The Camp Fire Girls' Larks and Pranks Part 3

"Hear and attend and listen, everybody," said Nyoda when the b.u.t.tered scones had been reduced to crumbs. "I have been doing some important research work lately and am now ready to present the result of my investigations."

"What are you talking about?" asked Hinpoha curiously.

"Two weeks ago tonight," continued Nyoda, "our meeting was broken up by a band of young braves bearing the appetizing t.i.tle of 'The Sandwich Club,'

who implored us to let them come and play with us in our Lodge and be lodgers-kindly overlook the pun; it was quite unintentional-providing we weighed them in the balance and found them not wanting."

"Is there any scale on which 'Slim' would be found wanting?" giggled Sahwah,

"I have spent the last two weeks obtaining information," resumed Nyoda, "which I am happy to report is of a highly satisfactory nature. So, all things considered, and in spite of the informality of the request, I humbly recommend that the aforesaid braves be allowed to lodge in the bottom half of our Lodge at any and all times they may so desire. I might add that I have already obtained the consent of our Bountiful Benefactor, Gladys' papa. All in favor of letting in the Sandwich Club say 'Aye.'"

There was a perfect shout of "Ayes," followed by a ringing cheer.

"When are they going to take possession?" Sahwah wanted to know.

"I'm to tell them tomorrow what your decision was," replied Nyoda. "It being Sat.u.r.day, I suppose they will be down in a body to fix up according to their own ideas."

"What will the interior of a Sandwich Club look like, I wonder?" said Gladys.

"Hark, what was that noise?" asked Nyoda abruptly. The girls listened intently. From the lower floor of the barn there came a thumping noise, followed by a subdued crash.

"Somebody's in the barn," said Hinpoha in a frightened whisper.

The sound came again, thump, thump, and a noise as of a box being shoved aside. "It's a burglar!" said Sahwah, and Nakwisi gave a frightened squeak which Sahwah stifled with a sofa cus.h.i.+on.

"There's nothing in here to steal," said Nyoda. "Perhaps it's a tramp."

Again came the noise from below. Leaving the curtain drawn over the opening, Nyoda went to the top of the ladder and called down, "Who's there?" There was no answer but another thump. "We have a gun," said Nyoda coolly, taking Sahwah's little rifle down from the wall, "and if you put one foot on the ladder I'll shoot." Still no answer.

"I'm going down to investigate," said Nyoda. "This is growing uncanny."

"Don't go down," begged the girls, clinging to her, "something dreadful will happen to you."

"If you go I'm going with you," declared Sahwah when Nyoda appeared determined to rush into the jaws of danger. Nyoda threw aside the curtain and flashed her bug light on the floor below. Nothing was visible within the radius of the light, but over in the far corner where the old horse stall was something was moving and thumping about and a sound like a groan came from the darkness.

"Somebody's hurt," said Nyoda, hastening down the ladder. "Bring a lantern with you, Sahwah."

Together they moved toward the corner while the girls above crowded around the opening and watched in breathless suspense. The light revealed a small donkey lying on the floor of the stall. He was kicking out with his hind feet against the part.i.tion wall and it was this sound that had frightened the girls above. At Sahwah's shout the others came hurrying down to behold the find. The donkey made no effort to rise and looked at the faces around him with an imploring look in his eyes as if to say, "Help me, I'm in trouble."

"What's the matter, old chap?" asked Nyoda, kneeling down beside him. The donkey answered with a distressed bray that was more like a groan and pawed the air with his front feet, which seemed to be fastened together in some manner. Nyoda turned the lantern around so the light fell directly on him and then they saw what the matter was. A length of barbed wire had become tangled around his front legs, binding them together, and his frantic efforts to get it off had resulted in its becoming deeply imbedded in the flesh, lacerating it badly. The girls shuddered when they saw it and drew back.

"This won't do, girls," said Nyoda firmly; "we've got to get that wire off the poor animal's leg. Medmangi, have you the nerve to do it? I'm afraid I can't."

"His hind legs would have to be tied together first, so he can't kick,"

said Medmangi. The girls looked at each other and all drew back. All but Veronica. She came forward quietly and took the rope which the others were afraid to use and skilfully slipped a noose over the tiny heels and fastened them down to a ring in the floor.

"I have done it before, when a horse was sick," she explained in response to the girls' expressions of amazement at the neat performance. The girls' liking for her, which had suffered a sudden chill at the cooking episode, warmed again, and they were inclined to overlook that now that she had stepped so neatly into the breach when they were helpless.

Then Medmangi, the Medicine Man Girl who was going to be a doctor, and had no horror of surgery, bent calmly to her task while the others held the lantern for her. Quickly and skilfully she worked, removing the cruel points as gently as possible. Then she washed the wounds with an antiseptic solution from the First Aid Cabinet upstairs and bound them up with clean bandages. Then Veronica took the rope from the donkey's hind legs and he struggled to his feet, plainly delighted to find his front legs in working order again in spite of the pain. He looked at the girls with a dog-like devotion in his intelligent eyes and when Medmangi patted him soothingly he laid his head on her shoulder affectionately. "My first lover-a donkey!" she said laughingly.

