THE BOY SCOUTS
IN THE SADDLE

BY
ROBERT SHALER

AUTHOR OF “BOY SCOUTS OF THE SIGNAL CORPS,” “BOY SCOUTS OF PIONEER CAMP,” “BOY SCOUTS OF THE GEOLOGICAL SURVEY,” “BOY SCOUTS OF THE LIFE SAVING CREW,” “BOY SCOUTS ON PICKET DUTY,” “BOY SCOUTS OF THE FLYING SQUADRON,” “BOY SCOUTS AND THE PRIZE PENNANT,” “BOY SCOUTS OF THE NAVAL RESERVE,” “BOY SCOUTS FOR CITY IMPROVEMENT.”

NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Sterling
Boy Scout Books

Bound in cloth Ten titles

1 Boy Scouts of the Signal Corps. 2 Boy Scouts of Pioneer Camp. 3 Boy Scouts of the Geological Survey. 4 Boy Scouts of the Life Saving Crew. 5 Boy Scouts on Picket Duty. 6 Boy Scouts of the Flying Squadron. 7 Boy Scouts and the Prize Pennant. 8 Boy Scouts of the Naval Reserve. 9 Boy Scouts in the Saddle. 10 Boy Scouts for City Improvement.

You can purchase any of the above books at the price you paid for this one, or the publishers will send any book, postpaid, upon receipt of 25c.

HURST & CO., Publishers
432 Fourth Avenue, New York

Copyright, 1914, by Hurst & Company.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE I. [The Superior Boy] 5 II. [Left on the Ledge] 17 III. [Surrounded by Perils] 30 IV. [Scouts to the Rescue] 43 V. [Seeing Things in a New Light] 56 VI. [Tracking from the Saddle] 69 VII. [The Sunken Road] 82 VIII. [At Raccoon Island Camp] 95 IX. [Over the Ridge] 108 X. [Lying in Ambush] 121 XI. [When the Rat Scratched] 137 XII. [What the Scouts Did] 148

The Boy Scouts in the Saddle.

CHAPTER I.
THE SUPERIOR BOY.

“Hello! there, landlord, just put five gallons of gasoline in my tank, and charge it to dad, will you? I forgot to fill up before leaving our garage in town. I reckon there’d be a lot of trouble in the big granite quarry we own if Gusty Merrivale failed to show up to-day.”

The speaker was a young fellow nattily attired, of about eighteen years of age. As he nimbly jumped out of the dusty runabout car, it could be seen that he was inclined to be rather arrogant in his manner. Indeed, one glance at his dark, handsome face betrayed the fact that he was more or less proud, and domineering.

Gustavus Merrivale was comparatively a newcomer in the pleasant town around which many of the adventures contained in this Scout Series happened. Somehow Gusty had not seemed to care to mix with the general run of boys, picking up only a few choice companions from among the “upper crust.” His father was said to be a very wealthy man, and among other properties, he owned a logging camp far up among the hills together with a valuable granite quarry where fully five score of toilers were employed throughout the entire summer.

The landlord of the village tavern apparently knew his customer. Several times before young Merrivale had motored through the village, and always just two weeks apart. By putting two and two together, the tavern keeper could easily surmise the nature of the errand that took Gus Merrivale up into that wild country so often. Had he been in doubt before, these last words of the boy must have enlightened him fully.

“Pay day in the quarry, hey?” he went on to say, as he unlocked the reservoir that doubtless contained the supply of gasoline which he sold to passing tourists and others. “Your pa’s got quite a plenty of men employed up there, I understand, Mr. Merrivale; and just as you say, they’d kick up high jinks if their pay didn’t show up on Monday twice a month.”

“Why, hello! Where did that bunch of motorcycles come from, Mr. Tubbs?” demanded the rich man’s son, pointing, as he spoke, to three up-to-date twin-cylinder machines standing in a cluster in a safe corner of the inn yard.

“Three young chaps from your town are sitting yonder on the porch awatchin’ of us right now,” returned the landlord, softly. “Mebbe you happen to know them, seeing as how they’re Boy Scouts, and that Hugh Hardin has made somethin’ of a name around this section, I’m told.”

“Hugh Hardin, eh?” exclaimed young Merrivale with a swift glance toward the side piazza of the tavern, where he now discovered several sprawling figures occupying as many chairs, and evidently resting up while waiting for dinner to be announced. “Yes, and his shadow, that Worth fellow, is along with him, and also the chap they call Monkey Stallings, who came to town just a month after I did. He fell in with that common herd right away, and joined the troop, but none of that silly scout business for me! I can see myself taking orders from a patrol leader, nit. What are they doing away up here; and where did they get those expensive machines, I’d like to know?”

“It happens that I’m able to supply the information, Mr. Merrivale,” remarked the landlord quickly. Like most of his class, he enjoyed a chance to gossip and disseminate news which he had picked up.

“Then I wish you’d be so kind and condescending as to inform me right away, sir. I was just speaking about getting a motorcycle myself; and even now I’m expecting a bunch of catalogues from which to select a machine. Those things cost all of two hundred apiece, and I fancy few boys have got as indulgent a father as I happen to own. So please go on and give me the facts, Mr. Tubbs.”

“Why, you see, the Stallings boy has money of his own, and the others have been laying aside dollars right along, most of them earned by finding wild ginseng and golden rod roots in the woods. Besides, they say that Hardin boy did something not long ago that brought him in quite a fat reward, which he insisted on sharing with the chums who happened to be with him at the time. I kinder guess that Worth boy was along, and that helped him out. Anyhow, they’re taking their first long run, and have come something like seventy miles since breakfast at home. I’m getting a dinner for them, you know. Perhaps you’d like to stay over a bit and see what kind of a cook my wife is?”

“What, me take pot luck with that crowd?” exclaimed Gus Merrivale with a curl of his upper lip. “Well, I hardly know them enough to speak to at home, and it isn’t likely that I’ll put myself out to improve the slight acquaintance. This scout business makes me sick. I don’t understand what the fellows see in it to strut around in their old khaki suits, and salute whenever they meet some one who happens to be higher up in line. Bah! catch me standing at attention and raising my hand when Hugh Hardin chances to pass by. If I could be an assistant scout master in the start, I might get a little fun out of the game; but to commence at the lowest rung of the ladder—well, excuse me, that’s all.”

The landlord bent lower to hide the smile that flitted across his face. He knew just what type of high-strung boy young Merrivale was; and also had his own opinion as to how difficult it is to mix oil and water. From what he had observed, he understood how thoroughly those three lads lolling on his porch just then, were infatuated with the new life that had opened up to them since they threw in their fortunes with the scout movement. He had heard them talking, and found himself deeply interested in what they told of discoveries. There was enough of the woodsman in Uriah Tubbs to appreciate the sentiments they expressed. He, too, many a time had listened to the voice of Nature when alone in the wilds, and could understand how fascinating it must be to the right kind of boy to be able to unravel many of her secrets.

Evidently young Merrivale would not bother investigating in order to find out what it was that lured these scouts on day after day. He saw only the surface indications, and resolutely refused to pry off the lid that hid the wonderful truth.

The landlord did not attempt to enlighten him. There was something about young Merrivale that he did not exactly fancy—a curl of disdain to his upper lip, just as though he considered himself a superior person and above the herd. So Mr. Tubbs simply applied himself to the task of measuring out the necessary liquid fuel for which his customer had asked.

When Gusty Merrivale chanced to look toward the porch, one of the three loungers waved a hand at him after the customary free-masonry of youth. The driver of the runabout made a careless motion as though meaning to acknowledge the friendly salute, yet not wishing to allow any undue familiarity. As the trio of scouts seemed to be very well satisfied with each other’s company, it was hardly likely that any one of them would go out of his way to scrape a closer acquaintance with so frigid and reserved a person.

And yet, Hugh Hardin, the tall, agile chap who wore the badge of patrol leader and assistant scout master on his khaki coat, had told himself more than once that the new arrival in town might make a splendid addition to the ranks of the troop, if only he could drop that superior air, and meet others on a level. Several times had Hugh endeavored to become better acquainted with Gus Merrivale, only to be rebuffed, and made to feel as though he were thrusting himself in where he was not wanted; so, in time, he had given the idea up.

When the required amount of gasoline had been placed aboard, the young driver of the road car sprang into his seat. He knew that the three scouts on the porch were watching him closely, but not for worlds would he look that way, lest he be compelled to wave his hand again; and to his mind that would seem too much like saluting.

His car did not need cranking, having a self-starter installed.

“Good morning, Mr. Tubbs. I expect to pass back this way later on in the day. Those steep hills give my car quite a pull you know!” he sang out as he threw on the power and started out of the inn yard, presently to vanish amidst a cloud of dust up the road.

For some little distance young Merrivale made good time. He liked to fairly fly along, being possessed of a rather nervous disposition. As the ascent became more pronounced, his pace slackened considerably.

The country had changed also. Instead of farming land on either hand, he looked upon dense woods, and hills that seemed to be composed of almost solid rock, though trees managed to find lodgment in crevices, so that they hid the rough conformation of the ground. It had been somewhere in this neighborhood that members of the Boy Scout troop had come during the previous summer when deeply interested in geological study; and, indeed, they could hardly have found a place better fitted for the purpose of yielding up valuable information.

