Part 10 (1/2)

During the morning he sat propped up in the bunk reading _Treasure Island_, and in the afternoon he limped out to the brook and caught some minnows, which he fried in cracker crumbs, and had a gala repast all by himself.

While it was still light he decided that he would follow the familiar trail down to Temple Camp and spend the night there. He had the key to the main pavilion, and there he could enjoy the comfort of a couch and a much-needed night's rest. He had left some clothing there, also, which he meant to exchange for his tattered raiment.

He found the camp gloomy enough with all the cabins closed and barred, the rowboats lying inverted on the sh.o.r.e of the lake, and not a soul to welcome him in that beloved retreat which had been the scene of so much fun and adventure. It made him think of Roy and the troop to limp about and see the familiar places, and he sat down on the long rough seat at the bleak-looking mess-board and thought of the past summer, of Jeb Rushmore, of Pee-wee's curly hair and lively countenance, of the scouts trooping from woods and cabin to the grateful evening meal which was served there each night.

Soon, in a week or two perhaps, Jeb would return, and before long that quiet grove would echo to the sound of merry voices. He sat gazing in the twilight at the long, deserted mess-board. How well he remembered the night when all the camp had a.s.sembled here in honor of the birthday of the Elk Patrol--_his_ patrol!

”If it wasn't for me, this camp would never have been started,” he mused proudly; ”Mr. Temple saw what scouting could do for a feller, and that's why he started it.... I'm mighty glad I got to be a scout....”

It made him homesick to look about; homesick for the good old times, for Jeb, and the stalking and tracking and swimming, and Roy's jollying of Pee-wee at camp-fire, and the hikes he and Roy used to have together.

”Anyway, I'll see them all to-morrow night at troop meeting,” he said to himself, ”and in August we'll all be up here again.--I bet they'll laugh and say I was a queer duck to go away--that's what Roy's always saying.”

He found some ointment in the provision cabin and rubbed his ankle until his arm was tired. Then he bandaged it and went to bed in one of the comfortable cot-beds in the pavilion.

Early in the morning he was up and glad to find that he could stand upon his injured foot without pain.

The sun was streaming in through the window which he had thrown open, and its cheerful brightness drove away any lingering misgivings which he might have had about Roscoe's or his own reception in Bridgeboro. He donned an old suit of his own which, though faded, was free from tears.

”It's all right now; everything's all right now,” he said; ”he's registered by now, and to-morrow night I'll show up at troop meeting and they can kid me and say I was afraid to stay and go on the platform--I don't care. I know I hit the right trail. Let 'em call me queer if they want to.”

He made breakfast for himself with a pocketful of loose coffee which he had brought down from the mountain and some canned meat which he found in the provision cabin.

Then he hit up through the grove for the road which would take him into the village of Leeds, where he could catch the trolley line for Catskill Landing.

”That was a good job, anyway,” he said to himself, as he limped steadily along; ”I bet Mr. Bent was glad---- Gee, it must be fine to have a father like that!...”

The birds were chattering in the trees along the roadside; hard by a little herd of lazy cows stood in a swamp under a spreading willow like statues of content; now and again an agile chipmunk ran along the stone wall and disappeared into one of its little rocky caverns; in the fields beyond farm hands with great straw hats could be seen at their labors, reminding poor Tom of his own sorry bungling as a war farmer; and the whole tranquil scene was filled with the breath of spring, which entered the soul of Tom Slade as he limped steadily along, and made him feel happy and satisfied.

”Anyway, this is just as good--just as good as being on a committee,” he told himself; ”I always liked the country best of all, anyway--I always said I did. The scout trail takes you to good places--that's one sure thing.”

Presently he pa.s.sed a bend in the road and discovered some distance ahead of him a figure--evidently that of a youth--trudging along under the weight of a tremendous old-fas.h.i.+oned valise which he carried now in one hand, now in the other, and now again on his shoulder.

In the intervals of changing he laid the valise on the ground, pausing in evident relief. At length, he sat down on a rock, and as Tom approached he screwed up his face in a rueful grin. It was an extraordinary face and such a grin as Tom had never seen before--a grin which made even the scout smile look like drooping despair by comparison. And as for freckles, there were as many of them as there are stars in the peaceful heaven.

”Too much for you?” asked Tom, as he paused by the rock.

The boy made no answer, but shook his head expressively and mopped his forehead.

”I'll help you carry it,” said Tom. ”We can both get hold of the handle.

I got to do a good turn, anyway.”

”Sit down and rest,” said the stranger. ”I got some apples inside, and we'll dig into a couple of 'em. Like apples?”

CHAPTER XII

TOM HEARS OF THE BLOND BEAST

The young fellow was of about Tom's own age, and the most conspicuous thing about him, aside from has smile and his freckles, was the collection of badge-b.u.t.tons which decorated the lapels of his coat and the front of his hat. They almost rivalled his freckles in number. Some of them were familiar enough to Tom, showing flags and patriotic phrases, but others puzzled him, one or two bearing words which were evidently French. There was an English _Win the War Loan_ b.u.t.ton, and a Red Cross b.u.t.ton which read _I have given two s.h.i.+llings_.