Roy Blakeley in the Haunted Camp Part 12

As Pee-wee turned from the mail slot he saw Warde and Roy gazing at a very antiquated bulletin board such as one seldom sees elsewhere than in a country post office.

These ancient bulletin boards bespeak the country as eloquently as do the hayfields. They seem never to be new. Articles lost but long since restored to their owners are still advertised on faded brittle paper, fastened by rusted thumb tacks of a bygone age. Strawberry festivals, with strawberries that have gone the way of all strawberries, are here announced. Auction sales and Red Cross drives long ended here proclaim themselves like ghosts out of the dead past. Letters waiting patiently for people whose names are on tombstones are here listed.

Pee-wee pressed his way between Warde and Roy and gazed at a notice by no means new which, partly overlapped by later notices, had caught the eyes of his two friends:

WANTED FOR MURDER FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS

REWARD WILL BE PAID BY THE POLICE OF QUEBEC, CANADA, FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO THE ARREST AND CONVICTION OF CLAUDE DARRELL, ALIAS DARROW, ALIAS HICKEY JOE, ETC., ETC. WANTED FOR BURGLARY AND HOMICIDE.

Was last seen in New York, where he tried to enlist for military service. Hair brown and straight. Complexion dark. Eyes gray.

Height 5 feet 10-1/2 inches. Weight about 140 pounds. Teeth white and even. May seek work as gasfitter. When last seen wore a gray suit with double-breasted vest. Walks slightly sideways.

But it was not the reading matter on this notice which riveted the attention of the scouts and for a few moments held them speechless. Two pictures, one a front face, the other a profile, were there shown.

"What--" Pee-wee began, anxiously, hesitatingly, as if he dared not say what was in his mind.

"Yep," said Warde, with a kind of cold resolve, as if one of them must express their common thought; "it's him--it's Blythe."

Still neither Roy nor Pee-wee spoke, only stood there, gazing steadfastly at the pictures. The eyes in the full face picture were looking straight at them. There was the least suggestion of a smile on the mouth. It seemed as if Blythe might be saying in that simple, pleased way of his, "Congratulations, now you're a regular scout." Warde averted his gaze. He felt almost sickened. Then he looked at the pictures again, steadily, intensely.... He seemed only half conscious of Roy saying, "I'm going to ask the postmaster how long that's been there."

Then suddenly Roy felt the authority of his new scout, subordinate though that scout was. He felt Warde's hand detaining him. "Ask him nothing," he heard Warde say; "stay where you are." Pee-wee felt this calm authority, too. Or rather this influence of one who is well poised and thoughtful.

And still, with spirits drooping, with the whole foundation of their happiness rudely knocked from under them as it seemed, they stood gazing at these pictures of their friend. This murderer. Here was another murder to add to that former one in Canada. The murder of all their hopes and plans.... The killing of a friends.h.i.+p.

They heard the man behind the lock-boxes come through the little gate.

They heard the gate swing shut. They felt a presence near them.

"Well, what do you find to interest you, boys?" they heard a drawling voice ask.

"We were--we were just wis.h.i.+ng that we had been at the strawberry festival--the one a year ago last June," replied Warde Hollister.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE TEST

The three scouts took their way along the road in silence. Pee-wee was subdued and even Roy sobered. Warde alone seemed composed. Perhaps none of them had realized until now how much they had grown to like young Blythe. And this appalling revelation was the sequel, the end, of that merry, novel camping adventure. They were not fired by the dramatic character of their discovery; they were just cast down. _This_ was what it had all come to....

Pee-wee was the first to regain some of his former spirit. "Just the same, maybe that fellow's mother will get the letter," said he; "so that's one good thing. And later we're going to Temple Camp, that's another. And Warde is a first cla.s.s scout, so gee whiz, we ought to be all good and glad, that's sure." But for all that, Pee-wee did not seem good and glad.