Gus Merrivale, however, only considered his surroundings in a mercenary way. His father owned thousands of acres of such land, as well as the logging camp, located there when snow covered the country. Five score of husky Italians labored in the granite quarry all through eight months of open weather.

By degrees his car began to climb steep grades. It had evidently been carefully selected with just this capacity for mounting hills in view; and steadily it kept pulling the lone occupant upward.

Now and then he could catch splendid views of the lowlands, and from the eager way in which Gus looked out at such opportune moments, it seemed as though after all he had a touch of admiration for Nature.

In the course of half an hour he had arrived close to a peculiar spot where the road ran along near a steep precipice. A stout railing had been erected, under the supervision of the township freeholders who had charge of bridges and roads, in order to lessen the chances of any vehicle toppling over from that dizzy height. From this point, as Gus well knew, he would be able to obtain a splendid view not only of the road far below but of the distant country where several villages and towns lay, with their church spires showing above the trees.

For a short distance before arriving at this place, the road lay level, and here he naturally let out his car so as to make up for lost time.

As he turned a bend, and leaned slightly forward with the intention of cutting down his rather reckless pace, he suddenly saw something that gave him a severe shock.

This was nothing less than a fallen tree across the road, hardly more than a sapling in fact, but enough of an impediment to have thrown his car aside and brought about a wreck, had he not noticed it in time. And even as he wildly threw on the brake, he saw the figure of a man, bearing a massive shining tin star on the left breast of his faded coat, spring out from the bushes waving his arms violently and shouting excitedly:

“Hi! hold up there, mister! You’re exceeding the speed limit ahittin’ up a pace like that! I’m the Squeehonk constable, and I kinder guess I’ll have to run you in for breakin’ the law! This is an ortomobile trap, understand?”

CHAPTER II.
LEFT ON THE LEDGE.

The runabout came to a standstill not five feet away from the sapling that had been thrown across the road in order to prevent him from slipping by. It was an angry boy who jumped out and faced the man, who seemed to enjoy his confusion, if the broad grin on his ugly face could be taken for any indication.

“What do you mean, stopping me like this away up here in the wilderness, and then telling me I’m exceeding the speed limit?” Gus hotly demanded. “You say you’re a constable, but where is this village of Squeehonk, I’d like to know? I’ve been up here several times and never ran across so much as a cabin, let alone a village. Why, my father owns pretty near half of this country up this way, I’d like you to know. My name is Gustavus Merrivale, understand?”

That was just like Gusty, inclined to brag of the great possessions of his family. Perhaps he was under the false impression that, at the mere mention of his name, the country clodhopper would exhibit great alarm, and begin to beg his pardon for having dared to spring his automobile trap as he had.

Somehow the fellow failed to be dismayed at learning whom he had stopped on the public road. The grin even widened perceptibly, and on seeing this fact, the young driver of the roadster grew red in the face with increased anger.

“Are you going to take that tree off the highway and allow me to go on; or will I have to report this brazen hold-up to my father, and get you punished?” he exclaimed hotly, pointing as he spoke to the obstruction.

Then, as he happened to glance at the shining star that decorated the breast of the so-called constable, he discovered that it was made of tin, and very crudely fashioned in the bargain, as though some difficulty had been experienced in cutting out the insignia of office. This fact caused Gus to look at things in a new light. He even began to wonder whether the man who had stopped him might not be some escaped lunatic who fancied that his sole duty in life was to hold up speed cars and make the drivers recognize his authority.

Now that the boy took the trouble to observe the fellow more closely, he discovered that he seemed to be rather a hard looking customer. There was a cruel gleam in his pale eyes that gave promise of merciless treatment, should he once become aroused and infuriated.

“Go slow, younker,” advised the man, with a noticeable sneer. “Cool your engine off a mite while you have the chance. I’ll turn that sapling aside when I get good and ready, and not a minute before, even if you are in such a hurry. So, you say you’re Old Merrivale’s boy, do you? And like as not right now you’re heading for the quarries up yonder with the payroll money along? How about it, younker?”

His words gave Gusty a thrill. For the first time a suspicion flashed through his brain that this hold-up might stand for something more serious than the mad whim of an escaped lunatic; or the silly design of a country constable to line his own pocket with graft money forced from the owners of passing cars, whom he might threaten to arrest for violating the speed limits.

The mention of the payroll money reminded the boy of his charge. There were several thousand dollars in bills and silver in the stout bag that he had placed under the seat of the runabout, enough to tempt many a desperate man to take the chances of robbery.

He had been given a revolver by his father to carry along with him whenever he had to take the semimonthly cash up to the quarries. Unfortunately, the weapon happened to be under the cushion of the seat. He wondered what the man would do if he started to try to get hold of this little gun, and if the fellow was desperate enough to strike him on the head with the stout stick he carried in his right hand.

Another thing gave Gusty further cause for alarm. The bushes close by rustled, and a second fellow came into view. He was a shorter hobo than the one who had pretended to play the part of country constable; but if anything his face, rough with a week’s stubble beard, looked more villainous than that of his companion.

Plainly, if anything was to be done, it was high time he started in to make a move before the others could join forces. At least Gusty Merrivale did not seem to be a coward, no matter if he did put on superior airs and imagine himself above the common run of boys who went to make up the rank and file of the scouts. His actions proved this fact, for without waiting to ask further questions, or figure on what the consequences might be, he made a quick whirl on his heel, and jumped toward the road car.

Of course, his intention was simply to arm himself, so as to meet the others on something like a fair footing. There was no way of escaping while that tree blocked the road, and certainly these rascals would not dream of allowing him to turn around and retire the way he had come.

Before the boy could throw back the cushion so as to seize upon the weapon that snuggled under it, a heavy figure came down full upon him. In vain did Gusty try to wriggle loose from the encircling arms that held him in a fierce hug resembling the clasp of a wrestling bear. Gusty was fully aroused and fought like a savage wildcat. All the while he was shouting out words that voiced his indignation, and carried wild threats as to what would happen to these scoundrels for daring to stop him on the road and rob him of his trust.

Despite his furious exertions, the man held him until his companion reached the spot, and more than a few heavy blows were dealt because the flying fists of the excited boy happened to land in the fellow’s face.

“Let up on that tomfoolery, younker,” snarled the second man, scowling blackly in the face of the prisoner, “or me an’ my pal’ll have to give yuh some medicine that mebbe yuh won’t like. Think as how we’d let yuh reach for a gun? Well, not any, I reckons. Pete, yuh started his nose tuh bleedin’ lively last time yuh touched him up. Hope yuh didn’t break it and spile his good looks for keeps. Now, stand still, I tells yuh, ’less yuh wants us tuh kick yuh out o’ your senses. We figgered on gittin’ that bank roll, an’ there’s no way yuh kin save it, so let up and make the most o’ a bad bargain. Reckon as how yuh dad he’s got heaps more o’ this stuff whar it kim from. We needs it in our business, Pete an’ me. And this here kyar’ll jest suit us tuh ride away in, see?”

Quivering with indignation, sore from his bruises, and almost out of breath after the furious struggle with his tall captor, young Merrivale realized that they intended to make a complete job of it.

“Do you mean that you’ll steal my car as well as that bag of cash?” he demanded, aghast.

“Sure thing,” replied the tall hobo yeggman, still holding him fast. “We’d be a nice pair of chumps now, wouldn’t we, to give you a chance to make hot time up to the quarry, and start all that crowd of wild Italians after us? I happen to know something about running a gas wagon, so I guess we c’n make out to keep clear of ditches and jump-offs. Bill, get that rope we had in the bushes.”

“What are you going to do with a rope?” asked Gus, turning a trifle pale as he noticed that there was a straight limb growing out from the trunk of the nearest tree close by, which would offer a very fine chance for raising any one off the ground, did lawless persons feel inclined that way.

“Just wait and see,” the tall hobo replied; “but we ain’t agoin’ to risk our precious necks adoing anything that’d call for capital punishment. We draw the line there, me’nd Bill. And hark to me, young Merrivale, all the kicking on earth won’t help you a mite, and’ll only cause us to bang you up some more. So if you’re half as sensible as I take you to be, you’ll just hold tight, and let us work our will. It’s all planned out, and nothing’ll make us change things the least bit. Let that soak in, and it’ll pay you lots better than trying to fight back when you ain’t got no chance at all. See?”

Gus only gave a groan of despair. Yes, he realized that it would be the utmost folly for him to try and fight two strong men. He could not hope to escape, and in their anger they would be apt to do him more bodily injury. The mention made of a broken nose rather tamed his aggressive spirit because Gus was very vain of his good looks, and would almost as soon die as be maimed in such a way as to render him hideous in the eyes of others.

Bill quickly reappeared from the bushes. He was carrying a stout rope that might have been twenty feet or so in length, and which these rogues had doubtless stolen from some person’s backyard where it had served as a clothes line.

Perhaps it had originally been their design to make use of the rope in order to stop the pay car. The discovery of an overturned sapling however had suggested an easier method of proceeding. Bill hastened to arrange a loop at one end of the rope. This he passed over the head of the boy, and the touch of the noose on his face sent a cold chill all through the body of the helpless prisoner.

