THE BOY SCOUTS
OF THE
FIELD HOSPITAL

BY
SCOUT MASTER 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 IN THE SADDLE,” “BOY SCOUTS FOR CITY IMPROVEMENT,” “BOY SCOUTS IN THE GREAT FLOOD,” “BOY SCOUTS WITH THE RED CROSS,” “BOY SCOUTS AS COUNTY FAIR GUIDES,” “BOY SCOUTS AS FOREST FIRE FIGHTERS,” ETC.

NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Sterling Boy Scout Books

BY
Scout Master Robert Shaler

Bound in cloth Fifteen 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. 11 Boy Scouts in the Great Flood. 12 Boy Scouts of the Field Hospital. 13 Boy Scouts with the Red Cross. 14 Boy Scouts as County Fair Guides. 15 Boy Scouts as Forest Fire Fighters.

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, 1915, by Hurst & Company

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE I. [The Camp on the Hurricane] 5 II. [A Close Call in the Rapids] 16 III. [Returning Good for Evil] 27 IV. [Turning Back the Clock of Time] 41 V. [Signs of Brooding Trouble] 52 VI. [Everybody Busy] 62 VII. [The Frog Hunter Trapped] 76 VIII. [Scouts Heed the Call to Duty] 87 IX. [The Helping Hand] 96 X. [The Field Hospital] 108 XI. [A Tragedy of the Strike] 119 XII. [A Call for the Red Cross] 131 XIII. [Hard at Work] 142 XIV. [The Welcome Sight—Conclusion] 150

The Boy Scouts of the Field Hospital.

CHAPTER I.
THE CAMP ON THE HURRICANE.

“The same old hard luck seems to follow our scout master wherever we go, Hugh!”

“It surely looks that way, Billy, for a fact.”

“After taking all the trouble to hunt around the country for a new camping place where the Oakvale Troop could open their summer campaign, here the scout master has to be called back home with his mother coming down sick.”

“It was too bad, Billy, and Lieutenant Denmead looked as if he had met with a bitter disappointment. Having his old mother ill would be bad enough at any time, but to have it happen just now seemed doubly hard. I know he looked forward to a week or so of rest and recreation up here.”

“Well, all my sympathy is with the lieutenant; I’m not wasting any on the bunch of scouts gathered here around these tents, let me tell you, Hugh. They’ll be just as well looked after by our efficient assistant scout master.”

“It’s nice of you to say that, Billy, even if not true. I’ll try my level best to please you, but if I succeed it will only be because I’ve got such a splendid lot of fellows to work with.”

“What d’ye think of the place our scout master picked out for us, Hugh?”

“Couldn’t be much better, it seems to me, Billy. We’ve got mountain scenery and running water. We can take long hikes to the top of the range there; and at the same time get to a town inside of an hour if we want to. The combination is pretty nearly perfect I should say in so far as that goes.”

The stout boy in khaki, Billy Worth, looked quickly up at the face of his companion, Hugh Hardin. Evidently there must have been some little intonation connected with the last part of the other’s remark that aroused a sudden suspicion in his mind.

“Something you don’t appear to like about it, Hugh,” he remarked. “Has it anything to do with this rapid river, which might be dangerous to a fellow not knowing how to swim, or take care of himself?”

“I wasn’t thinking about that just then, Billy; and besides, all the boys, so far as I know, are good swimmers—unless it’s that new recruit, Harold Tremaine; and we’ve got to find out considerable about him on this trip.”

“Then perhaps you happen to know something about the farmers of this section, and that they’ll raise a kick against scouts crossing their fields; how about that guess, Mr. Scout Master?”

“Still shy more or less, Billy,” the other told him. “To relieve your mind, since I see you’re bound to get the truth, I’ll tell you what it is. I understand that a couple of miles away toward the west of this place, there’s a big establishment or cement works where they employ a couple of hundred workmen.”

“Why, yes, I believe that’s so,” interrupted Billy. “It’s called the Samson Cement Company, seems to me. But what’s that got to do with us scouts, Hugh?”

“I hope it isn’t going to have anything to do with us,” came the reply, as something like a slight frown appeared on Hugh’s forehead. “But it happens that there’s some sort of trouble going on at the works.”

“A strike, do you mean?” ejaculated Billy, becoming deeply interested at once, for he was a boy who delighted in action and adventure of all kinds.

“Yes, and they say that it’s developing into a bitter struggle, too. The men are mostly foreigners, and their wives are worse than the workers. If strike-breakers are brought up from Boston, as there was talk of the company doing, there might possibly be a pitched battle between the strikers and the guards who act as deputies.”

“Whew! You don’t say!” cried Billy, with a whistle that marked his interest in the news. “But, Hugh, if we make it a point to keep away from that section of country in our hikes there’s no reason why we should get mixed up in any of this ugly business, that I can see.”

“Perhaps not,” the scout master continued, “but if these ignorant foreigners begin to feel the pinch of hunger pretty soon, they may take to raiding orchards and fields of the farmers, and then there will be the mischief to pay. They don’t bother much about the rights of property when they can see no sign of officers around. And if they happen to discover some of our troop, they may think from our uniforms we’re members of the State Militia, sent secretly to camp here so as to arrest them when they get to acting vicious.”

“Hugh, I can see now where we might get into trouble. If Lieutenant Denmead had dreamed of anything like this, the chances are he would never have selected a camp so near the cement works. It’s too late to make a change of base now, I reckon.”

“Yes, we’ve got things all nicely fixed for a stay, Billy, and we’ll have to try and not get mixed up in any of this strike business.”

“That reminds me that I saw three men walking up that country road a while back when I was taking a look around; and, Hugh, they were foreigners, as sure as anything. We may have to keep watch nights so as not to suffer from a raid on our stores.”

“Oh! I don’t think that would happen,” said Hugh, immediately. “These men are ignorant and foreigners but we mustn’t believe them to be a nest of thieves. Only when they see their women and children suffering from lack of proper food they might be tempted to resort to violence. In one way you could hardly blame the men for taking what don’t belong to them in order to save the lives so precious to them.”

From where the two boys reclined at their ease, they could look at the tents of waterproofed canvas that had been pitched with such skill as scouts learn to show after they have had frequent practice. Several lads were bustling around, tidying up the camp, looking after the fires and apparently making ready for rather a lengthy and enjoyable stay.

Close by ran the river, a brawling stream of quite some size, and also deep in places. It was said to contain plenty of fish, so that the scouts anticipated enjoying more than one chowder during their stay on its high bank. While they had no boat with them, that was not going to debar them from making frequent use of the stream for bathing purposes.

Hugh and Billy belonged to the Wolf Patrol of the Oakvale Troop. They were among the charter members or “early settlers” as Billy called them, having helped organize the initial patrol.

By degrees there had come other patrols, known as the Hawks, the Otters, the Fox, and the Owls, and the members of all of these were now in camp on the Hurricane River. The first mentioned patrol had for leader Walter Osborne; Alec Sands had charge of the lively Otters; while Don Miller was looked up to as the head of the Fox adjunct.

A retired army officer had taken charge of the troop, and devoted much of his time to building up the organization, having the development of boy character as his impetus. On this particular occasion, as we have learned from the conversation between Hugh and Billy, Lieutenant Denmead had been called away, which he had undoubtedly regretted very much, just after their camp was started.

