The Boy Scouts of the Air in Indian Land Part 17

"There he is now," broke in Carlito, hearing a firm step on the stairs.

"Howdy, fellows," hailed the aviator, as he came into the already crowded room.

"Good morning, Scout Master," greeted Dunk, bowing low, while the other boys followed suit.

"I see I have another job on my hands now," said Hawke, good-naturedly, "But then I don't think you'll be hard to train."

"We're sure glad you're going to be one of the bunch," answered Herb cordially.

"These are our scout outfits," explained Fred, noticing that Hawke was regarding the packing boxes with wrinkled brows.

"Just going to open them," added Fly, anxious to get at the work.

"Let me help," exclaimed Hawke, peeling off his light coat, and rolling up his s.h.i.+rt sleeves before any protest could be made.

For the next few minutes they busied themselves with the lid of the largest box.

"Uniforms," they shouted, when Herb had opened one of the smaller pasteboard boxes of which there were a number contained in the larger enclosure.

"This is yours, Fly," he added, noting the name and measurements which were pinned on the trousers.

As the packages were properly labeled, each boy was soon in possession of his own suit.

After a quick but admiring inspection of the outfits, the second box was eagerly torn open. It contained a hospital corps pouch for each boy, penknives, haversacks, mess kits, signal flags, whistles, sanitary drinking cups, canteens, Red Cross first aid outfits, camp supplies, and last, but not least, seven brand new s.h.i.+ning Remingtons.

Each new article was met with shouts of delight and surprise.

"I don't remember ordering these," gasped Fred, when at last they had reached the bottom of the box.

"Oh, dad thought yuh might as well have a good supply," explained Herb, "so he wrote to a friend of ours in New York and got these to surprise yuh."

"Ain't your father never going to quit doing things for us kids?" asked Dunk, stroking the slender, glittering barrel of his new gun.

"I wish we could do somethin' real fine for him," chipped in Jerry.

"Dad don't want thanks. He just likes to be doin' somethin' for somebody all the time," Herb a.s.sured them. "He always was that way."

"Well, we're certainly going to get after that sheep stealer," declared Carl.

"You bet," echoed Fly, with a will.

CHAPTER XI

A SURPRISE FOR MR. PHIPPS

The third box, addressed to Fred, proved to be from Mr. Stanton, containing the handbooks, badges and patrol flag.

After distributing the badges, and admiring the flag, each of the boys made a hasty examination of his book.

"How we goin' to learn about first aid to the injured?" inquired Gray.

"Oh, dad'll teach you that," responded Dunk readily. "He said he would."

"And Hawke's going to teach us aviation, and Carl can show us trailing,"

began Jerry.

"And my dad'll show you craftsmans.h.i.+p and machinery, and we all know swimming," cut in Fly.

"Whoopee, fellows," shouted Fred, "we've got nearly all the badges now!"

"Who knows all the states in the union?" asked Hawke with a smile, reading from the Scout Handbook.

It was found that only Carl and Fred could stand this test.

"Who can tie a bowline knot?" demanded Dunk.

"Say, this ain't no schoolroom," objected Jerry. "I see we've got to work some for those badges," he added thoughtfully, "but it's fun just the same."

"Tell you what we'll do," burst out Herb suddenly, throwing down his book, his dark eyes snapping.

The boys were ready in an instant for anything he might suggest.

"Let's get on all these duds," proposed the rancher, "have a regular scout tramp over to the ranch and surprise dad with a dressed-up parade."

"Bully for you," shouted Fred.

"Can't we borrow a drum somewhere?" suggested Dunk.

"Dad's got one I can get," offered Jerry.

"Jerry's some drummer too," said Fly.

"All right, get a move on you," ordered the southerner. "It's just ten now, and if we start right soon we'll get there about time for dinner."

About a half hour afterwards, Captain Crawford was drawn to his window overlooking the parade grounds, by the martial sound of drum beats.

"Well, I never," he exclaimed to his wife, who hurried to join him.

Filing past the house two by two, in regular order and military step was the new Boy Scout Patrol, uniformed and carrying bright new rifles.

Fred, bearing the flag, was slightly in advance, while just behind him was the tall form of their son, dexterously flipping the drumsticks and rolling out rhythmic march time.

Not once did any of the paraders turn in the direction of the house, although they felt they were being observed.

Captain Crawford leaned out of the window.