“Fix it just under his arms, Bill,” commanded the tall man. “I warn you to keep still, younker, if you know what’s best for you. No matter what you say, or try to do, you can’t change our plans. We mean to keep you here, so as to hold back the alarm as long as we can, which’ll give us a chance to cover many miles, if your dinky old car holds out. Now, walk over here with us, and you’ll grip on what the scheme is.”

With one on either side Gusty was compelled to advance, and he noted with considerable trepidation that it was directly toward the precipice that they led him.

“You wouldn’t hang me over there like this, would you?” he ejaculated, as a terrible thought flashed into his mind. “Why, before long this rope would cut into me so I’d be crazy with pain. Tie me to a tree if you want, so I can’t get away, but don’t put me over there, please!”

It would have to be something beyond the common that could make a proud boy like Gusty Merrivale plead with anyone; but for the time being he forgot his haughty spirit, nor was it to be wondered at, considering the peril he faced.

“No use wastin’ yer breath, kid,” snarled the shorter hobo. “We laid out our plans an’ we means tuh kerry the same through, don’t we, Pete?”

“It ain’t quite as bad as you thinks, younker,” added the other man, who seemed to have just a grain of pity in his nature. “’Bout twelve or fifteen feet down the face of the precipice there’s a ledge that runs along a little ways. No goat could ever get up or down from that same place. We’re meaning to land you there, drop the short rope, and leave you till somebody happens to come along, which might be in one hour, and mebbe not till night sets in. The rope is ten times too short for you to use it in lowering yourself down, so you’ve just got to hold the fort. Now, lay back, and no kicking remember, because you might make us let go, and that’d mean a tumble on the rocks two hundred feet below here. Steady now, Bill, wait till I give the word, and lower away slow like. Make the best of a bad bargain, younker. Remember, we might a done worse by you.”

Afraid to struggle, and holding his very breath with dreadful suspense, the boy felt himself being lowered through empty space. He could look far down toward the winding road, and a wave of horror chilled him to the core as he contemplated his fate should the men let the rope slip through their hands, or should some weak spot in the line develop that would cause it to part.

Foot by foot he was lowered, until he felt his feet strike the rock. He had reached the ledge spoken of, and eagerly he endeavored to secure a firm footing there, even sinking to his hands and knees and holding on.

The rope fell beside him, proving that the men had done as they had said they intended to. A minute or two later, the wretched youth heard the rapid working of the runabout’s exhaust, telling him that the robbers had started off.

CHAPTER III.
SURROUNDED BY PERILS.

“This is a pretty kettle of fish, I must say!” Gus muttered as he heard the last low grumble of the runabout die away up the ascent, proving that the hoboes had indeed abandoned him there to his fate.

He started in to examine his surroundings more carefully than before; but he found very little encouragement. The sheer wall arose for possibly a dozen feet above his head, with not the slightest sign of any projection that might serve him in an endeavor to reach the mountain road where the protecting railing lay.

It is a sudden emergency like this that shows what a fellow is made of. Young Merrivale had certain qualities about him that might be deemed objectionable in the eyes of boys who are ready to give and take. He wanted to be a leader, or not play. In the past, indeed, he had been more or less domineering in his treatment of those with whom he condescended to associate.

He was no coward, and while still burning with indignation toward the pair of rascals who had taken not only the pay money of the quarrymen but his runabout as well, his one thought was to get out of this scrape some way or other, and then follow them. He gritted his teeth as he thought of the glory that would be his could he only overtake the wretches and bring back the stolen property.

If not above, perhaps he might find safety below. It was, of course, a long way down to the bottom of the declivity. He had climbed steeps before, however, where the valuable granite had been blasted from the face of the mountain, leaving great gaps and towering cliffs where even a nimble-footed goat would find it difficult to discover safe footing.

So Gus crawled to the edge of the ledge and looked over.

“Whew! it would take a steeple-jack to make that drop without breaking every bone in his body!” he told himself when he saw how far below lay the rocky base of the precipice, and marked the lack of friendly crevices and protuberances.

With his teeth still firmly pressed together, he forced himself to examine every foot of the surface of the hard rock as far as it could be seen from his aerie. “If my rope were only two or three times as long as it is, I could see where I might make the riffle,” he went on to say, disconsolately, “but with only ten or twelve feet to depend on, it looks mighty slim.”

Crawling along the ledge, he tried to discover more hopeful signs from other vantage points, but with little success. A weak boy would have given it up then and there, and crouching on the shelf waited for some one whose attention he could attract, to come along the road far below. Apparently, young Merrivale was not built that way. The stubborn streak was in evidence as shown by his continued activity. He was positively determined to take great chances, if only he could discover the spot where a promising start might be made.

“I’ve got to be careful,” he told himself several times, “because once I break away from up here there’s no coming back again. And it strikes me I’d feel like a fly on a window pane if I was flattened out against that rock down there, and no chance to go up or down. Ugh! this ledge is better than nothing at all. And if I made a miss, there’d be a heap of work for old Doctor Kane of Oakvale. So perhaps I ought to go slow, and not jump from the frying pan into the fire.”

After all, it was the thought of those two grinning men riding away in his hill-climbing car that jarred him most of all. Every time he pictured them sitting there in his seat and enjoying themselves so hugely, Gus would make a wry face and say something under his breath. Accustomed to having his own way pretty much all of the time, he chafed under the restraint much more than most boys would have done.

“I’ll follow them if I get out of this scrape—yes, to the end of the world, to get that car back again, and the money, too, if they haven’t spent it. I’ll never give it up, any more than they say the hungry wolf does once he strikes the trail of a stag in the snow. But somehow, I hate to climb over the edge of this little shelf and take the count. If only somebody would show up down there on the road, and give me a helping hand.”

He sat and looked as far as he could see the road between the trees and bushes that encompassed its borders, but there did not seem to be as much as a rabbit or a hedgehog moving down there. A shadow flitted past and caused Gus to raise his eyes.

“Hello! that’s an eagle, and a whipping big one at that!” he remarked as he saw a large bird swooping past, and heard a hoarse scream at the same time. “Oh! how easy he cuts through the air with those powerful wings of his. What wouldn’t I give right now to be able to fly like that! Why, I’d be out of this nasty scrape in a jiffy! And say, wouldn’t I overtake those fellows in a hustle, though?”

Just the bare thought gave him some satisfaction, and he smiled. It was the first time he had done anything but frown since the man beckoned to him to pull up at the fallen sapling laid across the narrow road.

His examination of the precipice had convinced Gus that, if he attempted anything at all, it would have to be through making use of his short rope to lower himself to the first crevice below. Here, if he could only manage to secure a slender hold for his feet, he might drag the doubled rope down and try again. The question was could this be done? If the task proved harder than he expected, his condition instead of improving would have become precarious.

He drew a long breath and tried to make up his mind. It was a struggle between his urgent desire for action, and the good sense that told him he would be foolish to undertake so terrible a risk.

Twice he started to let the rope trail over the edge of the rocky shelf; and then slowly he drew it up again as he found that it would not reach the first crevice unless let out at full length. And if he fastened it above in any way, it would be impossible to count on the rope for further work, so that he dared not venture to burn his bridges behind him.

As the minutes passed, he racked his brain trying to think up some clever method of overcoming the mountainous difficulties that stood in his way. The winding road looked further off than ever, in the simmering heat of the early afternoon. Never in all his life had Gus Merrivale wished for anything so much as that some one might show up down there, some one to whom he could make signals for help. Minute followed minute, without a break in the monotony.

“Seems like I’ve just got to choose between one of two things,” he finally declared with a ring of resolution in his voice. “It’s plain that I must stay on the ledge and wait and wait ever so long, or else climb over and try to skip down, hanging by my fingers and toes. I wish I could see ahead a little. It makes me dizzy to look down there and see what a pile of rocks I’d land on if I lost my hold. But I haven’t gone as far along the shelf over to the right as I might. Perhaps there’s a chance for me in that direction. Anyhow I’m going to crawl along and find out how things lie yonder.”

On hands and knees, the boy made slow progress, for the ledge kept getting narrower the further he proceeded. He knew that he must not continue until it would be a difficult job for him to turn around when he wished to retreat. Yet there was always the spur of hope goading him to keep creeping just a little further. He fancied that the surface of the precipice was not quite as smooth over this way, and had almost made up his mind that if he did attempt the risky descent it must be in this quarter.

Then that shadow flickered past him again. Of course, it was the eagle winging its way through space. Gus fancied that the great bird must have become curious about his presence there. Perhaps it had a nest back of some crag not far away, and might take a notion that this cliff climber was a venturesome egg hunter trying to rob its mate of the contents of his retreat.

This thought caused Gus to bring his forward progress to a sudden halt. He even turned his head to see what the eagle might be up to, and counted himself fortunate in so doing, for it gave him a chance to drop flat on his face, and thus escape being struck by the swooping bird.

“Here, get out, hang you!” shouted the now alarmed boy as he realized that in some way his actions were extremely objectionable to the eagle, which had started to make war upon him. “Don’t be a fool! I’m not after your nest this trip. Why, I wouldn’t give a snap for all the eagle’s eggs this side—whew! there he comes at me again. Seems like my troubles have only begun. And this ledge is mighty narrow over here!”