In other seasons some of these enterprising scouts had managed to enjoy certain outings which have been described at length in the earlier volumes of this series. For the full particulars of these happenings, the reader will have to be referred to those books, every one of which will be found teeming with adventure, useful information, accounts of scout activities, and all such things as boys with red blood in their veins love to read about.

Some of them had seen service with the genuine army signal corps; on another occasion they had been enabled to work in conjunction with the maneuvers of the State Militia on their annual training trip, when a mock battle was fought in which the scouts took a prominent part.

A few of the boys on a visit to Florida had a chance to assist the life-savers of the coast in rescuing survivors from a wreck; then there was another time when some of them accompanied the Naval Reserve Corps aboard a war vessel placed at their disposal by the National Government, which gave the lads a splendid opportunity to pick up much valuable information connected with naval affairs.

Under the energetic leadership of Hugh Hardin, the scouts had undertaken to clean up their town in order to assist the Women’s Civic Organization, which alone and unaided had found the task beyond their power. That triumph alone would have been enough to make the scouts respected in the community, even if they had not in numerous other ways proved their efficiency.

The latest exploit in which some of the Wolf Patrol members were concerned had taken place at some distance away from the home town. They chanced to be sent to Lawrence on business early in the spring at just the time when there came a terrible rain, and a flood that put the whole country under water. Being kept from returning home by a break in the railroad embankment, Hugh and his chums proved themselves energetic workers, and by enthusing the local troop of scouts to work like beavers in rescuing imperiled persons, they not only did a vast amount of good but revived the flagging interest of the organization, so that from that day Lawrence Boy Scout stock boomed.

With all these successful doings scattered along the pages of their short history, the scouts of Oakvale had reason to feel proud of the badges some of them wore. From scout headquarters in New York City had come medals such as are only given to those who save human life at peril to themselves; for the enthusiastic Lawrence people had seen to it that a record of the achievements of the wide-awake visitors to their town on that momentous occasion was forwarded to the proper officials, with a request that their efforts be duly recognized in the proper way.

“Hello! Sounds to me like some of the boys have started to bathe, even if the sun is burning hot for a June day!” remarked Billy Worth, as sounds of splashing, accompanied by boisterous sounds, came to their ears.

Hugh sat up and looked a trifle anxious.

“I’m sorry they were in such a rushing hurry,” he remarked. “I meant to give them one more caution about risking that fierce current out there. The river is unusually high for early summer, on account of recent rains, and I would hate to get caught in that swirl myself, stout swimmer that I am.”

“Same here, Hugh!” declared Billy Worth, as he started to get on his feet. “Let’s walk over there, and you can tell the fellows what you think about it. I’m more concerned about that new tenderfoot, Tremaine, than any of the old members. He seems to be a bundle of nerves, and inclined to be rash. That’s just the kind of chap to take chances, so as to make the rest think him some punkins.”

“All right! Come on, Billy. I’ll feel easier in my mind——”

Hugh stopped short in what he was saying. A sudden chorus of excited cries rang out, coming from the river where the scouts were bathing.

“Scoot for it, Hugh!” barked Billy, often called “Billy the Wolf” by his chums. “I reckon what we were just talking about has happened. I heard someone shriek that Tremaine was drowning! I’m at your heels, Hugh, all right!”

CHAPTER II.
A CLOSE CALL IN THE RAPIDS.

It took Hugh and Billy only a dozen seconds to clear the intervening ground to reach the scene, such was the speed with which they ran.

On reaching the bank of the river, Hugh saw that it was just as he had feared. Out in the midst of the boiling current, where the foam leaped and there were evidently dangerous rapids of some sort, a boy was struggling madly. He had evidently been attempting to swim across that dangerous place when attacked by cramps; either that or else he had been thrown against a concealed rock and struck his head so as to become staggered and frightened.

Billy Worth may have wondered why Hugh led him to the river below where the outcries arose, instead of heading directly toward them; but he now realized the wisdom of the move.

As usual, Hugh had grasped the situation and understood that there would be an advantage in reaching the river bank below the scene of the accident, rather than further up the current. It was always this way with the scout master; and many of his successes were due to his ability to do the right thing in the start.

As he ran, Hugh had thrown off his hat, and even unfastened his flannel shirt, for he had a premonition that it might be necessary for him to plunge into the river. Now he tore off his shoes, and his trousers followed suit; all this taking but a very few seconds of time.

All of the other scouts had not been paralyzed with fright, for Ralph Kenyon, Bud Morgan and Alec Sands were even then splashing through the shallow water close to the shore, and evidently trying to make their way below the spot where the boy was struggling with the current.

Hugh shouted to them even as he sprang into the water:

“Keep on going down, and make a chain out as far as you can, everybody! Billy, you follow me!”

Billy had been just as rapid in disposing of his clothes as Hugh, so that he was close at the other’s heels when the scout master hurried into the stream.

It grew deeper as Hugh pushed on. Presently he was compelled to swim, and that was where his knowledge of aquatic sports served him well. His sturdy strokes allowed him to buffet the waves of the rapids; while his quick eye figured the course he must take in order to keep below the drowning boy.

Hugh realized that there was every probability that the struggles of the tenderfoot would cease before he could reach him. That was the main reason why he wanted to be where he might intercept the helpless form of Tremaine when it was borne along with the current.

He shouted encouraging words when he could do so without having his mouth filled with the foamy water. It is doubtful whether the imperiled scout heard these cries. At least he was too far exhausted to keep up the struggle long enough for Hugh to reach his side.

“Oh, he’s sunk, Hugh!” came a shout behind the leader of the Wolf Patrol.

Hugh knew this without being told. He had figured it all out, and understood just when the helpless figure would reach him. In imagination he was following its rapid progress with his eye; and with such precision that, sure enough, he was enabled to seize hold of the boy.

Then came a desperate struggle, for it was difficult to keep his clutch on the slippery form of the helpless lad and at the same time buffet the current of the worst place in the rapids.

Fortunately, indeed, for them both, Billy Worth was close at hand to lend his aid. Billy was a stout swimmer, and between them they managed to keep Tremaine’s head out of the water as they allowed the current to carry them down.

Presently they had arrived at a stretch where the river broadened out somewhat, and here Alec Sands and the others had stretched themselves in a human chain with the leader of the Otters as the outermost link.

Once upon a time Alec Sands had been a bitter rival of Hugh, and had even done numerous mean things in order to overreach the latter; but since then Alec had learned to esteem his former enemy because of his manly nature, and nowadays they were the best of friends.

It was meet that Alec’s should be the hand to obtain a grip on Hugh and begin to tow the two swimmers ashore, bearing their limp burden between them.

“Oh, is he dead, Hugh, and is our summer outing going to be broken up right in the very start?” cried Tom Sherwood, who had run down from the camp by this time and was waiting for them on the shore.

“I hope it isn’t as bad as that,” replied Hugh. “Carry him up on the bank, so we can get busy. He wasn’t under the water long, and I expect he will soon be all to the good. I think he must have struck his head on a sunken rock, and that made him dizzy. Then he became frightened, and when a swimmer gets in a panic, it’s going to be a bad lookout for him.”

