the color of the sweater while theywere about it, " Tom said. 

"The kid had on a mackinaw jacket, " Roy shot back. 

"How do we know what was under the mackinaw jacket?" Tom said. "Come on, you fellows, and get washed up for grub. "

"Mm-mmm, " said Pee-wee Harris. 

CHAPTER XXV

THE PATH OF GLORY

The affair of the kidnapping created quite a sensation at camp, partly, no doubt, because stories of missing people always arouse the interestof scouts, but chiefly perhaps because the thing was brought so close tothem. 

Catskill Landing was the station for Temple Camp. It was there thatarriving troops alighted from boat or train. It was the frequentdestination of their hikes. It was there that they bought sodas and icecream cones. Scouts from "up ter camp" were familiar sights at Catskill, and they overran the village in the summertime. 

Of course it was only by reason of trainman Hanlon's doubtful clew thatthe village figured at all in the sensational affair. At all events ifthe Harrington child and its desperate companions had actually alightedthere, all trace of them was lost at that point. 

The next morning after the newspaper accounts were published a group ofscouts hiked down to Catskill to look over the ground, hoping to rootout some information or discover some fresh clew. They wound up inWarner's Drug Store and had a round of ice cream sodas and that was allthe good their sleuthing did them. 

On the way back they propounded various ingenious theories of the escapeand whereabouts of Master Harrington's captors. Pee-wee Harris suggestedthat they probably waited somewhere till dark and proceeded to partsunknown in an airplane. A more plausible inspiration was that they hadcrossed the Hudson in a boat in order to baffle the authorities andproceeded either southward to New York or northward on a New YorkCentral train. 

The likeliest theory was that of Westy Martin of Roy's troop, that anautomobile with confederates had waited for the party at Catskill. Thatwould insure privacy for the balance of the journey. 

The theory of one scout that the party had gone aboard a cabin cruiserwas tenable, and this means of hiding and confounding the searchers, seemed likely to succeed. The general opinion was that ere long thechild would be forthcoming in response to a stupendous ransom. But thismeans of recovering the little fellow did not appeal to the scouts. 

Perhaps if Tom Slade, alias Sherlock Nobody Holmes, had accompanied thegroup down to the riverside village, he would have learned or discoveredsomething which they missed. But Sherlock Nobody Holmes had otherbusiness on hand that morning. 

"Do you want to see it? Do you want to see it?" little Skinny had askedhim. "Do you want to see those tracks I found? Do you want to see mefollow them again? Do you want to see how I did it--do you?" And Tom hadgiven Skinny to understand that it was the dream of his life to seethose famous tracks, which had proved a path of glory to the goldengates which opened into the exalted second-class of scouting. 

"I'll show them to you! I'll show them to you!" Skinny had said eagerly. "I'll show you where I began. Maybe if we wait till it rains they'llget not to be there any more maybe. "

So Tom went with him to the rock close by the lake shore where the pathto glory began, and starting here, they followed the tracks, nowbecoming somewhat obscure, up into the woods. 

"Before I started I made sure, " Skinny panted, as he trotted proudlyalong beside his famous companion. "The scouts they said you'd be toobusy to go with me, they did. But you ain't, are you?"

"That's what, " said Tom. 

"I bet you don't shake all over when Mr. Temple speaks to you, do you?"

"Not so you'd notice it. "

"I bet he's got as much as a hundred dollars, hasn't he?"

"You said it. "

"Maybe if I wasn't a-scared I'd ask him to look at the tracks too, hey?First off I was a-scared to ask _you?_"

"Tracks are my middle name, Alf. "

"Now I can prove I'm a second-class scout by my badge, can't I?"

"That's what you can. But you've got it pinned on the wrong side, Alf. Here, let me fix it for you. "

"Everybody'll be sure to see it, won't they?"

"That's what they will. "

"Hervey Willetts, he's a hero, isn't he?"

"You bet. "

"I'd like to be like him, I would. "

"He's kind of reckless, Alf. It's bad to be too reckless. "

"I wouldn't let you talk against him--I wouldn't. "

Tom smiled. "That's right, Alf, you stand up for him. "

"Maybe you don't know what kind of an animal made these tracks, maybe, hey?"

Indeed Tom did not know. But one thing he knew which amused him greatly. They were following the path of glory the wrong way. Not that it madeany particular difference, but it seemed so like Skinny. He had notactually tracked an animal at all, since the animal had come toward thelake. He had followed tracks, to be sure, but he had not tracked ananimal. Hervey must have known this but he had not mentioned it. Thethought thrilled even stolid Tom with fresh admiration for that youngadventurer. Hervey Willetts was no handbook scout, but Tom would nothave him different than he was--no, not by a hair. He thought howSkinny's beginning at the wrong end was like his pinning of the badge onthe wrong side of his breast. Poor little Skinny. . . . 

And he thought of that other scout coming down through those woods, tracking that mysterious animal indeed, and stopping short, and sittingdown on a log and throwing away his triumph like chaff before the wind. Then there arose in his mind the picture of that bright-eyed, irresponsible youngster with his hat cocked sideways on his head, offupon some new adventure or bent on some new stunt. Not a very good scoutdelegate perhaps, but the bulliest scout that ever tore a gaping hole inhis stocking. . . . 

Tom was aroused from his meditation by Skinny's eager voice. "Here's thelog where he talked to me, " he said; "here's just the very same place wesat down and he said he'd be my witness. He said I was old top, that'swhat he called me. "

"Old top, hey?" said Tom, smiling. 

CHAPTER XXVI

MYSTERIOUS MARKS

Before reaching the log, Tom's interest had been chiefly in his queerlittle companion. The tracks puzzled him somewhat, but since they hadalready served their purpose and were in process of obliteration he paidlittle attention to them. In his more ambitious rambles during late falland winter, he had run across too many tracks of deer and bear andwildcat to become excited by these signs of some humbler creature of thewoods. 