Again he flattened himself out, and only in time to miss connection with the passing bird. He could feel the wind made by those broad pinions as they swept through space just above him, and he shuddered to imagine what was likely to happen should he be struck fairly and squarely by such a heavy object.

The boy no longer thought of pushing on. His one desire now was to crawl back and reach a spot where the ledge, being wider, offered him better opportunities for defending himself, should the angry eagle persist in his attack.

Three other times did he have to duck and narrowly escape disaster before he arrived at the spot where his rope lay. An idea had come into his head, of which he hastened to avail himself. Quickly clutching the rope, he passed it around his body and then managed to slip a fold over a friendly knob of stone that projected from the hard face of the wall back of him.

In this way he fancied that he had insured himself against a sudden shove into space, should the eagle manage to strike him with its wing in swooping past. He also picked up a loose rock which he meant to use as a means of defense. If, by some lucky blow, he could disable that great bird, it would be to his advantage.

The next time an attack came, the boy struck out, for the first time taking the aggressive. He felt a shock that almost knocked all the breath from his body; but it gave him a keen sense of satisfaction to know that he had returned the blow of the eagle after a fashion, though his shoulder where that powerful pinion had struck home ached as though it had been broken.

How long could he hold out against the furious bird that was rapidly losing all sense of caution? Gus must have been a sight to have made his mother almost faint, could she have seen him. His nose had stopped bleeding, but there were gory marks in evidence all over his face. His cheek was more or less puffed up as the result of a glancing blow from the wing of the eagle at the time its full force descended upon his shoulder. Still, he was game to the core. With teeth tightly clenched and eyes blazing with excitement, he crouched there awaiting the next move of the attacking bird of prey.

“I got the hang of things that time,” he said to himself, though even the sound of his own voice gave him a little encouragement, “and I know how to hit out better after this. Just come on and try it again, you crazy thing, and see what you get, that’s all! Two can play at the give and take game, you’ll find. Here’s a bigger rock I’m going to use, and look out for yourself, old fellow!”

Despite his brave words, the cowering lad watched the evolutions of the monarch of the air with a sense of deep anxiety. He inwardly hoped and prayed that the eagle might determine it had had enough of the fight, and fly away. In fact, Gus was more than willing to call it a draw, so that he might be let alone to grapple with his other troubles.

“I sure believe he’s going to swing in at me again!” muttered the lad, noticing the suggestive actions of the great bird.

He was not kept in doubt long for the eagle once more headed straight toward the spot where Gus crouched awaiting the attack. Gus drew in a full breath, and with every nerve strained to the utmost tension, raised the hand that gripped the rock, striving thus to protect his head against the stroke of that terrible pinion.

CHAPTER IV.
SCOUTS TO THE RESCUE.

When the collision came, the boy uttered a shout that was a curious commingling of pain and exultation. His arm and hand felt as though they had been given a severe galvanic shock, but he was conscious of the pleasing fact that he must have struck the eagle a hard blow with the rock, which had been knocked from his grasp and gone over the edge of the shelf, rattling down along the face of the precipice.

“Where did he go to?” stammered the boy, beginning to recover from the concussion, and casting about for another weapon in the shape of a fragment of granite. “Oh! there he is perched on that spur down below. And see how his wing hangs, will you? Perhaps it’s broken, for it struck my stone like a pile driver. Don’t I hope that’s a fact, though! I warned him he’d get the worst of the bargain if he kept on fooling with me. Serves the old pirate right. But now I’m worse off than ever, because with this lame shoulder I wouldn’t dare take the risk of hanging to a rope and flattening out against the face of the precipice.”

He kept rubbing his lame shoulder while talking. The immediate future did not look very promising. How much time had elapsed while he had been there in his predicament, Gus could not say, but no doubt it seemed many times longer in his mind than was actually the case.

Not being a scout, he had never learned how to tell time from the position of the sun, moon or stars, so that he could only give a rough guess as to how much of the summer afternoon had slipped away.

And now, new sources of dread began to assail him. The sun had crept around so that its scorching rays fell full upon the face of the cliff above, and this aroused Gus to the fact that he was beginning to get exceedingly thirsty. Once he allowed himself to think of this, he imagined that his tongue was trying to cling to the roof of his mouth for lack of a drink. Yes, and he even remembered reading a short time before of the terrible sufferings a boat load of shipwrecked people endured while adrift on the heaving ocean.

Supposing that no one appeared on the road below during the whole afternoon, how was he going to pass the coming night? He would not dare go to sleep for fear that he might roll from his insecure lodgment, unless he took the precaution to fasten himself with the friendly rope, which he was beginning to look upon as his most valued possession.

More time elapsed, during which Gus was recovering in some degree from the fatigue following his desperate battle with the eagle. He could still see the big bird perched on that lower crag, and he noticed, not without more or less savage satisfaction, that it seemed to be preening its feathers, paying particular attention to the drooping wing which had come in contact with the rock.

“For two cents, I’d start bombarding you, and see if you could fly,” he told the bird, as he shook his fist in that quarter, “but I suppose that would be a silly move, because if it turned out that the wing wasn’t broken after all, you might take a notion to start at me again. So I guess I’ll call it off, and try to forget all I owe you, old chap. Hello! what’s that I hear? Sounds as if a machine of some kind might be coming away off yonder!”

He strained his ear to better catch the sounds. As the fickle breeze came and went, he managed to make out that the queer rattle kept getting distincter each moment. This would indicate that whatever was giving vent to the sounds must be approaching, and not going the other way.

The boy prisoner on the rocky ledge began to thrill with excitement.

“But really, I never heard a car act like that,” he muttered as he heard the peculiar throbbing again welling up from below. “It might be the exhaust of a motorboat or of a motorcycle, only—oh! there were three of them at the inn. Yes, it must be those scouts heading up this way!”

At first, the very thought of possibly owing his rescue to Hugh Hardin and his two chums of the saddle, gave Gus a feeling of chagrin. If he had his choice, very naturally he would have much preferred that some stranger pull him up from the predicament in which a cruel fortune had thrust him. But then, after all he had gone through, the boy’s pride had been sadly battered, and he did not feel like looking a gift horse in the mouth. So long as he escaped from this miserable trap, he felt that he would be foolish to draw distinctions. Besides, somehow he did not seem to feel quite the same way toward the scouts as before. When worn by those who were in a position to do him a great favor, those jeered-at khaki uniforms might look even friendly.

And so, Gus Merrivale kept tabs on the dusty road far below, eagerly waiting to catch the first glimpse of the coming party.

As he looked, he suddenly saw a swiftly moving object appear around a bend in the road, the sun’s rays glinting from polished steel and nickeled parts. It was one of the trio of scouts on his motorcycle, and heading directly toward the base of the cliff!

Filled with excitement, Gus made a megaphone out of both hands by cupping them, and shouted at the top of his lusty voice.

“Hello! hello! Help! help!”

He was pleased to see that the rider of the flashing wheel must have heard his loud call by the way he turned his head upward. Gus immediately started waving his handkerchief, somewhat after the fashion he remembered seeing a scout do with his signal flag, and which, at the time, he had only thought was a silly procedure.

“He sees me! He lifted his hand and waved it!” the prisoner of the ledge exclaimed, thrilled with delight. “It’s going to be all right after all! If only I can make them understand that they’ve got to get above so as to pull me up.”

By now he had discovered a second and then a third speeding motor flash around the curve. Undoubtedly, the pacemaker must have made some prearranged signal, for the others immediately cut down their speed, and a minute later jumped from their saddles at the spot where the first rider had dismounted.

He was pointing upward toward the ledge, and the eager Gus was able to catch a few words that came trailing through space.

“What happened to you?” Hugh Hardin was shouting, also making use of his hands in order to help his voice along.

“On a ledge—can’t get up or down—follow the road to log rail, and get me out of this—Gusty Merrivale—been stopped on the road and robbed!” was what the one above shouted down to them.

No doubt his words created something of a sensation, for he could see the three scouts putting their heads close together as though conferring. Then once more Hugh, who was looked upon as the leader by his comrades, called out.

“All right—hold the fort a little while longer—we’re coming up as fast as we can get there—take things easy—we’ll sure yank you up off that ledge—so-long!”

Without wasting another minute, the speaker was seen to straddle his machine and start off, the others following his example shortly afterward.

With a warmer feeling in his heart toward the scouts than he had ever known before, Gus watched them shooting toward the foot of the rise. Now and then he would lose sight of this rider or that one, and for several minutes he could only trace their progress by the dust that arose. Then the last fellow had vanished from view. He knew from the sounds that came occasionally to his ears that they were climbing the ascent which had tried his little runabout’s powers to the utmost.

It seemed a terribly long wait to the impatient boy. He tried to pass the time away by picturing to himself how he would immediately start off after those bold hoboes who had held him up on the road, evidently knowing that he was due with the money to settle with the quarry workers on the semimonthly pay day.

“Hello, down there, Gusty! We’re here on deck, and ready to give you a helping hand!” called out a voice from directly above. The boy, aroused from his train of thought, looking directly up, saw a friendly face, which he immediately recognized as belonging to Hugh Hardin, the leader of the Wolf Patrol.