They laid young Tremaine down on his stomach, with his head raised a little. Hugh placed himself over him, with his knees planted against the ribs of the unconscious boy. He commenced pressing downward regularly with both hands, pumping just as one might breathe. This was to force the water and air out of the lungs, and allow them to fill again with oxygen. It took the part of natural respiration.

Meanwhile the others were all doing something to assist in the work of restoration. Alec vigorously rubbed one of Tremaine’s legs to induce a warmth and get the blood circulating. Another was holding the boy’s head in such a way that his tongue might not slip back.

Fortunately, the time of Tremaine’s immersion had not been of long duration; and under these vigorous efforts of the energetic life-savers, he soon opened his eyes.

Shortly afterward he was able to sit up, though he still felt weak. Everyone experienced a great sensation of relief. The sudden black cloud that had fallen on the new camp had drifted away, thanks to their intimate knowledge of what was required in a case of near-drowning.

There is not a summer passes but that the precious lives of scores of boys are imperiled when in swimming; and since the scout movement took root in this country, the records show that in innumerable instances fatal results have been avoided simply through the knowledge that membership in that organization entails on all who expect to attain the rank of second or first-class scout.

Tremaine admitted that he had been very unwise to undertake that passage of the rushing rapids. He seemed humble enough, and thankful that he had such loyal and dependable comrades near at hand.

“I’ve always boasted about my swimming,” he contritely explained to Hugh, after the scout master had gently taken him to task for his recklessness, “and I think I could have made the crossing all right only for that wave dashing me against a sunken rock. It clipped me on the side of the head, and made me feel sick. After that I guess I got scared and near frantic, for I felt that I was in danger of being drowned out there in all that foam and swirling waters. But I’ve had a lesson, Hugh, and I promise you after this ‘I’ll look before I leap.’”

“A good motto for every scout to keep in mind,” remarked Alec Sands, who was hovering near, since he had taken quite a liking for the new boy. “I used to be just as quick on the trigger as you, Harold; and let me tell you it got me into no end of scrapes. I’m beginning to see things differently now; and a heap of that is due to my knowing Hugh Hardin better.”

If Hugh heard these last words as he hurried away to hunt up the several parts of his clothes, they must have given him considerable satisfaction. Making a friend out of a bitter enemy was always a favorite diversion of the young scout master; and nothing he ever did gave him more deep-seated pleasure than the conversion of Alec Sands.

Tremaine was soon able to get on his feet and dress. He said his head hurt somewhat where he had struck it on the rock, and he felt a bit weak, but expected he would be all right by another day.

Hugh dressed the bruise with some soothing salve he carried in his medicine kit, and the value of which he had tested on more than one occasion in the past.

The afternoon was wearing away by now. Some of the boys had made little journeys around the neighborhood so as to get an idea of what their surroundings were like. They had been warned not to go far toward the southwest; and if they chanced to run across any foreigners not to do anything to annoy them, since they were very excitable.

Hugh had seen fit, at lunch time, to tell what little he knew concerning the upheaval at the cement works, and the chances of trouble coming about between the striking workmen and the guards imported by the company to defend their property as well as protect any new laborers who might be smuggled in to take the places left vacant by those who had gone out.

“I hope that isn’t going to be the beginning of a rush of trouble for us in our new camp, Hugh,” remarked Billy Worth as he came over and dropped down alongside the scout master in the shade of a tree.

“Whether it is or not, Billy, we’ve got a lot to be thankful for; and if all our mix-ups turn out as well, we can call ourselves a lucky bunch. Perhaps it’s a good thing it happened, for every scout will be on the watch after this to curb his ambition, and not be reckless. A warning in the beginning is often the best of happenings when a lot of lively boys start out camping.”

“That Tremaine had a close call, all the same, Hugh. I rather liked the way he owned up to being foolish. The fellow must have good stuff in him for all he’s so flighty.”

“Sheer nervousness, Billy, and it’ll wear off after he’s been outdoors more. He told me this was the first time he has ever camped, though he’s gone swimming and fishing and all those sorts of things in the place he came from. But they hadn’t cared to start a scout troop among the boys, because some of the leading people thought it was a military movement, and they didn’t want their sons to grow up with the idea in their heads that some day they would have to fight, and kill other people’s boys.”

“How foolish they are to think that way,” said Billy, indignantly, “when the Boy Scout movement is founded on just the opposite plan in this country. Their mission is to save life, not take it. They try to carry this out in dozens of different ways. Why, even we can point with pride to our record in that line. Think only this last spring when we got caught in that flood up at Lawrence what chances we found to do things for other people who were in terrible trouble. But what are you staring at, Hugh?”

“I’m wondering what that man who looks like a farmer wants here,” replied the scout master. “He’s left the road, and is heading for our camp as fast as he can come.”

Billy Worth immediately began to take notice.

“Just what he is, Hugh,” he remarked, with a trace of excitement in his voice; “and seems to me I can scent some new trouble in the air. Gee whiz! Listen to how he cracks that blacksnake whip of his, would you? And look at his face, how ugly it seems. He’s whopping mad over something or other, Hugh; and there, he’s asking Arthur Cameron a question, because Arthur is pointing this way. The boys have got on, for there they start to tag after him. Mebbe it’s his river and our fellows had no right to go in swimming there without asking his permission; or else we’re camping on his ground here. Anyhow, we’ll soon know what’s up, for here he starts this way!”

CHAPTER III.
RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL.

“He had better not try to use that nasty looking whip around here, that’s all I want to say,” remarked Bud Morgan, who had joined Hugh and Billy.

“Don’t talk quite so loud, Bud,” warned the leader of the Wolf Patrol, who saw no reason why they should add fuel to the fire that seemed to be raging in the heart of the countryman.

The farmer was a typical Yankee in looks, and in a city he would be termed a “hayseed” by the boys; but Hugh knew very well that such a man might be a well-to-do owner of much property, and respected in the community where he lived. In the country it is not always a wise thing to judge a man’s standing by the appearance of his overalls and jumper.

“They tell me yeou be the feller in charge o’ this outfit, mister,” was the way he greeted Hugh as he arrived on the spot.

“Well,” said the boy, “we have a gentleman by the name of Lieutenant Denmead who is the real scout master of the Oakvale Troop, but he was called home by the sickness of his mother, and I am serving in his place. What can I do for you, sir?”

Hugh said this with one of his winning smiles, but the old farmer evidently felt in no humor to let himself be moved by such influences.

“I’m comin’ here tew enter a complaint,” he started to say; “and I want it understood that we farmers ain’t agoin’ tew stand for any sech pranks. Where yeou came from they c’n excuse boys’ keerlessness, but we call it by another name up here. It’s agin the law tew trespass on a man’s property where there’s signs warnin’ people off; an’ when boys adds tew that by leavin’ the bars o’ a pasture daown so the cattle c’n wander away, they’re takin’ right big chances o’ landin’ in the taown lockup.”

There were some contemptuous snorts heard as the boys gathered around. Apparently they did not take to the old farmer’s accusation very kindly. Hugh knew them well enough to believe that there must be some mistake; for scouts are as a rule too well trained with regard to the rights of others to offend heedlessly in that manner.

“Did someone leave the bars of your pasture down, then?” he asked the farmer.

