Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Angela Anderson and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net.
"WHO--WHO ARE--YOU?" PEE-WEE STAMMERED.]
PEE-WEE HARRIS ON THE TRAIL
BYPERCY KEESE FITZHUGH
_Author of_
THE TOM SLADE BOOKS, THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS THE PEE-WEE HARRIS BOOKS
ILLUSTRATED BYH. S BARBOUR
Published with the approval of THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA
GROSSET & DUNLAPPUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK
Made in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE LONE FIGURE 1 II A PATHETIC SIGHT 5 III THREE GOOD TURNS 9 IV THE FIVE REELER 15 V R-R-R-ROBBERS! 20 VI A MESSAGE IN THE DARK 24 VII LOCKED DOORS 28 VIII A DISCOVERY 32 IX THE TENTH CASE 36 X A RACE WITH DEATH 41 XI A RURAL PARADISE 45 XII ENTER THE GENUINE ARTICLE 48 XIII A FRIEND IN NEED 56 XIV SAVED! 61 XV IN CAMP 65 XVI FOOTPRINTS 74 XVII ACTION 80 XVIII THE MESSAGE 84 XIX PAGE TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-FOUR 88 XX STOP! 92 XXI SEEIN' THINGS 97 XXII HARK! THE CONQUERING HERO COMES 104 XXIII PETER FINDS A WAY 109 XXIV DESERTED 114 XXV BEDLAM 122 XXVI THE CULPRIT AT THE BAR 128 XXVII SOME NOISE 134 XXVIII ON THE TRAIL 138 XXIX VOICES 142 XXX FACE TO FACE 146 XXXI ALONE 154 XXXII ON TO BRIDGEBORO 159 XXXIII HARK! THE CONQUERING HERO COMES BACK 165 XXXIV PEE-WEE HOLDS FORTH 169 XXXV SCOUTMASTER NED DOESN'T SEE 174 XXXVI MORE HARDLING 180 XXXVII HINTS 185XXXVIII THE FIXER 192 XXXIX BETRAYED! 197 XL GUESS AGAIN 206
ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE
"WHO--WHO ARE--YOU?" PEE-WEE STAMMERED FrontispieceHANDWRITTEN NOTE 27"The road is closed," said Peter. 109PEE-WEE BEFORE THE JUSTICE OF THE PEACE. 130"WE'RE NOT MINERS, WE'RE SCOUTS!" PEE-WEE SHOUTED. 202
PEE-WEE HARRIS ON THE TRAIL
CHAPTER I
THE LONE FIGURE
The night was bleak and cold. All through the melancholy, cheerless day,the first chill of autumn had been in the air. Toward evening the cloudshad parted, showing a steel-colored sky in which the sun went down agreat red ball, tinting the foliage across the river with a glow ofcrimson. A sun full of rich light but no heat.
The air was heavy with the pungent fragrance of burning leaves. Thegutters along Main Street were full of these fluttering, red memorialsof the good old summer-time.
But there were other signs that the melancholy days had come. Down atthe Bridgeboro station was a congestion of trunks and other luggagebespeaking the end of the merry play season. And saddest of all, thewindows of the stationery stores were filled with pencil-boxes and blankbooks and other horrible reminders of the opening of school.
Look where one would, these signs confronted the boys of Bridgeboro, andthere was no escaping them. Even the hardware store had straps and tinlunch boxes now filling its windows, the same window where fishing rodsand canoe paddles had lately been displayed.
Even the man who kept the shoe store had turned traitor and gathered uphis display of sneaks and scout moccasins, and exhibited in their placesa lot of school shoes. "Sensible footwear for the student" he calledthem. Even the drug store where mosquito dope and ice cream sodas hadbeen sold now displayed a basket full of small sponges for the sanitarycleansing of slates. The faithless wretch who kept this store had put asmall sign on the basket reading, "For the classroom." One and all, themerchants of Main Street had gone over to the Board of Education and allsigns pointed to school.