Immediately another countenance appeared alongside, this time being the rosy one of Billy Worth, nor was the third scout long in showing up near by.

“How can you get me up there?” asked Gus anxiously. Now that another crisis in his affairs had arrived, he began to feel dubious again.

“I’m trying to figure it out,” the other replied. “If it comes to the worst, we can use a sapling that I noticed lying alongside the road below here, and have you climb up that.”

“Oh! that same sapling has already played a part in my troubles!” exclaimed the boy below, with something like a smile, “and perhaps it would be only evening it up if you used it to get me out of here. But I’ve got a mighty lame shoulder, you see. I had a fight with that eagle over there on that stone cap, and I reckon I nearly broke his wing, but first he gave me some ugly clips. Why, I had to tie myself to the rock with this piece of rope so I wouldn’t be knocked off!”

“Did you say a rope?” quickly asked the scout leader.

“Yes, this short piece that the men lowered me down here with, and then threw after me, knowing that I couldn’t use it to get any further down the precipice,” and the boy on the shelf held it up as he spoke.

“Oh! that makes it as easy as falling off a log,” came from Hugh cheerfully. “All you have to do is to fix the loop under your arms, and when I lower a cord, tie it to the other end of your rope. Then we’ll get hold of it, and up you come!”

“That sounds good to me!” declared Gus, already warming toward the boy who it seemed was fated to become his rescuer.

A minute later and the dangling cord came within his reach, and as he had already made the noose secure around his body, Gus hastened to tie this to the end of his rope. He saw it mount speedily upward, and presently a shout from Billy announced that the rope had come into their hands.

“All ready there?” demanded the patrol leader. “Dead sure the loop will hold?”

“It did when they let me down,” replied Gus with the utmost confidence. “Please hurry up and begin. And be sure not to slip, because it’s pretty far down to the bottom. A fellow wouldn’t know what hit him if he took that drop.”

“Don’t worry about us!” said Billy Worth. “We’ve practiced this same thing many a time just for fun. You never can tell when it pays to know how to get a fellow out of a hole. Scouts learn all kinds of clever stunts, you know, Gusty. This one is going to help you a heap, seems like.”

Right then and there Gus Merrivale realized that he had been judging these boys from the wrong standpoint. Really, he had refused to give them credit for being other than a lot of silly chaps who wasted their time in camping out, and learning things that could never be of any earthly good to anyone. After this he was bound to look deeper into the movement. And his heart warmed toward Hugh and his chums in a way he would have never believed possible a few hours before.

The rope grew taut, and then he felt himself being lifted from the ledge, and steadily raised foot by foot. Presently he could reach up and catch hold of the lowermost log that served as a barrier alongside the mountain road to prevent accidents to vehicles coming down the grade.

It was with a thankfulness he could hardly find words to express that the boy was assisted over the railing, and found his feet firmly planted on the roadway. He drew a long breath of relief, possibly the very first that he had dared indulge in since being held up by those two brazen rogues. And then, urged by some better element in his nature, Gusty Merrivale grasped the hand of the patrol leader and squeezed it in his own, passing from Hugh to each of the other scouts.

CHAPTER V.
SEEING THINGS IN A NEW LIGHT.

“Now tell us what happened to you. We’re all wired up about it,” said Billy Worth when Gus had gone the rounds and shaken each of his rescuers most cordially by the hand, as though he meant them to feel that his gratitude was sincere.

“Yes, you said something that sounded like robbed, and we’ve been trying to figure out what it meant ever since,” added Monkey Stallings, who was really a late addition to the troop, though making his way up the ladder by leaps and bounds, being a lad eager to learn all the things of which a first-class scout must have a knowledge in order to obtain his badge.

“Well,” began Gusty with a whimsical grin, “it’s just this way. I’ve been sent up here several times twice a month to carry the money used to pay the hundred Italians and other foreigners working in our granite quarries. I guess somebody must have spotted me this time. Two men, who looked like tramps but who may have been worse than that, lay in wait for me just below here. They had that sapling fixed so that it crossed the road, and I couldn’t have got past even if I tried.”

“Gee! what d’ye think of that! And right here within twenty miles of Oakvale, too?” ejaculated Billy, his face expressing the most intense interest, “but excuse my interrupting you, Gusty. Please go on. You’ve got me chained fast. Stopped you on the road did they, and robbed you of the pay money?”

“When I managed to pull up, I was right on the tree they had thrown across the road,” continued the other. “At first the tall man pretended he was a country constable, meaning to arrest me because I was speeding, though of course, it was silly to think of such a thing away up here in the mountains. Then the other fellow showed up, and they let me know that they’d been waiting for me in order to steal the money I carried. I tried to jump into the runabout again to get hold of the gun dad makes me carry, but they battered me on the head, and nearly did me as you can see. In the end they lowered me to that ledge, so that I couldn’t get anywhere and give the alarm. Oh! I’ve been having the time of my life, let me tell you! But if they think they’re going to get away with this job so easy, they’re barking up the wrong tree. Now I’m out of that hole, I mean to get after them lickety-split.”

“How much of a start have they got?” asked Hugh soberly.

“Really I couldn’t tell you,” came the reply. “You see, that short rascal snatched my gold watch before they lowered me down the precipice. It seemed to me as if I must have been there for hours.”

“It was just a little more than an hour and a half ago that you left the tavern where we were waiting to be called to dinner,” Hugh told him. Gus expressed the greatest surprise, for he had never known time to drag so before.

“But let’s talk of what can be done to overtake those men and get back all they took from me,” he suggested doggedly.

“One of us might turn around and make a run for home to get the police on the track,” ventured Billy, “though it would be taking big chances to start me over that course, because I’m a bum rider so far, and apt to take a header if I get a little rattled.”

“How far away are the quarries you were making for, Gus?” asked Hugh.

“Oh, something like ten miles, I should say,” came the reply. “Too far to go for help. Besides, what good would a dozen or two of those wild Italian laborers be in a thief chase? Chances are the men would make a clean getaway. No, something else will have to be tried if we hope to bring them up with a round turn.”

“What’s to hinder the lot of us whooping after them, and finding some chance either to have them arrested, or perhaps do the job as slick as you please, while they sleep?” demanded Monkey Stallings, who came by his name through his faculty for doings all sorts of antics, from climbing greased poles that no other boy could mount, to hanging from lofty limbs of trees by his toes, and pretending to sleep that way, just as though he were a simian in truth.

“If you only would, it might turn out to be the grandest thing ever!” exclaimed the Merrivale boy, his face lighting up with sudden hope as he contemplated the shining motorcycles nearby, and remembered what wonderful things they were capable of accomplishing in the right hands.

“You see, we were making our way up to a camp where a few of our fellow scouts have been spending a week,” Hugh explained. “We declined to go along because we expected these machines to arrive, and were all fairly wild to get busy with them. And between ourselves we had secretly arranged to give the boys a big surprise after all of us got so we could ride fairly well. But you must know that it is a part of a scout’s education to give up his own pleasure whenever he can help anyone who is in trouble; and so, Gus, we will do what we can to assist you to recover your runabout, as well as the money they took from you.”

“That’s fine of you, Hugh!” declared the other boy, flushing with pleasure, as well as with shame at the recollection of how he had misjudged these splendid fellows in the past. “I’m beginning to get my eyes opened to a lot of things about this scout business, and if only you can help me out, I reckon I’ll just have to join the troop, no matter if I start in as the worst tenderfoot you ever saw.”

“Bully for you, Gusty!” cried the explosive Billy. “Take my word for it, you’ll never have any reason to regret the step if you do hitch up with the scouts. Fact is you’ll wonder how you ever got any fun in life before you knocked the scales off your eyes, and saw things everywhere around you. We know. Lots of us have been through the mill, haven’t we, Monkey?”

“We sure have, Billy,” answered the other solemnly, “and nothing could hire me to throw up my present job of gymnastic teacher to the troop. As to learning things, I’ve found out how to stow away a quarter more rations every meal by just watching you work your jaws, Billy.”

“We can follow after the runabout without much trouble once we examine the marks made by its tires in some muddy spot,” Hugh said, speaking directly to the boy who had been taken from the ledge, “because in nearly every case you’ll find there’s a distinctive mark about the track left by a rubber-shod wheel. I can tell the trail my motorcycle makes among a dozen; both the others have individualities about them that all of us have learned to recognize. And I expect you may have noticed something about the marks your car leaves that would tell you which road it took, in case we came to a fork?”

“Well, I don’t think I ever took the trouble to notice anything like that,” Gus confessed not without more or less confusion, as though he might already be beginning to realize how lacking in practical information his education was, “but now that you speak of it, there was a patch put on one of the rear tires that I should think would leave an impression something like a diamond. Of course, though, that wouldn’t show here where the road is rocky; but at the first chance we could watch out for it.”

Hugh looked at him with a half smile on his face.

“You talk as though you expected to go along with us, Gusty?” he observed.