But on reaching that scene of Skinny's memorable meeting with HerveyWilletts, Tom's keenest interest was aroused by something which he sawthere, and which both of the others characteristically had failed tonotice. Skinny, enthralled by his vision of the coveted badge, had beenin no state for minute exploration, and as for Hervey, these thingswere quite out of his line. Besides, his sudden impulse of generositytoward Skinny would have been quite sufficient (as we know it was) tocause him to forget all else. 

But Tom was as observant and methodical, as Hervey was erratic, and ashe paused to rest upon the log, he noticed how it lay directly acrossthe path of the tracks. Thus the track line was broken for a couple offeet or so by this obstacle. 

Supposing that the creature which had passed here had clambered over thelog, Tom's scouting instinct was aroused to examine the rough barkcarefully for any little tuft of hair which the animal might have left. And not finding any, he was puzzled. For by its tracks the creature musthave been very small, certainly too small to have stepped, and not atall likely to have jumped over the log. If then it had clambered overthe log it seemed remarkable that it had left no trace, not even asingle hair, upon that rough surface. 

Tom knew that this was unusual. He knew that old Uncle Jeb would laughat him if he went back and said that some small creature had crawledover that nutmeg grater and left no sign of its crossing. He knew thatno animal could graze a tree in its flight but old Uncle Jeb would findthere some tell-tale souvenir of its passing. 

Tom's interest was keenly aroused now. He was baffled and a littlechagrined. But no supplementary inspection revealed so much as a singlehair. 

Thus confounded, he examined the tracks more carefully. He followed themup to where they emerged from the lower reaches of the mountain. Then hefollowed them back, aided where they were dim by the deeper prints ofHervey's shoes. Skinny sat upon the log waiting for him. 

On the side of the log nearest the mountain the tracks turned and wentsideways along the log for perhaps a yard to a point where the log waslow and somewhat broken. Here, evidently, was where the animal hadcrossed. It must have been a very small animal, Tom thought, to havesought an easy place for crossing. 

Having thus determined the exact place of crossing, Tom concentrated hisattention on this spot, examining the bark systematically, inch by inch. But no vestige of a clew rewarded his microscopic scrutiny. He wasbaffled and his curiosity and determination rose in proportion to thedifficulties. His big mouth was set tight, a menacing frown clouded hiscountenance, so that instinctively little Skinny refrained from speakingto him. 

Tracing the apparent line of the animal's crossing over the log, Tomscrutinized the prints on the other side, that is, the side nearestcamp. Here the prints were very clear by reason of the crust of mudcaused by the dampness usually found near logs and fallen trees. Markson this showed like marks on hard butter. 

Suddenly Tom's attention was riveted by something directly under theapparent line of crossing, something which he had never seen the like ofin all his woodland adventures since he had become a scout. What he sawlooked singularly out of place there. Yet there it was printed in thehard crust of mud, and as clear as writing on a slate. No humanfootprint was near it. If a human being had made those marks that humanbeing must have reached from the log to do it. And the printing wasalmost too nice for that. 

Utterly dismayed, Tom looked again for human footprints but the nearestwere those of Hervey on the other side of the log, some ten or a dozenfeet beyond. 

"Did either of you fellows do that?" Tom asked, pointing. 

"Does--does it mean I can't have the badge?" Skinny asked, apprehensiveof Tom's mood. 

"Did either of you fellows do that?"

"N-no, " Skinny answered timidly. 

"Have you brought any one else up here?"

"Honest--I ain't. "

"Well then, " said Tom, with a kind of grim finality, "either some oneelse who didn't have any feet has been here or else that animal knowshow to write. Look there. "

Skinny obediently looked again. There below the log and close to thetracks were printed as clear as day the letters H. T. They were abouttwo inches in size. 

"Take your choice, " said Tom with a kind of baffled conclusiveness whichgreatly impressed his little companion. _"Either those letters wereprinted there by some one who didn't have any feet, or else the animalknew how to write. Either one or the other. It's got me guessing. "_

CHAPTER XXVII

THE GREATER MYSTERY

Since there was no solution of this singular puzzle, Tom did not let itcontinue to trouble him. He was too busy with his duties incidental tothe closing season to concern himself with mysteries which were notlikely to reveal anything of value. The kidnapping was a serious affair, and the curious discovery which he had made in the woods was soonrelegated to the back of his mind by this, which was now the talk of thecamp, and by his increasingly pressing labors. 

[Illustration: "DID EITHER OF YOU FELLOWS DO THAT?" TOM ASKED. 

_Tom Slade on Mystery Trail. Page_ 151]

Moreover he believed that some scout or other had visited this nowmemorable spot and marked his initials on the mud, squatting on the logthe while. To be sure, the absence of footprints close by, save thoseeasily recognizable as Skinny's, was perplexing, but since there wasno other explanation, Tom accepted the one which seemed not whollyunlikely. At all events, what other explanation was there?

For an hour or more that same night Tom lay under Asbestos' elmpondering on his singular discovery. Then realizing that his duties weremany and various, he put this matter out of his head altogether and wentto work in the morning at the strenuous work of lowering and rolling uptents. 

The papers which the boys brought up from Catskill that afternoon werefull of the kidnapping. Master Harrington's distracted mother was underthe care of a dozen or so specialists, six or eight servants had beendischarged for neglect, Mr. Harrington offered a reward of five thousanddollars, somebody had seen the child in Detroit, another had seen him inCanada, another had seen him at a movie show, another had heardheart-rending cries in some marsh or other, and so on and so on. 

In New York "an arrest was shortly expected, " but it didn't arrive. Thedetectives were "saying nothing" and apparently doing nothing. MasterAnthony Harrington's picture was displayed on movie screens the countryover. 

But out of all this hodge-podge of cooked up news and irresponsiblehints there remained just the one plausible clew to hang any hopes onand that was trainman Hanlon's recollection of seeing a child in amackinaw jacket and carrying a jack-knife in the company of two men whoalighted from a northbound train at Catskill, within ten miles of TempleCamp. 

One other item of news interested the camp community, and that was thatboy scouts throughout the country had been asked to search for themissing child. 