"Poor little mule," said Hinpoha, stroking him from the other side. "He knew the right place to come to all right. 'Whose house is bare and dark and cold, whose house is cold, this is his own,'" she quoted dramatically. "We certainly have succeeded in creating the right atmosphere of hospitality if even a lonely donkey can feel it and come straight to our 'Open Portals!'"

"Now that he has come," said Nyoda, rather puzzled, "the question is what to do with him. If he goes wandering off again he'll have those bandages off in no time-he probably will anyhow-and his legs will get so sore he will have to be shot. He undoubtedly belongs to somebody-very likely some children's pet-and I think we had better keep him right here in the barn until we find the owner. The boys will have to postpone their taking possession in favor of the other donkey if his presence interferes with their activities." Here the "other donkey" leaned against the wall in such a pathetic att.i.tude, as if his weight were too much for his sore legs, that if they had had any intentions of turning him out into the rain they would have speedily relented.

"It's a good thing this old stall is still here," said Gladys. "There isn't any straw, but there is a box of excelsior and we can spread that out and cover it with a blanket and make him a soft bed. We can give him water tonight and bring food in the morning."

"And I'll telephone the Sandwiches about him," said Nyoda, "so if they are coming over tomorrow they won't turn him out."

But that telephone message was unnecessary, for at that moment a number of dark figures appeared in the doorway and after a moment of hesitation, entered.

"Why, here are the Sandwiches," exclaimed Nyoda cordially, advancing with extended hand. "We were just talking about you. Speaking of angels-you know the rest."

"We were just going by," said the Captain (it was likely that they were "just going by" that out of the way place in the rain!) "and saw your light now you've left the windows uncovered, and thought we'd just step in and inquire our fate. We just couldn't wait until tomorrow," he finished in a boyish outburst. "Is it going to be the Open Door for us?"

"Bless you, yes," said Nyoda, smiling rea.s.suringly at this manly lad who was already her favorite, "there wasn't a dissenting vote in the jury box. We--" but the remainder of her sentence was drowned in an ear-splitting cheer that was decidedly less musical than the Winnebago cheers, but none the less hearty.

"Pedigrees satisfactory, and all that?" inquired the Captain.

"Perfect," answered Nyoda with twinkling eyes. "I've dug up more facts about you than you know yourselves. So," she added demurely, "if you're still minded to 'know us better,' as you flatteringly remarked on the occasion of our first meeting, why, we're perfectly willing to be known.

"But you can't take immediate possession of your club room because we've rented it temporarily to another don-another fellow," she said mischievously, turning the light of the lantern away from the stall where the donkey was. The boys' eager faces fell a trifle.

"Of course," they answered politely, "that's your privilege."

"He's a very nice chap," pursued Nyoda, with a warning glance at the girls behind her, who were stuffing their handkerchiefs into their mouths in an effort not to laugh.

"Yes," a.s.sented the boys without enthusiasm.

"Is it anyone we know?" asked the Captain politely, trying to make conversation after a moment of silence.

"Maybe you do know him," answered Nyoda. "He's here tonight. Would you like to meet him?"

She led the way to the stall and turned the light on the donkey. There was a moment of surprised silence, followed by a perfect explosion of laughter. "Where'd you get the donkey with the trousers on?" squeaked Slim in his high thin voice. In the dim light of the lantern the bandages on the donkey's front legs looked like a pair of trousers. Then the girls, after their laugh was out, explained about the visitor who had come to them from out of the vast, and the Sandwiches declared that they did not in the least mind sharing their club room with a needy donkey, and offered to relieve the girls of the entire care of him, besides trying to find the owner.

They were as good as their word about taking care of him, but the weeks slipped by and no amount of advertising produced anything in the shape of an owner.

"We'll have to adopt him," the Winnebagos decided. "A Camp Fire Donkey sounds thrilling to me," said Sahwah. "Think of all the fun we'll have with him. As long as the boys don't mind, we can keep him right here in the stall."

"What shall we name him?" asked Gladys.

"Call him 'Wohelo,'" advised Hinpoha. "It was the spirit of Wohelo that led him to us. From now on he'll be a symbolic donkey."

"But where do we come in on this?" inquired the Captain. "We take care of him and he lives in our house."

"That's right," said Hinpoha. "Then let's call him 'Sandwich-Wohelo,'

contracted to 'Sandhelo.'" And "Sandhelo" he was until the end of the chapter. His sore legs became very stiff until they were healed and he hobbled painfully when he walked at all, which was very seldom. But the scratches healed at last and the day came when Medmangi took off the bandages for good, and led him around the barn for exercise.

Then an amazing thing happened. Sahwah was upstairs in the Lodge, amusing herself with a mouth organ she had just discovered in the depths of her bed. But she had no sooner blown half a dozen notes when Sandhelo jerked up his head, pulling the bridle out of Medmangi's hands, and rose up on his hind legs. Then he walked on his hind legs over to a box, climbed up on it and sat there with his feet in the air, like a dog sitting up.

Medmangi screamed and brought the Winnebagos flying from all directions, to behold the marvel in open-mouthed astonishment.