“And to tell the truth I’m hoping you’ll ask me to hang on behind,” the other instantly replied. “You see, I’ve ridden a motorcycle before and I guess my shoulder isn’t so lame but what I could keep my seat. Those men treated me about as mean as they knew how, and I’ve been telling myself all along that, if only I could have a hand in their apprehension, it’d go a great way to evening things up. Do you reckon now, Hugh, that if you took me on behind it would go?”

His whole manner was so imploring that even had the patrol leader felt inclined to hesitate he must have found it very difficult to disappoint Gusty. It chanced, however, that Hugh knew more about a motorcycle than either of his chums, or both together for that matter. And he believed that if the other boy had the nerve to keep his seat he could take him along.

“I’m willing to make the try, anyhow, Gusty,” was what Hugh told him.

“Oh! thank you, thank you a dozen times, for you’ve made me feel ever so happy!” cried the Merrivale boy. Apparently he had made a clean sweep when he threw that pride of his overboard, for once again he reached out and shook the hand of Hugh, as though determined to look on him as his best friend. “And there’s one other thing you ought to know, because it may cut some figure in the chase.”

“What might that be?” asked Billy, evidently more or less relieved to know the patrol leader would not be wanting him to head back over their trail so as to carry the startling news of the hold-up to the authorities in distant Oakvale.

“I only took on five gallons of juice at the inn, you see,” continued Gusty, eager to advance any item, however small, that might have a bearing on the successful pursuit of the two bad men, “and I don’t believe there could have been much aboard at the time, either. So they couldn’t run more than twenty miles before it would give out. If they fail to take on a new stock, perhaps we might find my runabout abandoned on the road somewhere.”

“Either that, or wrecked,” suggested Monkey, “because every fellow who thinks he can run a car doesn’t succeed. I know, because it cost an uncle of mine a pile of hard cash to get his machine saved from the scrap heap after I’d turned over at the foot of a little hill where there was a sharp curve and lots of loose sand. See that scar under my hair—that makes me think of how hard a car can kick, every time I look at it when I’m brushing my locks.”

“If we mean to start this chase, we’d better be making a move,” Billy advised.

“The crown of the hill seems to be just a little way off,” said Hugh, “and so I think we ought to push our machines up the rest of the way, and mount for a coast down the grade. Once we reach the bottom where there’s a chance to find some moist clay, we’ll try scout tactics, and get a clew about that mended tire you spoke of, Gusty. Come on, boys!”

“I tell you fellows I’m feeling two hundred per cent. better already,” announced the boy who had been rescued from the ledge over the brow of the precipice. “If only we could lay those ugly scoundrels by the heels, I’d call it a thousand per cent. Your talking about tracking them by following the clew of my mended tire makes me see how much I’ve been missing all this while by thinking scouts were a foolish bunch of crack-brained boys, running after a leader like sheep after the bell wether. I guess I’m the chump after all who has allowed his prejudice to run away with his common sense. That’s all in the past, let me tell you. I’m beginning to see a great light, and this experience is going to change a lot of the ideas I’ve been hanging on to, believe me.”

While talking in this strain, the four boys were pushing up the rise. Just as the patrol leader had remarked, the crown of the hill was in plain sight only a little distance beyond where Gusty had met with his strange adventure and passed through an experience he would not be likely to forget soon.

Under ordinary conditions Gusty might possibly have consented to adopt a sling for his bruised arm, and even walk around for a day or two while playing the part of martyr, but there was no time for such nonsense. The prospect of overtaking the two thieves, and at least making some sort of effort to recover what they had stolen, gave him unexpected strength to endure the pain without even a grimace. Why, he stood ready to grit his teeth, and make light of worse conditions than this while the hope of turning the tables on those hoboes continued to brighten!

When the boys arrived at the brow of the hill, they could see how the road was beginning to dip. Hugh asked a few questions of Gusty, who had been over it a number of times before, and was therefore competent to give advice. He wished to make sure that no sudden bend would crop out to serve as a trap for inexperienced riders. When this point had been settled, Hugh had the fourth boy mount behind him, clasp his arms around his waist, and then the descent of the hill was begun.

CHAPTER VI.
TRACKING FROM THE SADDLE.

Hugh Hardin was accustomed to serving as pacemaker. Besides being leader of the Wolf Patrol, to which Billy also belonged, he had long ago been elected assistant scout master to the troop. When Lieutenant Denmead, a retired army officer who had taken great interest in the boys of the town, could not be present, Hugh served in his stead. Being a first-class scout, he had found no difficulty in securing his credentials to act in this important capacity from Boy Scout Headquarters off in New York City.

Consequently, when he led the procession of saddle boys down the slope of the ridge, he felt quite at home.

There was no attempt to make great speed. This would have been looked upon as the essence of folly on several accounts. In the first place there was good-natured Billy Worth who, being a novice with the motorcycle, was apt to get himself into trouble at any moment. Then they must remember that they were really tracking the two hoboes who had stolen the runabout as well as relieved Gusty Merrivale of the pay roll, which the Italian laborers up in his father’s quarries were anxiously expecting. And if these two reasons were not enough, there was the fact that the pacemaker was carrying double on his machine, which made things just a bit unwieldy.

Of course, there would be stretches along the road where they might reasonably expect to “hit her up,” as Billy was wont to say. These would occur where the ground happened to be fairly level, or slightly up-grade.

Nothing happened up to the time the boys arrived at the foot of the mountain. Hugh had not forgotten what he had said about taking a good look at the marks left by the tires of the runabout. He was desirous of seeing for himself what that diamond-shaped patch, mentioned by Gusty, would look like when reproduced in the soft soil at some point where moisture chanced to lie upon a low portion of the road, as, for instance, in the vicinity of some creek.

The opportunity came much sooner than he had hoped would be the case. There, a little way ahead, Hugh discovered that the road crossed some depression by means of a bridge. This would indicate the presence of a small stream, perhaps a mere thread of water in midsummer, but capable of becoming a boiling torrent when the Spring rains were on.

He immediately threw up his hand several times in a suggestive way, which was a part of the code of signals understood by both his chums. It meant that he intended slowing up, and possibly stopping short. Motorcycle riders as a rule go at such a pace that they seldom travel any other way than tandem; and it is expected of each fellow to keep a wary eye from time to time on the one ahead of him so as to discover any sign, which he is expected to pass on down the line. In this way accidents due to speed are usually avoided.

A minute later both the other boys had come to a halt. Leaving their machines alongside the road, they hurried to where both Hugh and Gusty were stooping down searching for a positive imprint of the mended tire of the runabout.

“Here’s a good impression,” remarked Monkey Stallings as soon as he arrived. He had the quickest eyes in the whole troop, and seemed able to discover things that it would have taken Billy many times as long to unearth.

“Couldn’t be better,” observed Hugh, hurrying to his side, “and, as usual, you’ve beaten us all out again, Monkey. How about this, Gusty? We’re looking at the sign of the patch, of course?”

“That was what I meant,” replied the other. “But, honest now, this is the first time I’ve so much as noticed what sort of a mark my old tire makes. I knew about the way the repair-shop man mended it, and that was all. Think we can recognize it if we see it again, do you, Hugh?”

Even Billy snorted at that, as he quickly exclaimed:

“If you knew more about how scouts are trained to use their eyes, ears, and ditto, their thinking boxes, you wouldn’t ask that, my friend. Why, one of the first of experiments a tenderfoot has to pass through, is to take a quick look in at a store window where scores of different things are on exhibition, go away and immediately write down all he can remember. The more exact he gets the higher his score. That influences him to begin to exercise his memory. It’s queer how a fellow can increase his powers that way. Why, my capacity has fairly doubled since I joined the scouts, and I surprise my folks every day by remembering things they promised to get for me away back.”

Monkey Stallings grinned as he caught Billy’s eye, and quietly observed:

“Now I’m real glad to hear that, Billy, because there’s some chance that you’ll even remember that quarter you borrowed from me ‘away back’ when we were on the train coming home from our trip with the Naval Reserve. I’d clean given up hope; but I know it’s all right now.”

“Take a good squint at this mark, everybody,” said Hugh, pointing down to where the wheel which had the mended tire had passed through a yard or two of clay, making a splendid impression. “We’ll want to look for it plenty of times as we go along, you understand.”

When all of them announced that they had it engraved indelibly on their mind’s eye, Hugh once more started off along the road.

“I’ll keep tabs on the right,” he had told Billy and Monkey before he left them, “while you two watch the other side of the road for any sign telling that the men turned in. There’s no saying what trick they may be up to, and we don’t want to go speeding along on a fool’s errand. Get that, both of you?”

“Sure we do, Hugh,” Billy replied. “Chances are they mean to cover a good many miles before they abandon the motor car.”

Gusty was in a position to speak whenever the spirit moved him, as his head came close to that of the one who sat in the saddle. They were as a rule going at quite a smart pace, and the dust was apt to get in his mouth whenever he opened it, so that he did not indulge in much useless talking.

Now and then, however, he would make some pertinent remark. This was usually in connection with the character of the road, or else had reference to the fact that a short distance ahead lay a hamlet which he remembered.

“There’s a road branches off from this one, too,” he went on to say, after giving this information, “and once I ran over it, having been told that while it didn’t pass through the little village it had a smoother surface. And my information was correct to the dot, because it joined this road further on.”