Meanwhile, the kidnappers sat tight, expecting no doubt that theirdemands for a large ransom would be more fruitful after the chances oflegitimate rescue had been exhausted. The great fortune of AnthonyHarrington of Wall Street was quite useless until a couple of ruffianschose to say the word. And meanwhile, Master Anthony, Jr. , might behacking himself all to pieces with a horrible jack-knife. 

It was just when matters were at that stage that Pee-wee Harris, ElkPatrol, First Bridgeboro Troop, went in swimming for the last time thatsummer in the cooling water of Black Lake. He gave a terrific cry, jumped on the springboard, howled for everybody to look, turned twocomplete somersaults and went kerplunk into the water with a mightysplash. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

WATCHFUL WAITING

In a minute he came up sputtering and shouting. 

"What's that? A hunk of candy?" a scout sitting on the springboardcalled. For Pee-wee seldom returned from any adventure empty handed. 

"A tu-shh-sphh----" Scout Harris answered. 

"A which?"

"A turtshplsh--can't you hearshsph?"

"A what?"

"A turtlsh. "

"A turtle?"

"Cantshunderstand Englsphish?"

He dragged himself up on the springboard dripping and spluttering, andclutching this latest memento of his submarine explorations. 

"It's a turtle--t-u-r-t-e-l--I mean l-e--can't you understand English?"Pee-wee demanded as soon as the water was out of his mouth and nose. 

"Not submarine English, " his companion retorted. "You can't keep yourmouth shut even under water. "

It was indeed a turtle, which had already adopted tactics for aprolonged siege, its head, tail and four little stubby legs being drawnquite within its shell. Nor was it tempted out of this posture ofdefense when Pee-wee hurled it at Tom Slade who was standing near themooring float, watching the diving. 

"There's a souvenir for you, Tomasso, " Pee-wee called. 

Tom caught the turtle and was about to hurl it at another scout whostood a few yards distant, when he noticed something carved on the uppersurface of the turtle's shell. He pulled up a tuft of grass, rubbing theshell to clean it, and as he did so, the carving came out clearly, showing the letters T. H. 

The scout who had been ready to catch the missile now stepped over tolook at it, and in ten seconds a dozen scouts were crowding around Tomand craning their necks over his shoulders. 

"Somebody's initials, " Tom said without any suggestion of excitement. 

"Maybe--maybe it was that kid who was kidnapped, " Pee-wee vociferated. 

"Only his initials are A. H. , " Tom answered dully. 

"No sooner said than stung, " piped up one of the scouts. 

"What'll we do with him? Keep him?" asked another. 

"What good is he?" Tom said, apparently on the point of scaling theturtle into the lake. "Some scout or other cut his initials here, that'sall. I don't see any use in keeping him; he isn't so very sociable. "

"Lots of times you crawl in your shell and aren't so sociable, either, "Pee-wee shot back at him. "I say let's keep him for a souvenir. "

"We'll have a regular Bronx Park Zoo here pretty soon, " a scout said. "We'll have to give him a name just like Asbestos. "

Tom set the turtle on the ground and everybody waited silently. But theturtle was not to be beguiled out of his stronghold by any suchstrategy. He remained as motionless as a stone. Pee-wee gave him alittle poke with his foot but to no avail. They turned him around, setting him this way and that, they tried to pry his tail out but itwent back like a spring. 

They moved him a few yards distant in hopes that the change of scenemight make him more sociable. But he showed no more sign of life than afossil would have shown. So again they all waited. And they waited andwaited and waited. They spoke in whispers and went on waiting. 

But after a while this policy of watchful waiting became tiresome. Apparently the turtle was ready to withstand this siege for years ifnecessary. Disgustedly, one scout after another went away, and otherscame. Tempting morsels of food were placed in front of the turtle, in abee line with his head. 

"Gee whiz, if he doesn't care for food what _does_ he care for?" Pee-weeobserved, knowing the influence of food. 

That settled it so far as he was concerned, and he went away, sayingthat the turtle was not human, or else that he was dead. Others, morepatient, stood about, waiting. And all the famed ingenuity of scoutswas exhausted to beguile or to drive the turtle out of his stronghold. At one time as many as twenty scouts surrounded him, with sticks, withfood, and Scouty, the camp dog, came down and danced around and made agreat fuss and went away thoroughly disgusted. 

The turtle was master of the situation. 

CHAPTER XXIX

THE WANDERING MINSTREL

With one exception the most patient scout at Temple Camp was WestyMartin of the interesting Bridgeboro, New Jersey, Troop. He could sithuddled up in a bush for an hour studying a bird. He could sit and fishfor hours without catching anything. But the turtle was too much forhim. 

"We ought to name that guy Llewellyn, " he commented, as he strolledaway; "that means _lightning_, according to some book or other. Therewas an old Marathon racer a couple of million years ago namedLlewellyn. "

"That's a good name for him, " Tom admitted. 

"You going to hang around, Slady?"

"I'm going to fight it out on these lines if it takes all summer, " Tomsaid. 

Thus the two most patient, stubborn living things in all the world wereleft alone together--the turtle and Tom Slade. 

Tom sat on a rock and the turtle sat on the ground. Tom did not budge. Neither did the turtle. The turtle was facing up toward the camp andaway from the lake. Tom rested his chin in his hands, studying theinitials on the turtle's shell. If they had been A. H. Instead of T. H. They would indeed have been the very initials of Master AnthonyHarrington, Jr. But a miss is as good as a mile, thought Tom, and T. H. Is no more like A. H. Than it is like Z. Q. 

This train of thought naturally recalled to his mind the letters he hadseen imprinted in the mud up in the woods. But those letters were H. T. And there was therefore no connection between these three sets ofletters. 

Tom knew well enough the habit of the Temple Camp scouts of carvingtheir initials everywhere. The rough bench where they waited for themail wagon to come along was covered with initials. And among them Tomrecalled a certain sprightly tenderfoot, Theodore Howell by name, whohad been at camp early that same season. Doubtless this artistictriumph on the bulging back of Llewellyn was the handiwork of that sametenderfoot. 