He tried again. "A fellow ought to be glad when he gets to be a first cla.s.s scout, that's one sure thing. Even if I were in the Silver Foxes I'd be glad. And anyway it's good you had your fourteen mile hike to-day because now you can let Mr. Ellsworth and the local council know and he can go over the ground Sunday. That's the way he usually does. You can write up your account to-morrow and the next day. Then you can try for any merit badge you want. I bet you'll get a lot of them. I bet your father will be glad when you tell him you're in the first cla.s.s, hey?...

I bet Roy will be proud, too," he added.

Roy made no response, only walked along silently.

"There won't be any badge, Kid," said Warde kindly. "There isn't going to be any account written of this. And Mr. Ellsworth isn't going to go over the ground.... He isn't going to see that picture."

For a few moments none of them spoke. Several men raking hay in a nearby field waved to them, as people do to scouts, and the three waved their arms in answer, but there was not much enthusiasm in their act. The birds chirped among the bordering trees. A nimble little chipmunk paused upon a stone wall, looked at them pertly, and disappeared in a crevice of rock. And so they walked on, no one speaking.

"What do you mean?" Roy asked after a pause.

"Just that," said Warde. "Mr. Ellsworth saw Blythe. He isn't going to see that picture. I don't care anything about the badge. Let's not talk about it. It's off."

"Do you mean that we should protect that--that fellow?" Roy asked.

"I mean that this isn't my test," said Warde. "I mean I'm not going to claim the badge. No one can make me claim it if I don't want to."

"That means that you want us to keep still about Blythe," Roy said. "You can't get around that. If you think I--if you think I care anything about five thousand dollars you're--then you're mistaken. My father wouldn't let me take any money I got that way.... But a scout is--he's supposed to--"

"He's supposed to watch his step," said Warde.

"Sure he is, Roy," piped up Pee-wee. "Gee, you can't deny that, Roy."

"He's supposed to know where he's at when it comes to something serious," said Warde. "He's supposed to look before he leaps--"

"You can't deny that, Roy," spoke the big heart of Pee-wee Harris. "He's supposed to look before he leaps."

Roy smiled. "Well, what are we going to do?" he asked.

"Are you asking me?" Warde queried.

"Sure, I'm asking you. It's Blythe's picture, isn't it?"

"You're patrol leader and I'm a second cla.s.s scout," said Warde. "What do _you_ say to do?"

"What do you mean, a second cla.s.s scout?" Roy demanded, his voice full of feeling. "I don't want any better scouts in my patrol than you. I'm asking you what we're going to do."

"All right, I'll tell you," Warde said. "We're going to keep still until we're dead sure. We know what kind of a fellow Blythe is, and they don't, I mean the sheriff and police and those people. We know he's a good friend. Sometimes when you look at a picture it reminds you of someone, and the next time you look at it, it doesn't--"

"That's right, Roy," Pee-wee urged with great vehemence, "because once I thought a man looked like George Was.h.i.+ngton and afterwards I saw he didn't. So you see."

"We're not going to tell about this to-morrow and maybe not the next day," said Warde. "We're going to make _dead sure_. Then if we have to, we'll have to, that's all. Blythe isn't going to run away and I don't think they're likely to take that notice down for about forty-eleven years. We don't want Mr. Ellsworth blowing into that post office; not yet. I'm not worrying about my scout rank, that can wait too. I'm thinking about what we've lost--maybe. I'm not thinking about what I wanted to get. Everything--it looks like--everything is changed--all the fun and--what do I care about the old badge?"

Thus spoke Warde Hollister, second cla.s.s scout.

CHAPTER XIX

THE DULL BLAZE

This was all very well, and his willing sacrifice of the coveted badge in the interest of friends.h.i.+p and loyalty showed Warde's character. But he and his two companions found small comfort in an excuse for delay.

This was a serious business, a business for man's handling, and in their hearts they knew it. Yet on the other hand it seemed right, and due to their friend, that they should make a.s.surance doubly sure.