“Jest what I said, and naow I got the job o’ huntin’ all over creation tew find my keows and that ’ere prize Holstein bull that’s wuth a thousand dollars. I’m givin’ yeou fellers plain warnin’ that this thing ain’t tew be tolerated any more.”

“Let’s look into this a little closer, Mr.—Mr.——” said Hugh.

“Stebbins is my name, Uriah Stebbins, and I owns three farms araound this section,” the other hastened to remark when Hugh paused.

“And my name is Hugh Hardin, Mr. Stebbins,” continued the scout master, still looking pleasant, without appearing to smile too broadly; for he realized that the angular old farmer might be sensitive and easily believe he was being made an object of ridicule.

“All right, and I want tew say right naow that I doan’t b’lieve yeou done the trick, but haow ’baout some o’ the rest o’ the boys?”

“I’d be very much surprised, Mr. Stebbins,” Hugh assured him, “if it turned out that any of these scouts were guilty. They’re taught differently in the organization to which we all belong. Scouts like fun as much as any boys, but they try to have it without being mean, or injuring others. Now, can you tell me when the bars of your pasture were let down?”

“Sence high noon,” came the reply. “I know ’cause I was aout there ’raound that time, an’ everything was as it ought tew be. When I kim by jest naow I seen every bar tuk daown an’ the cattle air missin’.”

Hugh turned to the scouts, now clustered around the spot.

“Who has been off since lunch time?” he asked quietly.

“I was for one!” came from Arthur Cameron without hesitation; and Hugh fancied he saw something in the face of the speaker that made him think Arthur could tell a story if questioned; though the expression did not savor of guilt.

“No one else?” continued the scout master, firmly.

As there was no answer it seemed settled that Arthur must be the only scout who had left the vicinity of the camp since the hour when they sat around having their midday meal.

“Do you know anything about this matter, Arthur?” asked Hugh; while the farmer fixed his small, piercing eyes on the eager, flushed face of the scout as though he would bore him through, and read in advance what he was expecting to reply.

“I’m not so sure, but I think I do,” Arthur started to say. “You see, I came in only a short time ago, and meant to tell the queer thing I’d seen, but somehow it slipped my mind. That’s why I haven’t spoken of it up to now.”

“What do you mean by calling it a queer thing?” questioned Hugh, while all of the others pressed in closer so that they might not lose a single syllable.

“I’ll tell you, Hugh. I started out to mosey around a bit, not meaning to go so very far away. You know I’m getting to enjoy searching for the tracks of small animals more and more, and keep a record of everything I see connected with the trail of a rabbit or a fox or a ’coon.”

“Yes, we know all that, Arthur, so get down to business, please,” said Hugh.

“I was just coming out of some woods into a side road when I heard loud voices, and noticed three foreign-looking men passing through a pasture where there was a bunch of cattle feeding. All at once they called out in alarm, and I saw that one of the cattle, a Holstein bull marked black with a white band about its body, was making headlong after the men, who were running like mad for the fence.”

“Wow! Lucky Arthur to be the one to have such a free show!” Billy Worth was heard to say, half under his breath.

“They managed to just get over the fence and no more,” continued the narrator; “in fact, I’m not quite sure but what that bull helped the last man over, for there was a lot of angry talk afterward when the men were brushing themselves off. I wanted to laugh out loud the worst kind, but they looked so black, and I’ve heard these dagoes always carry knives with them, so I thought I would show my good sense in bobbing back into the woods and continuing my hunt for tracks in another direction.”

“You didn’t see anything more of the three foreign-looking men then, Arthur?” queried the scout master.

“Not a thing,” came the ready reply, with a frankness that could not be mistaken; “for I was soon taken up with a discovery I made, and trying to make head or tail of some curious tracks I ran across. When I thought to come back to the camp I was a little twisted in my bearings; but by making use of my limited knowledge of woodcraft I finally managed to get in all right.”

Hugh turned to the farmer, who had listened intently all this while.

“You heard what this scout said, Mr. Stebbins?” Hugh began. “I want you to know that no one ever questions the word of Arthur Cameron. It looks to me as if those three unknown men, possibly from the foreign settlement over at the cement works, lowered the bars of your fence just in revenge for the scare they got when your prize bull chased them.”

The farmer must have been impressed with the sincerity of these boys. Perhaps, as a rule, he had little use for growing lads, and his experience with such on his farm may not have prejudiced him in their favor; but Arthur’s story was so simple, and the explanation so convincing that he nodded his head slowly as if inclined to take back his former angry charge.

“Wall, naow, mebbe that is what happened,” he said reflectively. “Nero has got a rousin’ temper, an’ he ain’t agoin’ tew let any strangers cross the pasture he’s feedin’ in. I guess naow he mout a run them Eyetalians over the fence; an’ they’d be jest mean enough tew let daown the bars. But haow in creation am I agoin’ tew get on the track o’ my cattle?”

Hugh smiled now.

“Nothing easier, Mr. Stebbins,” he told the puzzled farmer, “if you choose to let us help you. As scouts, we would like nothing better than to find your herd for you; and while you may not know it, that sort of work is one of the things we’ve been trained in—following a trail.”

“By jinks! I really b’lieve yeou mean it!” exclaimed the pleased farmer, a grim smile flitting across his gaunt weatherbeaten face, as he looked around at the eager countenances of that dozen khaki-clad boys.

“You’ve been unjust to accuse us without any evidence except our happening to be camped near your farm, Mr. Stebbins,” said Hugh, meaning that the other should have something to reflect on afterward, “but we will let that pass. We’d like you to know boys better than it seems you do. And if you say the word, I’ll pick out several of the best trackers here to go with you to the pasture and follow your herd.”

“Wish yeou would, er—Mr. Hardy,” said the farmer, eagerly.

“Hardin is the name, sir, or plain Hugh. All right, we’ll start with you now,” and the scout master turned to glance around him at the eager faces of his chums.

Every fellow fairly held his breath in anticipation and suspense, hoping that he might be fortunate enough to be selected among those who were to take part in this little adventure.

“Alec, you for one; then Arthur, as you’ve had a hand in the game already, and are making a hobby of tracking, you can be the second. The other two are Billy Worth and Ralph Kenyon.”

The rest of the boys looked downcast, for they were in just the humor to welcome some diversion of this sort. However, they had been too well trained to give voice to their feelings of disappointment.

Hugh and the farmer hurried away, with the others tagging close at their heels. Reaching the road, which was not far from the camp on the river bank, they presently turned into a smaller thoroughfare, and in the end came to where there lay a dense wood on one side with a wide pasture on the other.

The bars of the fence lay on the ground. It was the easiest thing in the world for the scouts, because of their training, to see that someone had taken the pains to toss every bar aside as it was drawn from its sockets; and this would dispose of any suspicion that the cattle had broken the barrier down.

“Here’s the way they started off, you can see, Mr. Stebbins,” said Hugh, as he pointed to the plain impression of many split hoofs in the road, and which led in an opposite direction to the one they had come from.

It was no trouble at all to follow that broad trail; why, Billy Worth declared that even the greenhorn, Harold Tremaine, might have done it with only a few hitches.