And likely enough, too, those letters up in the woods were the initialsof Harry Thorne, still at camp. Tom would ask Harry about that. And atthe same time he would remind some of these carvers in wood and clay notto leave any artistic memorials on the camp woodwork. It was part ofTom's work to look after matters of that kind. About the only conclusionhe reached from these two disconnected sets of initials was that hewould have an eye out for specialists in carving. . . . 

But Tom's authority was as naught when it came to Llewellyn. The turtlecared not for the young camp assistant. He sat upon the groundmotionless as a rock, apparently dead to the world. 

Tom had now no more interest in the turtle than a kind of sportinginstinct not to be beaten. He could sit upon the rock as long as hisadversary could sit upon the ground. In a moment of exasperation he hadbeen upon the point of hurling the turtle into the lake, but hadrefrained, and now he was reconciled to a vigil which should last allnight. 

Llewellyn had met his match. 

For fifty-seven minutes by his watch, Tom waited. Then the tip end ofLlewellyn's nose emerged slowly, cautiously, and remained stationary. 

Eleven minutes of tense silence elapsed. 

Then the tip end of Llewellyn's nose emerged a trifle more, stopped, started again and lo, his whole head and neck were out, craned stifflyupward toward the camp. 

Tom did not move a muscle, he hardly breathed. Soon the turtle's tailwas sticking straight out and one forward claw was emerging slowly, doubtfully. 

Silence. 

Another claw emerged and the neck relaxed its posture of listeningreconnoissance. Then, presto, Llewellyn was waddling around like alumbering old ferry boat and heading straight for the lake. As hewaddled along in a bee line something which Tom had once read cameflashing into his mind, which was that no matter where a turtle isplaced, be it in the middle of the Desert of Sahara, he will travel abee line for the nearest water. 

But his recollection of this was as nothing to Tom now, when he saw withmingled feelings of shame and excitement something which seemed to opena way to the most dramatic possibilities. 

As the turtle entered the muddy area near the lake Tom realized, what heshould have known before, that the tracks which Hervey Willetts hadfollowed from the mountain and which Skinny had followed from the lakewere the tracks of a turtle! _The tracks of a turtle coming from alocality where it did not belong, straight for the still water which wasits natural element. _

With a quick inspiration Tom darted forward into the mud catching theturtle just as it was waddling into the water. He did not know why hedid this, it was just upon an impulse, and in making the sudden reach heall but lost his balance. As it was he had to swing both arms to keephis feet, and as he did so the turtle fell upside down in the drier muda few feet back from shore. As Tom lifted it, there, imprinted in themud were the letters H. T. 

The initials T. H. On the creature's back had been reversed when he fellupside down. And Tom realized with a thrill that what had just happenedbefore his eyes had happened at that log up in the woods. 

Llewellyn, the Humpty-dumpty of the animal world, had slid off the log, alighting upside down. 

For a moment Tom Slade paused in dismay. 

So Teddy Howell and Harry Thorne had nothing to do with this. Thislumbering, waddling creature had come flopping along down out of thesilent lower reaches of that frowning mountain, straight to hisdestination. He was not the first printer to print something the wrongway around. 

Who, then, was T. H. ? Not Master Anthony, Jr. , at all events. But someone afar off, surely. Abstractedly, Tom Slade gazed off toward thattowering mountain whence this clumsy but unerring messenger had come. Itlooked very dark up there. Tom recalled how from those lofty crags thegreat eagle had swooped down and met his match before the hallowedlittle home of Orestes. 

In a kind of reverie Tom's thoughts wandered to Orestes. Orestes wouldbe in bed by now. Orestes had lived away up near where that turtle hadcome from. And the thought of Llewellyn and Orestes turned Tom's thoughtto Hervey Willetts. He had not seen much of Hervey the last day ortwo. . . . 

Tom fixed his gaze upon that old monarch where again the first crimsonrays of dying sunlight glinted the pinnacles of the somber pines nearits summit. How solemn, how still, it seemed up there. The nearer soundsabout the camp seemed only to emphasize that brooding silence. It waslike the silence of some vast cathedral--awful in its majestic solitude. 

And this impassive, stolid, hard-shell pilgrim, knowing his businesslike the bully scout he was, had come stumbling, sliding, rolling andwaddling down out of those fastnesses, because there was something righthere which he wanted. And he had brought a clew. Should the human scoutbe found wanting where this humble little hero had triumphed?

"I never paid much attention to those stories, " Tom mused; "but ifthere's a draft dodger living up there, I'm going to find him. Ifthere's a hermit I'm going to see him. If there's. . . . "

He paused suddenly in his musing, listening. It was the distant voice ofa scout returning to camp. He was singing one of those crazy songs thathe was famous for. Tom looked up beyond the supply cabin and saw himcoming down, twirling his hat on a stick, hitching up one stocking asoften as it went down--care-free, happy-go-lucky, delightfully heedless. 

He looked for all the world like a ragged vagabond. The evening breezebore the strain he was singing down to where stolid Tom stood and hesmiled, then suddenly became tensely interested as he listened. Tomoften wondered where Hervey got his songs and ballads. On the presentoccasion this is what the blithe minstrel was caroling:

 Saint Anthony he was a saint, And he was thin and bony; His mother called him Anthonee, But the kids they called him Tony. 

CHAPTER XXX

HERVEY MAKES A PROMISE

"_Tony!_"

The word reached Tom's ears like a pistol shot. _Tony. _

 His mother called him Anthonee, And the kids they called him Tony. 

Anthony--Tony. Why, of course, Tony was the universal nickname forAnthony. And if any kids were allowed within the massive iron gates atthe Harrington Estate, undoubtedly they called him Tony. 

Tom, holding the turtle like a big rubber stamp, printed the lettersseveral times on the ground--H. T. He scrutinized them, in their properorder on the turtle's back--T. H. Tony Harrington. 