But the most pathetic sight to be witnessed on that sad, chill, autumnnight, was the small boy in a threadbare gray sweater and shabby cap whostood gazing wistfully into the seductive windows of Pfiffel's HomeBakery. The sight of him standing there with his small nose plasteredagainst the glass, looking with silent yearning upon the jelly rolls andicing cakes, was enough to arouse pity in the coldest heart.
Only the rear of this poor, hungry little fellow could be seen from thestreet, and if his face was pale and gaunt from privation and want, thehurrying pedestrians on their cheerful way to the movies were sparedthat pathetic sight.
All they saw was a shabby cap and an ill-fitting sweater which bulged inback as if something were being carried in the rear pocket. And there hestood, a poor little figure, heedless of the merry throngs that passed,his wistful gaze fixed upon a four-story chocolate cake, a sort ofedible skyscraper, with a tiny dome of a glazed cherry upon the top ofit. And of all the surging throng on Main Street that bleak, autumnalnight, none noticed this poor fellow.
Yes, one. A lady sitting in a big blue automobile saw him. And herheart, tenderer than the jelly rolls in Pfiffel's window, went out tohim. Perhaps she had a little _boy_ of her own....
CHAPTER II
A PATHETIC SIGHT
We shall pay particular attention to this sumptuous automobile which wassuch as to attract attention in modest Bridgeboro. For one thing it wasof a rich shade of blue, whereas, the inhabitants of Bridgeboro being forthe most part dead, their favorite color in autos was black.
The car, indeed, was the latest super six Hunkajunk touring model, avision of grace and colorful beauty, set of with trimmings of shinynickel. The Hunkajunk people had outdone themselves in this latest modeland had produced "the car of a thousand delights." That seemed a goodmany, but that is the number they announced, and surely they must haveknown.
When one sat in the soft, spacious rear seat of the Hunkajunk touringmodel, one felt the sensation of sinking into a--what shall I say? Onehad a sort of sinking spell. You will pay particular attention to theluxurious rear seat of this car because it was destined to be the couchof a world hero, rivalling Cleopatra's famous barge which you will finddrifting around in the upper grade history books.
This was the only super six Hunkajunk touring car in Bridgeboro and itbelonged to the Bartletts who on this momentous night occupied its frontseat.
"Do look at that poor little fellow," said Mrs. Bartlett to her husband."Stop for just a second; _never_ saw such a pathetic picture in my_life_!"
"Oh, what's the use stopping?" said Mr. Bartlett good-humoredly.
"Because I'm not going to the Lyric Theatre and have that poor littlehungry urchin haunting me all through the show. I don't believe he's had_anything_ to eat all day. Just see how he looks in that window, it's_pathetic_. Poor little fellow, he may be _starving_ for all we know.I'm going to give him twenty-five cents; have you got the change?"
"You mean _I'm_ going to give it to him?" laughed Mr. Bartlett, stoppingthe car.
"He's just _eating_ the things with his _eyes_." said Mrs. Bartlettwith womanly tenderness. "Look at that shabby sweater. Probably hisfather is a drunken wretch."
"We'll be late for the show," said Mr. Bartlett.
"I don't care anything about the show," his wife retorted. "Do yousup
pose I want to see The Bandit of Harrowing Highway or whatever it is?If we get there in time for the educational films, that's all I careabout. You gave money for the starving children of France. Do yousuppose I'm going to sit face to face with a little boy--_starving?_"
"I can't see his face," said Mr. Bartlett, "but he looks as if he hadthe Woolworth Building in his back pocket."
"Little boy," Mrs. Bartlett called in her sweetest tone, "here is somemoney for you. You go into that store and--_gracious me_, it's WalterHarris! What on earth are you doing here, Walter? I thought you were apoor little--I thought you were hungry."
The sturdy but diminutive form and the curly head and frowningcountenance which stood confronting her were none other than those ofPee-wee Harris, B.S.A. (Boy of Special Appetite or Boy Scouts ofAmerica, whichever you please), and he stared her full in the facewithout shame.
"That's the time you guessed right," he said.
"I am."
CHAPTER III
THREE GOOD TURNS
"Give him the money," laughed Mr. Bartlett.
"I will do no such thing," said his wife. "I thought you were a poorlittle starving urchin, Walter. Wherever did you get that sweater?"