“There’s one thing we want to remember, fellows,” remarked Arthur Cameron, after they had been moving along for some little time, and apparently getting closer to where the cattle would be found.

“What’s that?” demanded Alec Sands.

“You remember the old cry they say folks used at the time of the Spanish war: ‘Remember the Maine!’ Well, we want to ‘remember the bull!’”

“I should say we do,” admitted Bud Morgan. “For one I’ve had the delightful experience of being tossed by a bull, when I was a kid. I landed in a tree, and held on like fun, so I wasn’t hurt very much. But I’ll never forget how that old critter pawed the ground and tossed the dust up with his wicked short horns; and how I suffered all sorts of tortures for a whole hour, till my father heard the racket and came to the rescue.”

“And if you’d seen how Nero chased after those foreigners, you’d never hanker after making his acquaintance at close quarters, let me tell you,” remarked Arthur; while the farmer chuckled as though he thought he should be proud to own such a progressive animal.

All this while the cattle seemed to have been moving along the country road, no doubt stopping now and then to nibble at some particularly tempting bunch of green grass; but making steady progress nevertheless.

“Well, here’s where they turned aside and entered the woods, you can see, sir!” Hugh presently said, pointing to the marks at his feet, which seemed to change their course.

A minute later and the trackers were passing through the forest. Each boy tried to follow a different trail as much as possible. This was done at Hugh’s suggestion, for it gave them the advantage that if one series of tracks became faint and difficult to see some of the others would be plain enough to be easily followed.

“We’re pulling up on them fast now!” Arthur Cameron declared. “Why, I just saw a little weed that had been pressed down by a hoof right itself. That means the animal can’t be far ahead of us.”

“Here’s another pointer,” remarked Alec Sands. “Where this cow is walking there’s considerable moisture in the ground, and some of the tracks are partly filled with water. It’s oozing in still, and will fill them up inside of five minutes. Judging from that I’d say this cow passed along here not more than five minutes ago.”

“Likely enough we may find them just beyond that line of bushes ahead,” ventured Ralph Kenyon, who had once been quite a trapper, and knew the signs of the woods better than any fellow in the whole Oakvale Troop.

“Wait a minute,” said Hugh, impressively, and then turning to Billy and Alec he added: “I’d advise both of you to pocket the red bandanas you’ve got knotted around your necks cowboy style. A bull will charge anything red, as Mr. Stebbins here will tell you.”

“That’s right,” agreed Bud Morgan, who believed he knew considerable about the habits of bulls in general, especially their “lifting” powers.

“And another thing,” continued Hugh, striking while the iron was hot, “it’s no disgrace for a scout to shin up a convenient tree if an angry bull charges at him. You want to remember that, all of you. ‘An ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure,’ isn’t it, Bud?”

“Well,” replied the other, with a whimsical shrug, “you just watch my smoke if ever he really starts for me, that’s all.”

CHAPTER IV.
TURNING BACK THE CLOCK OF TIME.

“Here they are!” cried Arthur Cameron, triumphantly, because it pleased him to be the first one to discover the runaway herd.

“All there, Mr. Stebbins?” asked Hugh, as the little party stood and looked at the feeding cattle.

“Seven keows, and Nero—that’s the full caount, Mr. Hardy; and naow if so be yeou boys’d gimme a lift agettin’ the same back, I would like it fust rate.”

“That’s what we expect to do, sir,” Hugh assured him. “You’ll have to take the lead. They know you, and will be more apt to mind when they hear you shout at them. Besides, the bull isn’t so apt to charge when he knows his master is along.”

“Wall, I doan’t trust Nero too far, yeou understand,” the farmer shrewdly remarked. “Bulls is queer critters and mighty sly. But so long as the herd keeps alongside him I kinder guess as haow we won’t have much trouble.”

It turned out that way. They passed around so as to head the animals off, and then a gentle pressure was exerted to start them along the back trail. Doubtless the cows understood that they were expected to return to their corral, for they showed little inclination to balk or act contrary.

Several times Nero was noticed turning to observe the advancing line of herders with more or less disapproval. It was laughable to notice how every scout edged toward some convenient tree, or looked anxiously toward a fence when on the road, as though mentally calculating how speedily he could make a safe exit from the scene in case of sudden necessity.

On the whole, however, Nero acted decently, for he kept moving on steadily; and in the end the herd was safely placed behind the bars.

“As slick a little job as you’d like to see!” remarked Billy Worth, when the last bar had been put in place.

“And as easy as anything we ever tackled,” added Alec Sands; “but it’s just as well. If those foreigners are going to roam around this part of the country much more, you’ll have to nail up your gates, Mr. Stebbins. Yes, and watch your crops a bit, too, because when their money gives out, they’ll be apt to forage on the farmers for a living, as they have families to feed.”

The farmer looked serious.

“I never did take any tew them foreigners,” he remarked, bitterly. “Years back I had some hired help that came from acrost the water, and they gimme a rough deal. I couldn’t understand them critters nohaow, an’ I had tew let ’em go. As luck would have it one o’ my barns burned daown the next night, which I allowed was some queer. And yeou couldn’t git me tew hire one naow if I hed tew quit raisin’ crops.”

“Well, we’ll start back to our camp, Mr. Stebbins,” said Hugh, offering his hand to the other. “I’m glad you came to see us, and if you have time, drop in some night and listen to the boys sing some of their school songs.”

“I will, by jinks!” declared the farmer, taking the extended hand in his own calloused palm. “I uster be summat o’ a singer myself in the old days when I was acourtin’ Sally Jane. I’d jest like tew hear if boys air improved any sense them times.”

“They haven’t changed much, you’ll find, sir,” Hugh told him, “though the songs have, and none for the better, either, because in my mind there’s nothing like those old tunes, so full of harmony. But drop around and see us, to-night or any night. We hope to be here a week or ten days longer.”

Mr. Stebbins went around and shook hands with every one of the four boys. He was rather a different looking Mr. Stebbins from the angry-browed farmer with a grievance who strode into their camp earlier in the afternoon. And somehow the influence of these healthy boys had seemed to make him more human.

After he had gone, turning to wave to them ere he passed around the bend to follow the lane leading up to his own farmhouse, the scouts started in the direction of the camp.

When they arrived they were met with a multitude of questions from those who had not been so fortunate as to go on the tracking expedition. The story was soon told, for there was not much to it; still, it seemed to most of them that this coming of the angry farmer was a good beginning to their outing.

“Our first day in camp,” remarked Billy Worth, as he assisted in getting supper ready, “and already we’ve had two adventures. The signs look good for a real lively time of it up here, seems to me.”

Others were thinking along similar lines. Indeed, it did seem as though the members of the Wolf Patrol always did manage to be on hand when anything worth while was taking place. At least it had been their good luck to be connected with quite a number of lively episodes worth keeping a record of.

When a party of fun-loving boys have gone into camp there is always more or less humor abounding. High spirits are the rule, and everything is taken in the light of a joke.

As they sat around and discussed that evening meal, with the three dun-colored tents lending an air of business to the scene, as viewed in the light of the crackling campfire, the utmost hilarity ruled the hour.

The camp cooks had done their work with credit, and were loudly praised; though possibly there was a method in this flattery, since hopes were entertained that it might induce the officiating cooks to keep on trying to excel one another.