Could it be? Could it really mean anything in connection with that lostchild? Was it possible that while Detective Something-or-other, andLieutenant Thing-um-bob, and Sheriff Bullhead and CaptainFuss-and-feathers were all giving interviews to newspaper men, thissturdy little messenger was coming down to camp with a clew, straightfrom the hiding place of a pair of ruffians and a little boy with a----

_With a new jack-knife!_

Tom was thrilled by this fresh thought. For half a minute he stood justwhere he was, hardly knowing what to do, what to think. 

"You're a good scout, Llewellyn, " he finally mused aloud; "old Rough andReady--slow but sure. Do you know what you did, you clumsy old icewagon? You brought a second-class scout badge and an Eagle award withyou. And I'd like to know if you brought anything else of value. That'swhat I would. "

But Llewellyn did not hear, at least he did not seem at all impressed. His head, claws and tail were drawn in again. He had changed himselfinto a rock. He was a good detective, because he knew how to keepstill. 

Tom strolled up to supper, as excited as it was in his nature to be, andgreatly preoccupied. 

On his way up he dropped Llewellyn into Tenderfoot Pond, a diminutivesheet of water, so named in honor of the diminutive scout contingent atcamp. He would have room enough to spend the balance of his life restingafter his arduous and memorable journey. And there he still abides, bylast accounts, monarch of the mud and water, and suns himself for hoursat a time on a favorite rock. He is ranked as a scout of thefirst-class, as indeed he should be, but he is frightfully lazy. He is aone stunt scout, as they say, but immensely popular. One hundred dollarsin cash was offered for him and refused, so you can tell by that. 

After supper Tom sought out Hervey. "Herve, " he said, "I don't supposeyou ever tried your hand at keeping a secret, did you? Where's yourEagle badge?"

"My patrol has got it. "

"Well, if you can't keep a badge do you think you can keep a secret? Youwere telling me you wouldn't let a girl wear an honor badge ofyours----"

"That was three days ago I told you that. Girls are different from whatthey were then. Can you balance a scout staff on your nose?"

"I never tried that. Listen, Hervey, and promise you won't tell anybody. I'm telling you because I know I can trust you and because I like youand I think you can help me. I want you to do something for me, willyou?"

"Suppose while I'm doing it I should decide I'd rather do somethingelse? You know how I am. "

"Well, in that case, " said Tom soberly, "you get a large rock tied toyour neck by a double sailor's knot, and are gently lowered into BlackLake. "

"I can undo a double sailor's knot under water, " said Hervey. 

Tom laughed in spite of himself. "Hervey, " said he, "do you know whatkind of tracks those were you followed?"

"A killyloo bird's?"

"They were the tracks of a turtle and I was a fool not to know it. Thatturtle had the letters T. H. Carved on his shell. Do you know what thoseletters might possibly stand for?"

"Terrible Hustler? How many guesses do I have?"

"Those letters were printed wrong way around in the mud up near that logwhen the turtle fell off the log upside down, " Tom continued soberly. 

"He fell all over himself, hey?"

"You didn't happen to notice those letters up there, did you?"

"Not guilty. "

"It's best always to keep your eyes open, " Tom said. 

"Not always, Slady. "

"Yes, always. "

"When you're asleep?"

Tom was a trifle nettled. "Well, are you willing to help me or not?" heasked. 

"Slady, I'm yours sincerely forever. "

"Well then, meet me under Asbestos' elm tree at quarter of eleven, andkeep your mouth shut about it. We're going to see if we can find AnthonyHarrington, Jr. "

"T. H. ?"

"Tony is nickname for Anthony; you just said so in your song. "

"When my soul burst forth in gladness, hey? The scout Caruso, hey, Slady? What are we going to meet under the elm tree for?"

"You'll see when we get there. All you have to do in the meantime is tokeep still. Do you think you can do that?"

"Silence is my middle name, Slady; I eat it alive. "

CHAPTER XXXI

SHERLOCK NOBODY HOLMES

Since Tom Slade, camp assistant, said it would be all right for Herveyto meet him at quarter of eleven under the elm tree, Hervey was only tooglad to jump the rule, which was that scouts must turn in at ten thirty, directly after camp-fire. This stealthy meeting under the old elm treenear the witching hour of midnight was quite to Hervey's taste. 

He found Tom already there. 

"Now for the buried treasure, hey, Slady?" he said. 

"I want you to promise me not to sing, " Tom said soberly. "Now listen, "he added, whispering. "That turtle came from way up in that mountain. Ithas T. H. Cut on its shell, and I think the carving is new. Thattrainman said two men with a kid got out at Catskill. He said the kidhad a jack-knife. His folks said he had a sweater. Maybe the men put thejacket on him--keep still till I get through. Maybe they wanted todisguise him. 

"It's bad enough for detectives to make fools of themselves and get thatkid's family all excited, without scouts doing it. Maybe I'm all wrongbut we're going to make sure. "

"Are you going up there, Slady?" Hervey whispered excitedly, as if readyto start. 

"No, not yet. We're going to find out something about the sweaterfirst. "

"No one is in this but just you and I, hey?"

"And Llewellyn and Orestes. Now listen, I want you to climb up this treeand don't scare the bird whatever you do. You can climb like a monkey. Don't interfere with the nest, but feel with your fingers and see if youcan give me an idea what that red streak is made of. Don't call down. All we know now is that Orestes and Llewellyn came from pretty near thesame spot. Two little clews are better than one big one if they match. Go on now, beat it, and whatever you do don't call down or I'll murderyou. "

Hardly a rustling of the branches Tom heard as the young scout ascended. One silent leaf fluttered down and blew in his face. That was all. Aminute, perhaps two minutes, elapsed. Then Tom saw the agile form slowlydescending the dark trunk. 

"I'd make a good sneak thief, hey?" Hervey whispered. 

"You're a wonder on climbing, " Tom said, with frank admiration. 

"It's kind of like worsted, Slady, " Hervey whispered, as he brushed thebark from his clothing. "It's all woven in with other stuff but it feelslike--sort of like worsted. I put my flashlight on it, it's faded--"

"I know it is, " Tom said, "but it was bright red when we first saw itand that's what makes me think it hasn't been in the nest long. I don'tbelieve it had been there more than a couple of days or so when we foundthe nest. All I want to know now is whether it's wool, or anything likethat. You think it is?"

