The Boy Scouts of Lenox Part 16

Mr. Witherspoon nodded his head, and his eyes twinkled.

"Are you satisfied to accept Mr. Perkins' apology, boys, in the same spirit in which it is given?" he asked, looking at his charges.

Of course there was an immediate response, and in the affirmative too.

Boys are not apt to harbor any deep resentment, once the accusation is withdrawn.

"There, you see these boys are not the ones to hold it against you, Mr.

Perkins," the scout master continued.

"Did you see the thieves who were in your hen house last night, Mr.

Perkins?" asked Tom, as though he had some object in making the inquiry.

"Wall, no, though I heard the racket when my chickens got to squawkin', and run to the coop with a gun; but the pesky rascals had cleared out with half a dozen of my best young fowls. I reckoned to larn where they was, and I'm on my way to town right now with a load of stuff, meanin'

to make a few inquiries in the mornin'."

He grinned as he fumbled at the pocket of his coat.

"What have you got there, Mr. Perkins?" asked Tom.

"It's a boy's cap as was left in my coop last night," declared the farmer; "and a queer lookin' one at that. Guess they might tell me who it fits in Lenox."

Every eye was focused on the cap which he held up. It was indeed of an odd color, and very likely the only one of the kind in that section.

Josh Kingsley laughed out loud.

"Guess we ought to know that cap, fellows!" he exclaimed. "The last time I saw the same it was perked on the red head of Tony Pollock."

CHAPTER XVI

WHAT TO DO IN A STORM

"Would you mind letting me see that cap for a minute, Mr. Perkins?"

asked the leader of the Black Bear Patrol.

The farmer seemed to hesitate as though loth to let his only evidence go out of his hand; but after one good look at the smiling countenance of Tom Chesney apparently he felt ashamed of suspecting that so clean-looking a boy could mean to deceive him in any way. So he pa.s.sed the head-gear over.

Knowing that Tom must have some object in making this request the other scouts pushed closer and watched eagerly. They saw him turn the cap partly inside out.

"I thought as much," Tom remarked laughingly, at the same time carefully picking several tiny objects up, which he held before the eyes of the admiring farmer, who had doubtless never before heard of such a thing as "scoutcraft."

"Look for yourself, Mr. Perkins," Tom said exultantly; "you will have no difficulty in recognizing these as fiery red hairs. The boy mentioned by my chum here, has a brick-top like that. I should say the evidence is about as conclusive as anything could be."

Mr. Perkins' mouth had opened wide. He was apparently thunder-struck by the cleverness displayed by this stripling in clinching the guilt of the party who had stolen his spring chickens.

"Tell me his name again, Bub," he said turning to Josh; "I calc'late makin' it some warm for him unless I gets pretty good pay for them fowls."

"His name is Tony Pollock," he was told with a grin, for somehow Josh seemed to be tickled over the retribution that was likely to overtake the boy who had for so long a time acted as a bully in Lenox.

After some talk the farmer withdrew, taking with him his evidence in the shape of the queer checked cap, and also the best wishes of the a.s.sembled scouts, who gave him a cheer as he drove away.

He had even promised to drop around at a couple of their houses with messages hastily scribbled, to the effect that the boys were very well, and having the time of their lives.

Needless to say that those who sent these were the tender feet of the troop. Horace and Billy, who imagined that their respective mothers must be lying awake nights in mortal fear lest something dreadful had happened to the heretofore pampered darlings. Most of the other boys were accustomed to being away from home, and prided themselves on being able to show the spirit of veteran campers.

The fowls turned out to be the peer of any the boys had ever tasted.

Indeed with the chicken cooked a delicate brown by those in charge, and seasoned with the keen appet.i.tes a day in the open air is apt to give a boy, that supper must always linger in their memories as a bright spot never to be excelled.

By now the greenhorns would be getting more accustomed to seeing the woods all around them, and probably sleep better than they did before.

The second night in camp always does find everybody feeling more at ease, and settling down for a good rest.

They had no reason to find fault with anything that happened to them after the departure of Mr. Perkins. The stars came out in the heavens and there was apparently no sign of rain.

To satisfy the more timid boys, Tom and Rob Shaefer had started on a brush shanty, which they so far completed that it could be changed into a fair shelter by making use of their rubber ponchos. It was not really needed, though several of the boys chose to make up their beds under its arched roof, mentioning that they might feel the dew if it happened to prove heavy.

Again they prepared breakfast, and then started off with a day's tramp ahead of them that would differ in many respects from anything as yet encountered. This was because they expected to strike boldly up the side of the ma.s.sive mountain that reared its head far above them, its slopes covered for the most part with a heavy growth of timber. This, however, thinned out the nearer one came to the summit, which in turn was composed of bald rocks, grim and silent, save when some eagle gave its shrill scream from a projecting crag.

They took their last look at the little road, and then Tom led the way into the heart of the wild growth. Just as they had antic.i.p.ated it was a great deal more difficult going now, for there was no trail save an occasional cowpath which might lead down to the creek, or anywhere else; and to which, for this reason, they could not pay any attention.

When noon came there was a loud call for a halt. While every boy was too proud to confess that his muscles were beginning to feel sore from the continual strain, he tried pretty hard to find some plausible excuse for wanting to make a good long halt.

While they were eating and fanning themselves, for it was very warm, Walter Dougla.s.s noticed Tom glancing off toward the southwest. Upon looking in that direction himself he burst out with an exclamation:

"It's going to strike us this time, boys, as sure as anything!"

"What another irate farmer?" cried Josh, laughingly. "Whatever have the scouts been doing this time to raise trouble? We've been accused of trespa.s.sing, and stealing chickens; p'raps they'll try to make out we have evil designs on some country bank."

"It looks like a storm," admitted Tom; upon which Billy b.u.t.ton began to stare at the clouds in plain sight, and Horace seemed to be listening anxiously to catch the first distant mutter of thunder in the air.

"If you are all through eating," said Mr. Witherspoon, "perhaps we had better move out of this. I'm not the best judge of such things, but I think we could find a better spot than this to stay during the storm."

"There! listen to that, will you?" exclaimed George as they heard a heavy boom that seemed to throb on the heavily charged air like the roar of a monster siege gun.

Horace was looking a little pale, though he set his teeth hard together, and apparently had made up his mind to at least refrain from showing the white feather, no matter how frightened he felt.

They did up their packs, keeping the rubber ponchos out, according to the advice of the patrol leader.

"At the worst we can put our heads through the slit in the center," he explained to them; "and then it serves as a waterproof to keep the upper part of you dry. But perhaps we can find an overhanging shelf of rock under which all of us can crawl."

"But how about that fine big tree yonder, couldn't we take shelter under that?" asked Horace, pointing to a ma.s.sive oak with wide-spreading branches that made a canopy through which even a downpour of rain could hardly penetrate.

"Never!" Tom told him hastily. "A tree standing apart like that is always one of the most dangerous places you can select when seeking shelter from an electrical storm. Far better stay out and take your little soaking than to take chances in a barn, or under an isolated tree. In the forest it is not so bad, where there are hundreds of trees; but then you ought to be careful which one you select. Lightning loves a s.h.i.+ning mark, you know."

"But that big tree has stood for one or two hundred years and never been hit by lightning," objected Horace, who could not understand exactly.

"So have others that I've seen shattered to fragments," Mr. Witherspoon told him, "but their time came at last, and without warning. We can't afford to accept the risk. There is only one safe way, and that is to avoid dangerous places."