Just about the time they had finished everything in sight in the way of cooked food, and Bud Morgan was trying to squeeze one of the two coffeepots in the hope of extracting a few more drops of the beloved amber fluid, Harold Tremaine, who chanced to be on his feet at the time, sang out:

“Visitors coming, fellows! No, there’s only one, it seems, and I declare if it isn’t our friend the farmer!”

“And he’s got some sort of basket along with him, too!” ejaculated Billy Worth, unconsciously rubbing the pit of his stomach in anticipation; for if the truth must be told, Billy was very fond of eating, and his first thought seemed to be that possibly the grateful farmer might be going to donate something worth while to their stock of edibles.

“Glad to see you, Mr. Stebbins!” called out Hugh. “Move along there, fellows, and make room for our visitor on that log. I invited him to drop in and see us any time he found the chance, and that we would let him hear some of our songs. Mr. Stebbins used to be something of a singer himself long ago; so we’ll expect you to do your level best for Oakvale High.”

“I fotched yeou over a few dozen o’ fresh aigs,” exclaimed the farmer. “’Tain’t much after haow yeou helped me so fine tew git my herd back this arternoon; but the missus she thought as yeou mout enjy knowin’ they was all laid sense yist’day.”

“That’s splendid of you, Mr. Stebbins,” Hugh told him as he saw the clean eggs in the basket, snuggled in some hay; “and if only you’d take pay for them——”

“Stop right there, Mr. Hardy,” interrupted the other, raising his hand in expostulation, “we hain’t a-sellin’ them aigs, remember. They’s a free-will offerin’ from the Stebbins, and I want tew say I’m right glad I had a chanct tew meet up with yeou to-day. I kinder looks on boys a bit different, and I guess they’s some truth in what I heard ’baout this scout business amakin’ ’em act like they never used tew do ten years back.”

“Then thank your good wife for the Boy Scouts of Oakvale Troop, will you, Mr. Stebbins?” said Hugh. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy eating such fine eggs. We brought a few with us, but even now they’re nearly all gone.”

“Mebbe if so be them Eyetalian strikers doan’t wring the necks o’ my dominick fowls some night, when they’re aprowlin’ araound lookin’ for food, they might be more o’ the same kind acomin’ this way from my coops.”

Apparently Mr. Stebbins had been impressed by the behavior and cordial ways of the scouts more than any of them had suspected. Here he was opening his heart to them in a way that would have amazed those of his neighbors who had known him all his life as perhaps a close-fisted tiller of the soil. Hugh hugged to his heart the conviction that it paid to make a friend out of one who seemed inclined to be an enemy.

Mr. Stebbins sat down there in front of the glowing fire and listened to the lively talk that was going on. Occasionally he joined in, usually to mention some episode of his past which came up in his mind under the peculiar conditions surrounding him.

Mr. Stebbins must have been asking himself more than once whether he could be awake or simply dreaming all these things. If friends had told the crusty, grubbing old farmer a week before that he would presently be found actually wasting precious time sitting on a log by a blazing campfire, and enjoying himself to the limit listening to a pack of boys chatter and sing, he would have informed them that they were crazy.

When Hugh started the crowd singing the farmer seemed to be quivering all over with delight. Old half-forgotten memories must have awakened in his brain. Once again, perhaps, he was taking a pretty red-cheeked lass to “singin’ skewl,” and he might be even stealing a kiss on the road in the bargain.

He even joined in some of the choruses, and while there could be no doubt with regard to his good intentions, it was also a patent fact that, in the long years since Mr. Stebbins had sung, his voice had become wofully cracked. But then the boys cared nothing for that. It tickled them to see him clapping his hands to keep time with the music, and to notice how his wrinkled face fairly beamed with awakened satisfaction.

That had certainly been a day to be marked with a red cross in the life history of Uriah Stebbins; and it might be set down as certain that from that time on he would try to get closer to the hearts of boys than he had ever thought of doing before.

He could hardly tear himself away when the hour began to get late, that is, for a hard-working farmer who was at work at peep of dawn, often long before.

“I’m sure coming daown again tew see yeou, boys,” he said, as he went the rounds and squeezed a hand of every scout; “and mebbe if it’s all right I’d like tew fotch my Sally Jane along. I kinder think it would make the missus feel ten years younger if so be she could hear some o’ that fine singin’. Haow ’baout that, Mr. Hardy?”

“We’d be only too pleased to have you bring her any time, sir. And let me tell you, all of us have enjoyed this evening almost as much as you did; isn’t that so, boys?” and Hugh turned expectantly to the rest as he said this.

A chorus of approval answered him, and the old farmer went away in high spirits indeed; they even thought he stood up straighter, and walked with a more springy step than before.

“Of course we mean what we said,” observed Alec Sands after the old man had vanished from sight; “but at the same time that insures us a supply of dandy fresh eggs all the time we stay here. So things work out well for us, it seems.”

“Oh! don’t be so mercenary about it, Alec,” remonstrated Billy. “Why, it was worth a lot to me just to see what a remarkable change has come over Uriah. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to learn the newest songs, or even how to dance the tango with his wife if this new spirit keeps on growing.”

They continued to sit there for quite some time—it seemed so cozy by the fire.

Hugh was just thinking of saying that they had better be crawling inside their tents and trying to get some sleep, when he noticed Ralph Kenyon trying to attract his attention. Leaning forward, Ralph went on to say in a low tone:

“Don’t anybody look just yet; but there’s a man watching us in those bushes back of you, Hugh.”

CHAPTER V.
SIGNS OF BROODING TROUBLE.

Thanks to the fact that all of them heard the warning uttered by Ralph, no one was so incautious as to suddenly turn and stare toward the bushes mentioned by the chum who had given the alarm.

“Keep on talking as if nothing had happened,” advised Hugh. “By degrees all of us can take a peep.”

Perhaps even then he was half inclined to believe Ralph must have made a mistake and only imagined he saw a face. A minute later and the scout master realized that undoubtedly there was a man concealed back of the bushes, for his face was raised in plain view, only to again vanish back of the covert.

“Looked like one of those foreigners for a fact, Hugh,” muttered Arthur Cameron.

“You mean the three who were chased by the bull, don’t you?” asked the other.

“Just what I do,” replied Arthur, positively.

“It’s a dark face, and might belong to an Italian or a Hungarian, such as they say most of those strikers are,” continued Hugh.

“He may have been looking for a chance to pick up something worth eating.”

“They say grub is getting short in their camp,” suggested Alec Sands.

“And seeing the light of our fire, he came this way to spy on us,” added Billy Worth.

“Well, he looked surprised, and half scared, to me,” observed Bud Morgan. “It’s easy to understand why. You know, over in their country, the only authority they recognize is that of uniforms. Police officers or army men they bend the knee to. So, seeing a dozen stout chaps all in khaki uniforms seated here, I guess that dago is laboring under the idea that in some way we’re connected with the U. S. Army.”

Hugh looked uneasy.

“I hope he isn’t going to carry that impression back with him to his mates, then,” he argued, “because they would think the soldiers were hiding up here, waiting to shoot them down if any rioting began. And we might have a hundred wild strikers breaking in on the quiet of our little camp when we least expect visitors.”