"Sure it is. "

"All right, then one thing more and we'll hit the trail. You meet me inthe morning right after breakfast. "

CHAPTER XXXII

THE BEGINNING OF THE JOURNEY

Early the next morning Tom and Hervey hiked down to Catskill. 

"I don't see why we don't hike straight for the mountain, " Hervey said;"it would be much nearer. "

"Didn't you ever sail up the Hudson?" Tom asked him. "All the trails upthe steep mountains are as plain as day from the river. If you want todiscover a trail get a bird's-eye view. Don't you know that aviatorsdiscover trails that even hunters never knew about before? If thekidnappers went up that mountain, they probably went an easy way, because they're not scouts or woodsmen. See? It would be an awful jobpicking our way up that mountain from camp. If those men are up thatway they knew where they were going. They're not pioneers, they'rekidnappers. "

"Slady, you're a wonder. "

"Except when it comes to climbing trees, " Tom said. 

At Catskill they hired a skiff and rowed out to about the middle of theriver. From there Hervey was greatly surprised at what he saw. Hisbantering mood was quieted at last and he became sober as Tom, holdingthe oar handles with one hand, pointed up to a mountain behind thebordering heights along the river. Upon this, as upon others, were thefaintest suggestions of lines. No trails were to be seen, of course;only wriggling lines of shadow, as they seemed, now visible, now halfvisible, now fading out altogether like breath on a piece of glass. 

It seemed incredible that mere paths, often all but undiscernible closeat hand, should be distinguishable from this distance. But there theywere, and it needed only visual concentration upon them to perceive thatthey were not well defined paths to be sure, but thin, faint lines ofshadow. They lacked substance, but there they were. 

"That's old Tyrant, " Tom said. "See?"

Hervey would never have recognized the mountain. The side of it whichthey saw was not at all like the familiar side which faced Temple Camp. That frowning, jungle-covered ascent seemed less forbidding from theriver, but how Tom could identify it was beyond Hervey's comprehension. 

It was apparent that by following a road which began at Catskill theywould skirt the mountain along its less precipitous ascent, and Tomassumed that the trail, so doubtfully and elusively marked upon theheight, would be easily discoverable where it left the road, asundoubtedly it did. 

Deduction and calculation were not at all in Hervey's line; he wouldhave been quite satisfied to plunge into the interminable thicket on theside near camp and get lost there. 

"You see there is more than one way to kill a cat, " Tom observed. "I wasthinking of the kidnappers while you were thinking about the mountain. As long as they went up I thought I might as well let them show us theeasy way. "

"You're a wonder, Slady!"

"There are two sides to every mountain, " Tom said. 

"Like every story, hey?"

"You're a good scout only you don't use your brain enough. You use yourhands and feet and your heart, I can't deny that. "

"The pleasure is mine, " said Hervey. "We're going to sneak up the backway, hey?"

"No, we're going up the front way, " Tom smiled. "Llewellyn came down theback way. "

"He's a peach of a scout, hey?"

"The best ever. "

Hervey had soon a pretty good demonstration of the advantage of usingthe brain first and the hands and feet afterwards. And he had a prettygood demonstration of the particular kind of scout that Tom Slade was--ascout that thinks. 

They hit into the road about fifty yards from the boat landing andfollowed it through a valley to where it ran along the foot of themountain. 

"Are you sure this is the right mountain?" Hervey asked. "They all lookalike when you get close to them. "

"Yop, " said Tom; "what do you think of it?"

"Oh, I'm not particular about mountains, " Hervey said. "They all lookalike to me. "

Following the road, they watched the bordering woods on the mountainsidecarefully for any sign of a trail. Several times they clambered up intothe thicket supposing some tiny clearing or sparse area to be thebeginning of the winding way they sought. 

Hervey was thoroughly aroused now and serious. Once they picked theirway up into the woods for perhaps a dozen yards, only to find themselvesin a jungle with no sign of trail. Tom returned down out of these blindalleys, his hands scratched, his clothing torn, and resumed his wayalong the road doggedly, saying little. He knew it was somewhere and hewas going to find it. 

Suddenly he paused by a certain willow tree, looking at it curiously. 

"What is it?" Hervey asked excitedly. 

"Looks as if a jack-knife had been at work around here, huh? Somebody'sbeen making a willow whistle. Look at this. "

Tom held up a little tube of moist willow bark, at the same time kickingsome shavings at his feet. "Looks as if they passed this point, anyway, " he said. "Ever make one of those willow whistles? I've madedozens of them for tenderfeet. If you make them the right way, they makea dickens of a loud noise. "

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE CLIMB

At last they found the trail. It wound up and away from the road abouthalf a mile farther along than where they had found the shavings. 

"I guess no one would have noticed those but you, " Hervey saidadmiringly; "I guess the detectives would have gone right past them. "

"A lot of little clews are better than one big one, " Tom said as theyscrambled up into the dense thicket. "The initials on the turtle, thenew jack-knife, the willow shavings, all fit together. "

"Yes, but it takes Tom Slade to fit them together, " Hervey said. 

"Maybe we might be mistaken after all, " Tom answered. "Anyway, nobody'llhave the laugh on us. We didn't talk to reporters. "

Their journey now led up through dense woods, but the trail was clearand easy to follow. Now and again they caught glimpses of the countrybelow and could see the majestic Hudson winding like a broad silverribbon away between other mountains. 

"Hark!" Tom said, stopping short. 

Hervey paused, spellbound. 

"I guess it was only a boat whistling, " Tom said. 

"It's pretty lonesome up here, " Hervey commented. 

The side of the mountain which they were ascending was less precipitousthan the side facing the camp, and save for occasional patches ofthicket where the path was overgrown, their way was not difficult. 

"But I think it's longer than the trip would be straight from camp, "Hervey said. 

