Part 18 (1/2)

”It's only a question of time, then, before we pa.s.s out of the swamp,”

the other went on to say. ”And as we've got our trail all laid out, and Seth knows the best places to try the mud, I guess we'll make it.”

He was already thinking deeply and seriously. A sudden wild hope had flashed into Paul's brain, and if all went well he meant to put it up to the other scouts after a while.

When he looked at his watch he found that it was now just a quarter after ten; and doing some lightning calculating he believed they could be out of the mora.s.s, discounting any serious trouble, by another hour.

Then, supposing it took them forty-five minutes to get Mr. Anderson to the nearest farm house, even though they had to make a rude stretcher, and carry him, that brought the time to exactly noon.

Could they really do it, make the eighteen miles that still lay between themselves and the field at Beverly, where they were expected to show up some time that day, if they hoped to win the prize?

Some how the very possibility of being put upon his mettle gave Paul a thrill. He had no doubts concerning his own ability to finish the great hike within the specified s.p.a.ce of time, before the sun had vanished behind the western horizon, but it was a grave question whether some of the other scouts could accomplish the task. There was Eben for instance, never a wonder when it came to running; and then fat Noodles would be apt to give out before two-thirds of those eighteen miles had been placed behind them.

But if there was a ghost of a chance Paul was determined to take advantage of it, and he believed that even the laggards would be keen to make the attempt, once he mentioned the subject to them.

And so they kept pus.h.i.+ng steadily along, Mr. Anderson showing wonderful pluck, considering the pain he must be suffering all the while from his numerous bruises and cuts.

CHAPTER XV

ON THE HOME-STRETCH

Perhaps they were becoming experts at the game; or it might be that the going back over familiar ground made the job easier, since they could see each slippery place where an accident had happened on the outward trip, and thus grow additionally cautious.

Be that as it might, they made very few missteps on the return journey.

Even Mr. Anderson managed to do himself great credit, and Seth did not have to help him up on the narrow ridge more than three or four times; nor were any of his mishaps of a serious nature.

In due time, therefore, they came in sight of the place where Eben and Noodles had been left. Their voices must have warned the pair that they were coming, for they could be seen shading their eyes with their hands to shut out the glare of the sun, as they watched the string of figures slowly picking a path through the sea of mud and water.

Apparently they must have counted an extra form among the muddy group; and just had to give expression to their satisfaction; for Noodles yelped excitedly, while Eben sent out a series of blasts from his bugle, which, upon examination, seemed to bear some faint earmarks to ”Lo, the Conquering Hero Comes!”

And when they landed at this half-way stage in their tiresome journey, Mr. Anderson had to be introduced to the remaining members of the Beaver Patrol. He also insisted on shaking hands with them, as he had done all the others, and letting them know his now exalted opinion about the ability of Boy Scouts to do wonders, all of which was sweetest music in the ears of the pair who had been cheated out of their share of the honors in the actual rescue party.

When the march was resumed--and Paul hastened matters as much as he could in reason--Noodles and Eben insisted on asking many questions as to just how they had found the balloonist. They grew quite excited when they heard about the mother wildcat and her savage little kittens; and even indulged in speculations as to what a great time they would have had defending themselves, had a trio like that paid them a visit.

Oh! it was certainly wearisome work, keeping up that strained position of the leg muscles so long. Paul began to fear that they would never be able to accomplish the other task beyond, for he heard Noodles take his regular plunges every little while, and judged that the stout boy must by this time be a sight calculated to make his mother shed tears, if ever she saw him in such a state.

But all things must come to an end, and finally Seth gave a shout, like unto the glad whoop a wrecked mariner might set up at sight of land ahead.

”There's the place where we started in, Paul; yes, and I can see that queer tree at the spot the trapper's path ended, and the fun began!” he exclaimed.

”Bless you, Seth, for those comforting words!” called out Eben from close to the rear of the procession.

”One last little bulge, and then victory for us!” Fritz remarked, and if the gladness expressed in his voice could be taken as an index to the feelings of his heart, then the scout must be a happy fellow just then, when the clouds rolled away, to let the sun s.h.i.+ne again.

Of course they made it without any more trouble than Noodles giving a last try at the friendly mud, as though wanting to really find out whether it did have any bottom down below or not. And when they took some sticks, and sc.r.a.ped the worst of the sticky mess off his face, Noodles promised to be a sight indeed. But Paul a.s.sured him that they would stop at the first spring they came across, in order to allow him to wash some of the stuff off.

”Ain't we a n.o.bby looking bunch of scouts now, though?” remarked Fritz, as he glanced ruefully down at his muddy uniform; for as a rule the boy had been quite particular with his clothes, having reformed after joining the organization.

”It's too bad you were put to such straits to help me,” declared Mr.