“They’re an awful unreasonable lot, too,” added Harold Tremaine. “You can’t make ’em understand what you mean: and they’ve got ugly, hot tempers in the bargain.”

“There, Hugh, he’s crawling off now!” said Ralph.

“A good riddance of bad rubbish!” declared Arthur Cameron. “The less we have to do with these queer foreigners, the better for us all.”

When he said that Arthur little suspected what strange happenings there were destined to come their way ere long, and also what surprises they would be thrown in contact with, even to a close association with the very foreigners he was, in his ignorance, speaking of so bitterly.

“I hope he’s gone for good, that’s all!” was what Hugh said.

When they got to talking it all over a little later, it seemed to be the consensus of opinion that they should do something to guard the camp. While there might not be the slightest chance of any peril descending upon them as they slept, at the same time the motto of all scouts is “Be Prepared,” and Hugh as well as some of the others did not believe it was sensible to wait until “the horse was stolen before locking the stable door.”

All sorts of familiar maxims were brought out and paraded in order to bolster up this idea, and finally Hugh paired his followers off. Two of them were assigned to keep watch the first hour, with instructions to arouse Hugh at the least suspicious discovery.

In turn these sentries were to arouse the next pair, and so, in regular routine, all the inmates of the camp without exception would do their share of work between that time and the coming of welcome dawn.

Nor was that all. Since they had no firearms in camp, Hugh made them arm themselves with staves or cudgels, so that in case of necessity they might have some means of defense should the camp be invaded.

Some of the more timid doubtless looked around at the black woods and may have peopled those shadows with the lurking figures of many excitable strikers. These might be eager to see for themselves the “soldiers” that one of their number reported as having gone into camp not more than two miles from the threatened cement works upon which the strike had been declared.

There was not a great deal of sleeping done that first night in camp. There seldom is, but on this particular occasion the boys had additional reason to be wakeful as they lay there under their blankets, and with the dun-colored waterproof canvas above them moving from time to time in the night breeze.

The frequent change of guards for one thing kept them from sound sleep. Then the fellows who were on duty persisted in walking about more or less; or else they talked in low but distinctly heard tones as they threw additional fuel on the fire.

Once Billy Worth managed to arouse the whole camp when out of his tent he came crawling forth, sniffing the air vigorously, and asking if that was breakfast getting ready he scented.

He was informed it was only an hour after midnight, and that he must have dreamed he smelled coffee; after which they chased him back to his blanket.

Well, dawn came finally, and it found the camp of the scouts undisturbed, for which all of them doubtless felt duly grateful. There was Bud Morgan, however, so fond of excitement that he never met with enough, heard to lament the fact that after all their fine preparations, and the waste of time that might have been put in napping, “nothing had happened after all.”

As they ate their breakfast of fried ham and eggs, the latter the gift of their grateful farmer friend, the scouts planned all sorts of diversions for that particular day. One wanted to do this thing, and another had his favorite scheme on his mind, which he was only waiting for a chance to try out.

Hugh always tried to suit the caprice of the boys when arranging plans for the day. It was most unwise to stick a round peg in a square hole, he figured. The fellow who was making a hobby of learning all about animal tracks and habits would be wasting his time with a camera trying to snap off scenery; or making a bungle of tying up the broken wing of an injured crow he had managed to catch.

“Every one to his taste,” was Hugh’s motto; and by adhering to this plan whenever practicable he managed not only to satisfy the boys but accomplish much better results than if he had persisted in crossing their wishes.

As for himself, Hugh had so many “hobbies” that he was ready and willing to join any group in carrying out their plans, for it was likely that in so doing he would be pleasing himself in the bargain.

All arrangements had been made for sharing the onerous duties of cook. Some of the boys were so much better at this than others, that an agreement was effected whereby those who did more than their share in preparing the meals, should escape wood-chopping and such hard labor.

Needless to say, Billy Worth gladly took upon his shoulders the task of relieving two other fellows at this cooking game; for he loved to be where he could make sure that there would be enough of a supply for everybody, because Billy hated a short allowance above all things. Then again it gave him something of a lofty position, since the cook was the “king of the camp” while at his labors.

He had set his scullions to work cleaning up the breakfast things, and was feeling quite important, Hugh noticed, as he bustled about, having donned the round little white cap that had been brought along in a spirit of humor to distinguish the Great Mogul who would be the officer of the day.

None of them had, however, started out on their several errands when Ralph Kenyon was seen to step up on a log, and shading his eyes with a hand, look earnestly off in a direction that might be called “up” the road.

“What did you think you saw, Ralph?” asked Billy, noticing the other. “I hope it turns out to be our friend the egg-man coming with a fresh supply.”

“Hugh, come here and take a look,” said Ralph, in a strained voice; “there’s something queer about that crowd, seems to me!”

No sooner had Hugh looked than he turned to the rest.

“Keep quiet, and do nothing to attract attention,” he said. “Fortunately the fire has burned itself nearly out, so there’s little or no smoke rising, and the breeze is coming from them to us. We’d better let them go past without knowing we’re in camp here.”

His words of warning thrilled every scout, and there was immediately a general movement under way to find some chance to discover what it was that had excited the two who had been standing on the log.

As they looked over the tops of the screening bushes, they discovered moving figures up the road; and at the same time could be heard the scuffling sound of many feet not keeping time as soldiers would have done.

The boys stared as they saw several squads of men passing swiftly along. It appeared as though some of these parties seemed suspicious, perhaps half anticipating an attack from the neighboring woods. They were on the whole a tough-looking crowd, and seemed to be muscular workers, some natives, others of foreign birth.

Half a dozen heavily-armed men strode along with them. At sight of the repeating rifles they carried, Billy whispered to Hugh, close to whom he now stood:

“Who are they, Hugh? Can they be game wardens arresting poachers up here?”

“I reckon that they are strike-breakers, guarded by armed deputies,” Hugh replied.

CHAPTER VI.
EVERYBODY BUSY.

“That’s going to mean a pack of trouble, isn’t it, Hugh?” said Billy the Wolf, as he counted the men who were passing, and found that they numbered fully a score, with six armed guards who looked very grim and determined.

“Yes,” replied the scout master, reluctantly, “I’m afraid it does spell that, not only for the strikers’ families but to the company as well.”

“How’s that?” demanded Alec Sands, who had also pushed alongside so as to see better, and at the same time learn what the leader of the Wolf Patrol thought of the situation.

“Why,” replied Hugh, still speaking softly so that those on the road might not overhear the sound of his voice, “there never was a bitter strike yet when bullets flew but what the company involved suffered in the end. Public opinion is against the use of force. There must sooner or later be some way found to arbitrate all these labor troubles. Both sides would be better off if that could be done.”

They remained very quiet as the several detachments passed along the road. Perhaps it was fortunate that the presence of the boys was not suddenly discovered by those guards. They looked as though they might prove to be somewhat reckless in the use of the firearms they were carrying; and since they knew the striking foreigners were camped somewhere in this vicinity, they might have fired on the spur of the moment and investigated afterward.

“I wonder if that’s the whole bunch?” remarked Tom Sherwood, looking up the road as though under the impression that what they had seen was only the advance guard of an invading army.

“They’d be apt to keep as much together as they could,” said Hugh, “so as to be able to cow any demonstration the strikers might make; and on that score I reckon we’ve seen their full strength.”