"Sure it is, " Tom said; "Llewellyn proves that; he went down theshortest way. He might have come down this way to the Hudson, only hehit a bee line for the nearest water. "

After about three quarters of an hour of this wearisome climb they cameout on the edge of a lofty minor cliff which commanded a panoramic viewof Temple Camp. They were, in fact, close to the edge of the moreprecipitous ascent and near the very point whence the eagle had swoopeddown. 

From this spot the path descended into the thicket and down the steepdeclivity. Below them lay Black Lake with tiny black specks uponit--canoes manned by scouts. The faintest suggestion of human voicescould be heard, but they did not sound human; rather like voices fromanother world. 

Suddenly, in the vast, solemn stillness below them a shrill whistlingsounded clear out of the dense jungle. It might have been a hundredyards down, or fifty; Tom could not say. 

He was not at all excited nor elated. Holding up one hand to warn Herveyto silence, he stood waiting, listening intently. 

Again the whistle sounded, shrill, clear-cut, in the still morning air. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE RESCUE

"Take off your shoes and leave them here, " Tom whispered; "and follow meand don't speak. Step just where I step. "

Tom's soft moccasins were better even than stocking feet and he moveddown into the thicket stealthily, silently. Not a twig cracked beneathhis feet. He lifted the impediments of branch and bush aside and letthem spring easily back into place again without a sound. Hervey crawledclose behind him, passing through these openings while Tom held theentangled thicket apart for both to pass. He moved like a panther. Neverin all his life had Hervey Willetts seen such an exhibition of scouting. 

Presently Tom paused, holding open the brush. "Hervey, " he said in thefaintest whisper, "they say you're happy-go-lucky. Are you willing torisk your life--again?"

"I'm yours sincerely forever, Slady. "

"We're going home the short way; we're going down the way the turtledid, " Tom whispered. "It's the only way--look. Shh. "

With heart thumping in his breast, Hervey looked down where Tom pointedand saw amid the dense thicket a glint of bright red. Even as he looked, it moved, and appeared again in another tiny opening of the thicketclose by. 

"What is it?" he whispered. 

"A. H. " Tom hardly breathed. "It's little Anthony Harrington--shh. Don'tspeak from now on; just follow me. See this trickle of water? There's aspring down there. They can't have their camp there, they'd roll down. The kid is there alone. If you're not willing to tackle the descent, sayso. If we go down the regular way we'll have them after us. We've got togo a way that they _can't_ go. Say the word. Are you game?"

"You heard them call me a dare-devil, didn't you?" Hervey whispered. "They claim I don't care anything about the Eagle award. They're right. I'd rather be a dare-devil. Go ahead and don't ask foolish questions. "

For about twenty yards Tom descended, stealthily pausing every few feetor so. Hervey was behind him and could not see what Tom saw. He did notventure to speak. 

Then Tom paused, holding the brush open, and peeringthrough--thoughtfully, intently. He looked like a scout in a picture. Hervey waited behind him, his heart in his throat. He could not havestood there if Tom had not been in front of him. It seemed interminable, this waiting. But Tom was not the one to leap without looking. 

Suddenly, like a flash of lightning, he threw aside all stealth andcaution and, tearing the bushes out of his path, darted forward like ahunted animal. Hervey could only follow, his heart beating, his nervestingling with excitement. What happened, seemed all in an instant. Itwas over almost before it began. Tom had emerged into a little clearingwhere there was a spring and the next thing Hervey knew, there was hiscompanion stuffing a handkerchief into the mouth of a little fellow ina red sweater and lifting the little form into his arms. 

Hervey saw the clearing, the spring, the handkerchief stuffed into thechild's mouth, the little legs dangling as Tom carried the strugglingform--he saw these things as in a kind of vision. The next thing henoticed (and that was when they had descended forty or fifty yards belowthe spring) was that the child's sweater was frayed near the shoulder. 

Down the steep declivity Tom moved, over rocks, now crawling, nowletting himself down, now handing himself by one hand from tree to tree, agilely, carefully, surely. Now he relieved one arm by taking the childin the other, always using his free hand to let himself down throughthat precipitous jungle. Never once did he speak or pause until he hadleft an almost perpendicular area of half a mile or so of rock andjungle between them and the spring above. 

Then, breathless, he paused in a little level space above a great rockand set the child down. 

"Don't be frightened, Tony, " he said; "we're going to take you home. Anddon't scream when I take this handkerchief out because that will spoilit all. "

"Is it safe to stop here?" Hervey asked. 

"Sure, they'll go down the path when they want to hunt for him. They'llnever get down here. The mountain is with us now. "

"I didn't drop my whistle, " the little fellow piped up, as if that werehis chief concern. 

"Good, " said Tom, in an effort to interest him and put him at ease. "That's a dandy whistle; tell us about it. Because we're your friends, you know. "

"Am I going to see my mother and father?"

"You bet. Away down there is a big camp where there are lots of boys andyou're going to stay there till they come and get you. "

"They sent me to the spring to get water and I took my whistle so Icould soak it in the water, because that makes it go good. I made itmyself, that whistle. "

Tom, his clothes torn, his face and hands bleeding from scratches, satupon the edge of a big rock with the little fellow drawn tight againsthim. 

"And when you whistled we came and got you, hey? That's the kind offellows we are. And I bet I know how that nice sweater got frayed, too. A little bird did that. "

"I left it hanging on a tree near the spring when they sent me to getwater, " the boy said, "and I left it there all night. " He poked hisfinger in the frayed place as if he were proud of it. 

"And I'll show you who did it, " Tom said; "because that little thief isright down there in that big camp. And I'll show you the turtle youcarved your initials on too. Because he came to our camp, too. There'sso much fun there. And you're going to step very carefully and hold onto me, and we're going down, down, down, till we get to that camp wherethere is a man that knows how to make dandy crullers. I bet you likecrullers?"

A camp where even birds and turtles go, and where they know how to makecrullers, was a magic place, not to be missed by any means. And littleAnthony Harrington was already undecided as to whether he would ratherlive there than at home. 