“If those men know the country as well as I think they do,” Hugh turned partly in his saddle to say, “they’ll as like as not take that same road, because it seems that after committing so daring a robbery they’ll want to keep out of sight as much as they can. Yes, I can see where the fork lies ahead,” and with that he held out his hand as a sign to the next in line, who happened to be Billy this time.

It proved that Hugh’s prediction was correct, for the runabout had certainly started into the other road. This would indicate that the pair of precious rascals must be pretty well acquainted with the section of country. It afterward turned out that the taller fellow had been raised not many miles away from the village which was being left in the rear. Perhaps he feared that some one might happen to recognize him if he went through the place, for some of these countrymen have long memories.

Further on they again came back to the road that led to the quarries. A mile or so beyond the junction, however, another turn was made. After that Gusty could not venture to give the least information, because they were now covering ground that was entirely new to him.

Hugh had already made up his mind on one score. This was to the effect that those whom they were pursuing must be heading for some place which they had knowledge of, and where they believed they would be fairly safe from discovery.

As the boys proceeded steadily along, the pacemaker became aware of another fact that began to give him increasing satisfaction. He and his two chums had been heading for the distant spot where some of their fellow scouts were in camp on an island in the river. These other boys had come a long way by means of a motorboat loaned to them by an enthusiastic gentleman of the home town, who, being abroad for the summer, desired to show his appreciation for the manly conduct of the scouts.

Hugh had a map of the country with him. He had never been over some sections of it, but, having made a study of topography, he believed that they were by degrees drawing nearer to the river, and would, if they kept on, strike it not far away from Raccoon Island, where Don Miller, leader of the Fox Patrol, had the boys in charge in the absence of others in authority.

When they made a brief halt in order to slake their thirst at a gurgling spring that gushed up alongside the road, Hugh put his comrades in possession of this astonishing bit of information. Naturally they were greatly pleased, especially Billy, whose merry face glowed with a sudden inspiring thought.

“Whee! talk to me about the luck of the Wolf Patrol!” he exclaimed. “Isn’t this just like the old story? Now, chances are those hobo footpads’ll go into hiding in the woods not three miles away from the island camp. What’s the answer? Why, we’ll send a signal to the boys that they’re wanted, and pretty soon one by one they’ll line up till we’ll be a baker’s dozen all told. I’m sorry for the poor wretches that took your runabout when that comes about, Gusty. You’ll get your first lesson on what it means to be a scout, when you see how we work this deal. Since Ralph Kenyon joined the troop, he’s shown up a heap of new things connected with woodcraft and the like. Even Hugh here has admitted that the boy who used to spend his winters trapping wild animals for their pelts so he could lay by a store of money to take him to the School of Mines some day, knew more’n he ever did. And there’s Arthur Cameron, Bud Morgan, Jack Durham, Spike Welling and a lot of other good fellows in camp up here, too. Hugh, I only hope she turns out like you say. Are we off again now?”

“Yes, and taking things fairly easy, too,” replied the leader as he straddled his machine, and waited for Gusty to get in position before starting. “If they expect to hide somewhere around this region, we’ll bump in on them soon enough. So, steady, everybody, from now on.”

While at the spring, he had taken out his road map and allowed all of them to see their location. The river was not many miles away, and this road crossed it by means of a bridge. Raccoon Island lay some distance above, where the stream widened and formed quite a shallow lake-like lagoon with wild borders, an ideal spot for a boys’ camp.

Billy managed to meet with some trifling trouble in making his getaway. This caused him to bring up the rear, a position he usually occupied, by the way, in most of their trips, for Billy was inclined to be sluggish in his movements, though his mind was active enough.

Motorcycles are splendid mounts to carry one swiftly along over fairly decent thoroughfares, but being more or less noisy, in spite of all efforts to stifle the explosions by means of the muffler, they can hardly be deemed just the thing to use when silence is necessary.

Hugh knew that if the men they were following had a camp near the road they would be apt to discover the approach of the boys long before he and his chums could lay any plans looking to their capture.

Accordingly, he had already decided in his own mind that whenever it looked as if the thieves were near the end of their journey, the noisy wheels would be temporarily abandoned, and the balance of the tracking necessary done afoot, where their knowledge of Indian tactics might be brought into successful play.

They could not have covered more than a mile, after leaving the cold spring at which they had refreshed themselves, when Monkey Stallings plainly heard a sound from the rear that announced the coming of some sort of trouble to the rider who brought up the tail end of the procession. Upon which, he instantly used his horn to let the leaders know that another halt must be called in order to assist Billy.

CHAPTER VII.
THE SUNKEN ROAD.

Hugh came running back, with Gusty trailing after him, quite as anxious as the rest to learn what had happened to the one bringing up the rear of the motorcycle procession.

They found Billy bending down and examining his machine with a woe-begone look on his good-natured face. He glanced up at their approach. Monkey Stallings was on the other side, and still searching for the cause of the trouble, though he did not know much more than the stout boy about the intricate construction of motors.

“What ails you now, Billy?” asked Hugh, for he did not have to be told that the individual in question was the cause of the breakdown.

“Wish I knew,” replied the other, dolefully, “that’s the trouble. You see I’ve noticed for some little time that I had to make more or less of an effort to keep my place in the line. While you fellows were gliding along as smooth as silk, my balky engine had to be coaxed and kicked to hold its own. And now, after that last little halt she’s gone back on me altogether. I keep losing ground right along, and would soon be hull down in the distance. That’s why I let out the toot for help.”

Hugh looked serious.

“It means a delay while we examine things,” he remarked, throwing off his coat as though getting ready for business.

“I’m sorry if I’ve gone and blundered again,” Billy continued sadly. “It would serve me just about right if the rest of you went on and left me to my fate.”

“Oh, rats, don’t mention it,” said Monkey indignantly. “What d’ye take us for, anyway? What’s the use of being a scout if you won’t hold out a helping hand to a comrade in distress? We’d expect you to do the same if one of our machines threw up the sponge, and sulked. Leave it to Hugh; he’ll bring you around O. K.”

That was an old story with the boys. “Leave it to Hugh” had become a sort of slogan with the members of the Wolf Patrol. Many a time had Billy, Bud Morgan, Arthur Cameron or some other member of the famous patrol, after trying in vain to solve a knotty problem, turned hopefully to the assistant scout master; and seldom had their sublime confidence in his ability to find a remedy been misplaced.

As Hugh began to use his little monkey-wrench, unfastening several nuts, and testing one thing after another, the others watched with considerable interest. Minutes crept on until it began to look as though they had lost nearly half an hour on the road. “Billy Wolf,” as he was often called by his chums, fretted terribly.

“Better leave me here while the rest of you go on,” he said for the fourth time. He had hardly gotten the words out of his mouth when he heard Hugh give a little satisfied chuckle.

“Located the trouble?” asked Monkey eagerly, with a triumphant glance toward Gusty, as though to say: “There! what did I tell you; Hugh is the boss hand to see through things, isn’t he?”

“After all,” explained Hugh, “it was a mighty simple thing, but it happened that I tried about seven other possible causes for a gradual slowing up of the motor before I reached the carburetor. Why, it was only the needle valve that stuck. I’ll have it working as good as ever in a jiffy; and you’ll not be bothered again from that cause in a hurry, Billy, old fellow.”

“Oh! was that it?” remarked the relieved Billy. “I began to think the whole business must be on the bum, and that I’d have to walk and push the plagued machine along with me to the village three miles back. Huh! believe me, I’ll keep an eye on that tricky valve after this. I may make lots of mistakes, but it’s seldom I tumble into the same old hole twice. I’m on, Hugh; I see how you do it. I’m learning something new every hour of the day. Seems like there’s an everlasting lot of things I don’t grasp yet. The more I know the more I don’t know. Laugh now, Monkey, but you’re in the same boat yourself.”

Hugh made short work of his job, and presently handed the motorcycle over to its owner.

On the way back to where his own machine had been left, he was pleased to hear Gusty remark with considerable vim, as though he meant it:

“I like the way you fellows carry on, honest I do. I’ve been with a set that would have left a chap in the lurch to take care of his own wheel while they rode on and told him they’d wait at the next wayside inn, where they could get a cool drink of mineral water, and lie around resting up till he came. You scouts stand by each other. And I understand now why they elected you assistant scout master of the troop. You’re Johnny-on-the-spot for the job, all right, Hugh Hardin. Excuse me if I ask all sorts of foolish questions about the way scouts manage. I’m getting up to my ears interested in this game. I never dreamed it could be so fascinating. And the more you hear, the more you want to know.”

“That’s the secret of the rapid growth of the scout movement,” Hugh told him. “As soon as you get the average boy interested he asks questions, and once that happens, he learns things that set him agoing. After that nothing can stop him; and in a year’s time, you wouldn’t know it was the same boy, because he takes such an interest in a thousand things that are happening all around him.”

Soon they were moving on again, and from the signals that came from the rear, Hugh knew that all was well with Billy.

Perhaps two more miles had been placed behind them, when all of a sudden the pacemaker gave a short blast on his horn, and slowed up as though he had made a discovery of some sort. Immediately he and Gusty were off, he leaned his motorcycle up against a convenient tree, not waiting to make use of the stand, and leading the other through a fringe of bushes, observed:

“Is that your car, Gusty?”