“Wow! if those excitable foreigners find out that strike-breakers are being taken into the cement works by the back door, they’ll be hopping mad, let me tell you,” observed Billy Worth, seriously.

The situation reminded some of the scouts of that time they had accompanied the militia on their annual training trip, when a mock battle was fought, with the boys rendering invaluable service as part of the Signal Corps.

“Suppose the strikers and that crowd did happen to meet, Hugh; there’d likely be a pitched battle, wouldn’t you think?” asked Bud Morgan.

“The chances lean that way,” he was told. “I’ve heard a good deal about these impetuous foreigners. It seems that the women have more nerve than the men. That may be because they feel the pinch of hunger sooner, and see their children suffering. But they’ve always been known to push their men into a fight, yes, and even take part in the row themselves, with clubs, or any sort of thing they could handle.”

“Hugh, if something like that did come off while we were camped on the Hurricane what could we do?” demanded Arthur Cameron.

“Oh, it would be out of the question for scouts to take sides in any labor quarrel; we’d have to be strictly neutral!” the other hastened to tell him.

“Shucks! I don’t mean it that way, Hugh,” continued the other, eagerly. “Wouldn’t it be all right for us to try and help the under-dog in some way? Of course we couldn’t fight, or anything like that, but what’s to hinder us from trying to save the lives of any who might get hurt in the riot?”

Hugh looked decidedly interested.

“That’s a suggestion, Arthur, that does your heart credit,” he hastened to say with enthusiasm. “Certainly there could be no objection to our playing the part of the Good Samaritan to any of the strikers who happened to get wounded. That’s always in the province of scouts; the main part of our manual is taken up with the idea that it’s noble to stretch out a helping hand to those who are down.”

“There is likely to be no doctor near the foreign camps, I should say,” Arthur added, as if the idea was fast taking a firm grip of his mind, “and some of us have made a special study of treating wounds.”

Billy Worth also desired to be heard as favoring the cause of humanity.

“We always carry plenty of lint, bandages, liniment and salve along with us when we go into camp. There’s never any knowing when an accident might happen, with boys handling sharp axes recklessly, and cutting themselves with knives. Of course I hope nothing is going to happen between those two crowds; but if it does, I’m in favor of taking up Arthur’s idea.”

As it was apparent that there were no more strike-breakers coming along the road, at least just then, the boys presently began to pay attention to the various matters they had planned to carry out during this, the first full day in camp.

A couple of them had determined to try the fishing in the river, and as the first requisite toward success they started to find some angle-worms. This is an easy enough task around gardens and compost heaps at home; but off in the woods one has to depend for the main source of supply on grubs taken from decayed tree trunks, beetles, grasshoppers, if they are to be had, and all such things.

Under some of the rocks the boys discovered a few ugly looking dobsons or, as Bud called them, hellgamites. They had a black color, and were armed with a pair of powerful mandibles or “pincers” that had to be avoided unless one scorned the sharp snap they could give when angered.

After an hour or so of searching, enough bait of various kinds had been found to answer their purpose. Then Bud and Billy walked down the river a short distance until they came to a likely-looking place where a deep pool seemed to promise them good results.

They had been wise enough to bring jointed rods along, as well as a landing net, and all the paraphernalia needed for the work. Being experienced bass fishermen, the two scouts knew how to go about the job; and it was not long before they were enjoying the sport.

The Hurricane proved to have gamey bass in its slumbering pools, and the varied kind of bait which the fishermen offered was very tempting to their capricious appetites, for the boys inside of an hour had landed quite a number of fighters, all of which compensated Bud and Billy for their work in hunting for the bait.

Arthur Cameron had taken the tenderfoot under his wing. Harold Tremaine had discovered how much enjoyment the others seemed to get from their observation of things about them. He was earnestly desirous of emulating their example, and since above all other things he fancied he would best like being an expert at reading animal “signs,” Hugh had privately asked Arthur to get him interested in that line.

They spent the livelong morning in the woods, searching everywhere for tracks, and when finding them, trying to read a story in the marks as made by the shy little animals. Sometimes they came upon evidences of a tragedy, such as are constantly happening amidst these primitive circles, where existence on the part of one always means annihilation of another.

There was a creek that ran into the river a short distance above the camp, and it was here that Arthur and his friend spent most of their time. Along the banks, where it was narrow, they could easily find the tracks of numerous small animals.

Arthur, from his longer experience and study, was able to point out exactly what difference existed between the footprint of a mink and that of a ’coon.

“This one here,” he told Harold as the morning waned, and they were about returning to the camp for lunch, “bothers me. It doesn’t look like anything I ever happened to run across before. Ralph Kenyon would know, and if I can get him up here I’d like to see what he makes of it. Even if he won’t come we can describe it to him.”

“But what do you think it can be?” insisted Harold.

“Well, there’s a badger and a fisher cat, besides an otter,” replied Arthur, meditatively. “I know it isn’t made by a muskrat, because I’ve seen heaps of their tracks, and I showed you several.”

“We must tell Billy Worth about the big greenback frogs there are up here along the shores of this creek in places,” remarked Harold, as they started down the winding creek, so as to strike its junction with the river, as that would be the easiest way to keep from getting lost, something Harold seemed to dislike the very thought of.

“Why, yes, Billy was always wild over his favorite dish of frog legs,” Arthur admitted. “I’ve known him to spend half a day prowling about in a marsh and working like everything, only to fetch in a couple of measly little saddles that gave him just a few bites.”

“These fellows are whoppers up here,” the tenderfoot continued, “and he could get a dozen if only he made decent shots with that little Flobert rifle he carries with him. Now, I own up I don’t think I’d like frog legs for a meal. I never tasted any, but then I haven’t been much of a hand for eating oysters or clams, though I do like fish; and I hope the boys manage to catch a mess to-day.”

“I’m in the same boat with you, Harold,” agreed the second scout; “but if I get the chance, I’d like to try a taste. Hugh tells me they’re as fine as spring chicken. It seems cruel to kill frogs, but when you want them to eat what difference is it from stepping out in the barnyard and chopping the head off the old family pet of a rooster when the parson comes to dinner?”

Meanwhile the other boys had spent the fine summer morning in pursuits that appealed especially to them. Two of them roamed the neighborhood looking for birds of every description. They were deeply interested in classifying the various species found in New England during the season, with something of their habits as observed by amateur ornithologists.

This sort of thing entailed considerable work. It became necessary to do more or less running in order to make observations, consultations over the guide book that was carried along for reference, and climbing of trees when a nest was discovered; so that, taken all in all, the morning proved to be an exhausting one, even though enjoyable in the extreme.

Then there was another lot who had made a hobby of photography, and they were forever getting some of the others to pose; or else seeking what they termed wonderful views that might take the prize in a competition.

Hugh was interested in many things. He could have entered into each and every separate pursuit undertaken by the others—from fishing, animal tracking, bird lore, and even taking snapshot pictures; for at times he had pursued each and every one of these with his usual vim.

On this morning, however, Hugh was apparently hardly feeling in a humor to undertake any of these attractive things. He hung about the camp doing many little chores that were calculated to add to the attractiveness and comfort of the place during their term of occupation.