CHAPTER THE LAST

Y-EXTRA! Y-EXTRA!

The ragged little newsboys in the big city shouted themselves hoarse. "Y-extree! Y-extra! Anthony Harrington safe! Rescued by Boy Scouts!Y-extree! Mister!"

And those who bought the extras learned how the kidnappers of AnthonyHarrington allowed him to purchase for nine cents a turtle from a littlefarm boy whom he met at the station at Catskill. And of how that turtlewalked off and gave the whole thing away. Llewellyn and Orestes got evenmore credit than Tom Slade, but he did not care, for a scout is abrother to every other scout, and it was all in the family. 

And so, as I said in the beginning, if you should visit Temple Camp, youwill hear the story told of how Llewellyn, scout of the first-class, and Orestes, winner of the merit badges for architecture and music, wereby their scouting skill and lore instrumental in solving a mystery andperforming a great good turn. 

They are still there, the two of them; one in her elm, the other inTenderfoot Pond. And Orestes (but this is strictly confidential) has alittle scout troop of her own, tenderfeet with a vengeance, for they areout of the eggs scarcely ten days. 

THE END

 * * * * *

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 to-day. 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 SCOUTTOM SLADE AT TEMPLE CAMPTOM SLADE ON THE RIVERTOM SLADE WITH THE COLORSTOM SLADE ON A TRANSPORTTOM SLADE WITH THE BOYS OVER THERETOM SLADE, MOTORCYCLE DISPATCH BEARERTOM SLADE WITH THE FLYING CORPSTOM SLADE AT BLACK LAKETOM SLADE ON MYSTERY TRAILTOM SLADE'S DOUBLE DARETOM SLADE ON OVERLOOK MOUNTAINTOM SLADE PICKS A WINNERTOM SLADE AT BEAR MOUNTAIN

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

 * * * * *

THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of "Tom Slade, " "Pee-wee Harris, " "Westy Martin, " Etc. 

=Illustrated. Individual Picture Wrappers in Color. Every VolumeComplete 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 BLAKELEYROY BLAKELEY'S ADVENTURES IN CAMPROY BLAKELEY, PATHFINDERROY BLAKELEY'S CAMP ON WHEELSROY BLAKELEY'S SILVER FOX PATROLROY BLAKELEY'S MOTOR CARAVANROY BLAKELEY, LOST, STRAYED OR STOLENROY BLAKELEY'S BEE-LINE HIKEROY BLAKELEY AT THE HAUNTED CAMPROY BLAKELEY'S FUNNY BONE HIKEROY BLAKELEY'S TANGLED TRAILROY BLAKELEY ON THE MOHAWK TRAIL

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

 * * * * *

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 HARRISPEE-WEE HARRIS ON THE TRAILPEE-WEE HARRIS IN CAMPPEE-WEE HARRIS IN LUCKPEE-WEE HARRIS ADRIFTPEE-WEE HARRIS F. O. B. BRIDGEBOROPEE-WEE HARRIS FIXERPEE-WEE HARRIS: AS GOOD AS HIS WORD

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

 * * * * *

=EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY=

=BOY SCOUT EDITION=

The books in this library have been proven by nation-wide canvass to bethe one most universally in demand by the boys themselves. Originallypublished in more expensive editions only, they are now re-issued at alower price so that all boys may have the advantage of reading andowning them. It is the only series of books published under the controlof this great organization, whose sole object is the welfare andhappiness of the boy himself. 

Adventures in Beaver Stream Camp, Major A. R. DugmoreAlong the Mohawk Trail, Percy Keese FitzhughAnimal Heroes, Ernest Thompson SetonBaby Elton, Quarter-Back, Leslie W. QuirkBartley, Freshman Pitcher, William HeyligerBilly Topsail with Doctor Luke of the Labrador, Norman DuncanThe Biography of a Grizzly, Ernest Thompson SetonThe Boy Scoots of Black Eagle Patrol, Leslie W. QuirkThe Boy Scouts of Bob's Hill, Charles Pierce BurtonBrown Wolf and Other Stories, Jack LondonBuccaneers and Pirates of Our Coasts, Frank R. StocktonThe Call of the Wild, Jack LondonCattle Ranch to College, R. DoubledayCollege Years, Ralph D. PaineCruise of the Cachalot, Frank T. BullenThe Cruise of the Dazzler, Jack LondonDon Strong, Patrol Leader, W. HeyligerDon Strong of the Wolf Patrol, William HeyligerFor the Honor of the School, Ralph Henry BarbourThe Gaunt Gray Wolf, Dillon WallaceGrit-a-Plenty, Dillon WallaceThe Guns of Europe, Joseph A. AltshelerThe Half-Back, Ralph Henry BarbourHandbook for Boys, Revised Edition, Boy Scouts of AmericaThe Horsemen of the Plains, Joseph A. AltshelerJim Davis, John MasefieldKidnapped, Robert Louis StevensonLast of the Chiefs, Joseph A. AltshelerThe Last of the Mohicans, James Fenimore CooperLast of the Plainsmen, Zane GreyLone Bull's Mistake, J. W. ShultzPete, The Cow Puncher, J. B. AmesThe Quest of the Fish-Dog Skin, James W. SchultzRanche on the Oxhide, Henry InmanThe Ransom of Red Chief and Other O. Henry Stories for Boys, Edited by F. K. MathiewsScouting With Daniel Boone, Everett T. TomlinsonScouting With Kit Carson, Everett T. TomlinsonThrough College on Nothing a Year, Christian GaussTreasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson20, 000 Leagues Under the Sea, Jules Verne

GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK

 * * * * *

 Transcriber's Notes:

 1. Punctuation has been made regular and consistent with contemporary standards. 

 2. Double column booklist for "Every Boy's Library" at end of book was rendered in single column for readability. 

 3. Page 5: "in talking mood. " changed to "in a talking mood. "

 4. Page 58: "learn things why" changed to "learn things while"

 5. Page 67: "hitting straight in the direction" changed to "heading straight in the direction"