"I don't believe he's had anything to eat for half an hour," said Mr.Bartlett. "Well, how is my old college chum, Pee-wee? You make her giveyou the twenty-five cents, Pee-wee."
"A scout can't accept money like that," said Mrs. Bartlett reprovingly,"it's against their rules. Don't you know that?"
Pee-wee cast a longing glance back at the window of Pfiffel's Bakery andthen proceeded to set Mrs. Bartlett right on the subject of the scoutlaw.
"It--it depends on what you call rides; see?'" he said.
"And on what you call hungry," added Mr. Bartlett.
"If--if you--kind of--want to do a good turn, I haven't got any rightto stop you, have I?" Pee-wee said. "Because good turns are the mainthings. Gee whiz, I haven't got any right to interfere with those. Ihaven't got any right to accept money for a service, butsuppose--suppose there's a jelly roll--"
"There is," said Mr. Bartlett, "but in two minutes there isn't going tobe. You go in and get that jelly roll as a favor to Mrs. Bartlett Andhurry up back and we'll take you to the Lyric."
"I was going there anyway," Pee-wee said, "I want to see The Bandit ofHarrowing Highway, it's in five reels."
"Well, you come along with us," said Mr. Bartlett, "and then you'll bedoing two good turns. You'll be doing a favor to Mrs. Bartlett by buyinga jelly roll and you'll be doing a favor to me by making a party ofthree to see The Bandit of Harrowing Highway. What do you say?"
"Three's my lucky number," said Pee-wee. Then, suddenly bethinkinghimself he added, "but I don't mean I want to get three jellyrolls--you understand."
"Yes, we understand," said Mrs. Bartlett.
So it befell that Pee-wee, alias Walter Harris, scout of the first class(in quality if not in quantity) found himself riding luxuriously downMain Street in the rear seat of Mr. Bartlett's big Hunkajunk touringcar, eating a jelly roll with true scout relish, for it was now close toeight o'clock and Pee-wee had not eaten anything since supper-time.Having completed this good turn to Mrs. Bartlett he proceeded to do agood turn to himself by bringing forth two sandwiches out of the pocketusually associated with a far more dangerous weapon. This was hisemergency kit which he always carried. Morning, noon, or night, healways carried a couple of sandwiches the same as motorists carry extratires.
And while he ate he talked. "Gee whiz, I'm crazy to see that picture,"he said.
"We usually go for the educational films," said Mrs. Bartlett.
"I don't like anything that's got education in it," Pee-wee said. "Evenwhen I go to vaudeville I don't like educated monkeys and cats andthings. I like bandits and things like that. What's your favoritething?"
"Well, I like scouts," said Mr. Bartlett.
"Mine's ice cream cones," said Pee-wee. "Is this a new car? I bet I knowwhat kind it is, it's a Hunkajunk. I like hot frankfurters too. I cantell all the different kinds of cars because a scout is supposed to beobservant. Do you like gumdrops? I'm crazy about those."
"But where did you get that sweater?" Mrs. Bartlett asked.
"Do you want me to tell you about it? It belongs to the man that takescare of our furnace; he's got a peach of a tattoo mark on his arm. Mymother told me I had to wear a sweater so I grabbed that as I wentthrough the back hall. I always go out through the kitchen, do you knowwhy?"
"I think I can guess," said Mr. Bartlett.
"And the cap?" Mrs. Bartlett asked.
"You know the burglar that came to our house?"
"No, I never met him," said Mrs. Bartlett.
"I bet you don't like burglars, hey? He left this cap. He didn't getanything and I got the cap so that shows I'm always lucky. My motherdoesn't want me to wear it. Gee whiz, she hates burglars. Anyway, it'sgood and comfortable. My father says if he comes back for it I have togive it to him."
"Well, you certainly don't look like Walter Harris, the boy scout I havealways known," said Mrs. Bartlett.
"Don't you care," said Pee-wee. "If you're a scout you're a scout, nomatter if you don't wear anything."
"Oh, how dreadful," said Mrs. Bartlett.
"I know worse things than that," said Pee-wee.
"Well, tell us about the scouts," Mr. Bartlett encouraged him.