The rich man’s son gave a low cry of mingled surprise and joy.

“I declare if it isn’t my runabout!” he exclaimed. “And to think how easily you glimpsed it ahead. But what do you expect they drew it in here for, Hugh? Has the gas given out, or was there a smash of some sort? Seems to be all right, as far’s I can see at a glance.”

“We’ll have to figure that out in a minute or so,” replied the other. “You keep on examining the car while I look around to see which way the two men went from here. That would be apt to give us a clew.”

“In what way?” demanded Gusty, while he started to look his property over, in order to learn the condition in which it had been left by the two robbers.

“Well, if they kept on along the road it would look as if they had been unable to use the runabout further,” answered the patrol leader, as he stooped and began to use his practiced eyes to advantage. “On the other hand, if they plunged right into the woods I would think they had come as far as they expected to on wheels, and finished their journey afoot.”

“What a greenhorn I am not to have understood that!” declared the other boy, thoroughly disgusted with himself for not having taken the trouble to exercise his brain more in the past, so as to be alive to such situations as this; it galled his pride to have to depend on anyone else for information.

Monkey came along and dropped out of his saddle beside them. He was just as much surprised and tickled at seeing the car as the owner had been; but he did not immediately proceed to ask questions. He knew what Hugh was doing when he saw him bending down and examining the surrounding earth.

Just as Billy hove in sight and slowed down so that he could join his chums, the patrol leader remarked that the trail of the two men ran off directly into the thick of the woods, which at this particular spot grew rather densely.

“And I can’t find the least thing the matter with my car,” Gusty observed. “There seems to be some gasoline in the tank, too. So that they could have gone a good many more miles if they’d wished. Yes, you were right, Hugh. They abandoned it for another reason. I’d even say they might know of some hiding place in this region, and right here is a short-cut to it.”

“That was a time you struck the right nail on the head, Gusty,” remarked Hugh. “I believe that’s what it will turn out to be in the end.”

“Of course we push through the woods, don’t we?” queried Monkey.

“And that means we’ll have to leave our machines hid away somewhere,” Billy added, with a ring of solicitude in his voice. “I’d like to do something so as to make it impossible for anybody to ride away on my motorcycle while I’m gone. It would be a tough joke on us to chase after those rogues while they came back on the sly and hooked two of our precious wheels.”

“We can fix that all right. Meanwhile, Gusty, you disable your runabout in some temporary way, so that it couldn’t be of any use to anybody until the missing part is supplied.”

“A great idea, as sure as you’re born! I can do it as easy as anything!” exclaimed the other boy, hastening to carry out the suggestion without even stopping to consider that only an hour or so back he would have laughed scornfully if some one had told him that before long he would be taking orders from Hugh Hardin as meekly as any private in the scout troop.

All this took but little time, and presently they were ready to advance along the forest trail. Gusty found himself quivering with eagerness to see how these boys would manage to carry out the tracking part of the business. Had it been left to him, he would have made a sorry mess of it, he admitted to himself. His pride was touched, and he began to reflect that never again would he allow himself to be placed in a position where even a boy like Billy Worth, whom he had previously looked on as rather stupid, could give him pointers. He would learn these things for himself. Perhaps he might even organize a new patrol, and be its leader, if he only busied himself, and stocked his head with useful knowledge along the line of scoutcraft.

“Here’s what they were heading for!” said Hugh softly after they had been moving along for some ten minutes. He had several times pointed out faint indications of footprints to Gusty.

“Why, it looks like an old abandoned road all grown up with grass and briars!” declared Monkey.

“Just what it is,” replied Hugh. “I’ve been expecting to run across it right along, because my map shows where it lies. You see, once ever so many years ago many wagons came along here every day, some loaded with corn or wheat or rye, and others taking flour back home to the farm.”

“Oh! I know now what you mean, Hugh,” said Billy. “There was a spot marked on your map, and I read the words ‘old mill.’ Yes, and I remember hearing tell about some such place up here in the wilderness. Thirty years ago a miller used the water power of a creek that empties into the river to grind his grist. Do you think that’s where these two thieves were heading for, Hugh?”

“Looks like it,” nodded the patrol leader, pointing down. “You can see that as soon as they struck this sunken road they didn’t even halt, but started right along it, heading that way. We’ll do the same, and after this please speak in low whispers if you have to say anything. I don’t believe that mill can be more than half a mile away if it’s that.”

They moved on, all of them half bent over as they sought to keep track of the footprints of the two men. It was quite thrilling, Gusty admitted to himself every little while. He was enjoying it very much. If Boy Scouts practiced this sort of stunt very often he did not wonder that so many fellows had joined the organization; and the resolution he had taken continued to grip him more and more the deeper he pried into the matter.

“I think I hear water splashing ahead there, Hugh!” whispered Monkey, who had a very keen pair of ears.

“Yes, we must be getting close to the dam where the water falls,” the patrol leader told him. “Pretty soon we’ll know whether we’ve cornered the rats or not. Steady now, and keep under cover the best you can. Remember, not a sound, fellows!”

CHAPTER VIII.
AT RACCOON ISLAND CAMP.

“There it is!”

Billy gripped the arm of the patrol leader when he said this in a faint tone. Indeed, all of them must have glimpsed the old mill at about the same time, for the trees had thinned out somewhat ahead; and that gurgle of dripping water drew their eyes toward the spot where the forlorn structure stood.

Having been neglected for many years, it was now only a tumble-down wreck. The big wheel was covered with green moss over which tiny streams of water trickled to drop with a splash into the pool beneath.

In the eyes of Billy, it had a haunted look. He admitted to himself that he would not much fancy paying a visit to the old mill after darkness had set in. Of course, he did not believe in ghosts, for what boy will admit that weakness? But even the presence of owls and bats, and perhaps a prowling mink from the stream, would be apt to make a fellow’s flesh creep if he found himself left alone in such a place.

“Think they’re there, Hugh?” Monkey Stallings murmured in the other’s ear.

“Somebody is, for a fact,” came the ready response, “because if you look sharp you can see a little smoke curling up from the chimney.”

Gusty had not thought to glance at that part of the mill before. Now he saw that this was so. Evidently there must be some sort of a fire within. And as the mill was said to have been deserted by its owner years back, the chances seemed to be that this blaze had been made by the tramps.

“Wait here for me while I take a scout and find out if it’s so,” Hugh told his companions, “and be sure to keep down, because one of them might step out suddenly and discover you. That would put the fat in the fire, and spoil all our fine plans. I depend on you, Billy, and Monkey.”

“Count me in too, Hugh,” urged Gusty, perhaps considerably to his own surprise, for it was a new role for him to play “second fiddle” to anybody.

So Hugh crawled away. He went on his hands and knees, and avoiding the open road, chose rather to creep along where the wild growing bushes would shelter him from being observed. So cleverly did he advance, Gusty noticed, that even should one of the tramps be watching, there was little chance that he might discover anything amiss. Plainly these scouts had learned their little lesson and knew how to play the game, he told himself, as he saw Hugh sliding across a more exposed spot on his stomach, hitching himself along almost as a snake might have done.

Hugh was gone for some little time, and then he reappeared, returning over the same course he had taken before. Billy immediately read success upon the other’s face.

“Then they are there, is that it, Hugh?” he queried when he could place his lips close to the other’s ear.

“Yes, I managed to get a look-in. Both men are lying down, and I think they must have been cooking something to eat from the smell I got. One is smoking a pipe, and the other dozing, every now and then taking a nip from a black bottle that is passed between them. I saw the short one examining a wicked looking gun. I guess he’s just the kind of a bad man to use it before he’d think of giving up to a pack of Boy Scouts. We’ve got to go slow if we hope to win out here.”

“Well, what’s the program, Hugh?” asked Gusty eagerly.

“I’ve figured it out this way,” came the answer. “I’ll leave the rest of you here on guard while I make my way to the river, and find the island where some of the scouts are in camp under charge of Don Miller. All you have to do is to lie low and never do the least thing to let them know they’re watched.”

“But what if they take a notion to skip out?” suggested Monkey Stallings.

“Then you must be ready to leave a message for us in a forked stick right here, while you try and follow after them. If that happens, make as broad a trail as you can, because it will save the rest of us heaps of hard work following. And above all things don’t let them capture you, because from their looks I rather think it would go hard if you fell into their hands. They’re a tough looking lot all told.”

“I should say they were all of that, Hugh,” admitted Gusty, who had reason to know.

Before he left them, Hugh again examined his pocket map of the country. It was fashioned only as a sort of road guide for tourists, but anyone could judge from the formation of things about how far it was between the old mill and the river at the place where a bridge spanned the stream. And not a great way above this particular spot, the island lay upon which the scouts were in camp.

Five minutes later, and Hugh replaced the map in his pocket.

“Got your bearings all right, have you?” asked Billy, with more or less solicitude, for everything depended on the leader finding the camp of their comrades.

“I reckon it’ll be all right,” Hugh assured him. “You see I expect to go back first of all to where we left our motorcycles. Once in the saddle I can soon find my way to that bridge across the river. The island is only half a mile or so above, where the river widens; and I hope to find some sort of trail along the bank where I can push my machine.”