"Shall I tell you all about them?"
"Surely, begin at the beginning."
"That's law one, it's about honor; do you know what that is?"
"I've heard of it," said Mr. Bartlett.
"A scout has to be honorable, see? That comes first of all."
"Before eating?"
"Eating is all the way through it."
"Oh, I see."
"A scout has to be so--kind of--you know, so honorable that nobody couldsuspect him, see? If you're a scout that means that everybody knowsyou're all right. There are a lot of other laws too."
"Well, here we are at the Lyric," said Mr. Bartlett, "so let's go in andsee what The Bandit of Harrowing Highway thinks about honor."
Leaving the car in front of the theatre the three elbowed their waythrough the long, crowded lobby and soon Pee-wee Harris, scout, was nolonger in Bridgeboro but among rugged mountains where a man with acouple of pistols in his belt and a hat as big as an umbrella reined upa spirited horse and waited for a caravan and all that sort of stuff....
CHAPTER IV
THE FIVE REELER
And meanwhile something very real happened. Two men in khaki, butwithout any pistols in their belts, rode slowly up to the front of theLyric Theatre in a big blue touring car and stopped.
It was one of those palatial cars "of a thousand delights," a new supersix Hunkajunk touring model. A couple of policemen, safeguarding thepublic's convenience, had moved the Bartlett car beyond the mainentrance in the interest of late comers and it was in this vacated spacethat the second medley of blue and nickel was now thoughtlessly parked.No cars came along after it so there it remained with a little group ofadmirers about it.
The few loiterers in the lobby glanced curiously at the two young men.These strangers strode in laughing in a way of mutual banter, as iftheir sudden decision to see the show was quite amusing to themselves.
No one recognized them; they must have come from out of town. They worekhaki suits, with flapping brimmed hats of a color to match and theirfaces were brown with the wholesome, permanent tan of outdoor life. Theyseemed greatly amused with themselves and their breezy manner andnegligee which smacked of the woods attracted the attention ofBridgeboro's staff of unpaid censors who hung out in and about theLyric's lobby. But little, apparently, did the strangers care what wassaid and thought of them.
One of them bought the tickets, to the hearty indignation of the other,and they disappeared into the terrible fastnesses along HarrowingHighway where they tumbled boisterously into a couple of seats off thecenter aisle, "right within pistol shot of the bandit," as one of themlaughingly remar
ked to the other.
In the last reel the bandit was captured by a sheriff's posse, the youngschool teacher from the east whom he had villainously kidnapped was setfree and went to live on a ranch with the hero who also carried severalpistols, and the detective whom the millionaire had sent from the east(and who likewise carried several pistols) became a train robber andnearly killed the millionaire whom he met in the middle of the desert(carrying pistols) and who killed him instead and was in turn mortallywounded by the partner he had ruined and who had nothing left butseveral pistols.
And then Scout Harris fell asleep, and slept through the first part ofthe educational films. In a kind of jumbled dream he saw PresidentHarding (with pistols) receiving a delegation of ladies (all armed) andthen he felt a tapping on his shoulder.
"Walter," Mrs. Bartlett whispered pleasantly, "if you don't care aboutthese pictures why don't you just go out and curl up in the back of thecar and have a _real_ good nap. Then when we come out we'll all stop andhave some cream before we go home and we'll leave you at your house."
Pee-wee was too sleepy to answer; his mind Was awake to but two things,ice cream and pistols. In a kind of stupor he looked to make sure thatMrs. Bartlett was not armed and then, dragging himself from his seat hestumbled up the aisle, through the lobby, across the sidewalk, andtumbled into the rear seat of the big car that seemed waiting to receivehim. He was just awake enough to realize that the night was cold and hepulled the heavy blanket over him and was dead to the world.
Many adventures awaited this redoubtable young scout but one terribleordeal he escaped. In this he was, as he had said, lucky. For the verynext picture on the screen after he had made his half-conscious exit,showed a lot of children in Europe being fed out of the munificent handof Uncle Sam. And Pee-wee could never have stayed in his seat andquietly watched that tormenting performance.
Pee-Wee Harris on the Trail Page 1