Now that I was all calmed down, as you might say, I wasn't surprisedany more about no one reading the signal, because maybe it didn't showvery plain in Bridgeboro and anyway, most grown people seem to thinkthat signalling and all that kind of thing are lots of fun for scouts,but not much use except when grown people, and especially the navy, doit.
Anyway, I should worry about grown people, because we have plenty offun.
Oh, boy, didn't I sleep that night! When I got up I made up my mindthat I'd go to Jake Holden's shanty, just for the fun of it, and findout why he didn't come and tell my family that I was dead. Because, if Iwas dead, he sure ought to have come and told them. Of course, I knew Iwasn't dead, but anyway, how did he know that? After breakfast I did mygood turn--I turned my sister Ruth's bed around for her so as it facedthe bay window. I was going to turn it twice and tall it two good turns,but she said that wouldn't be fair--that that wouldn't be two goodturns. I said it would be just as fair as Pee-wee turning the ice-creamfreezer till the cream was all frozen and then saying he did a hundredgood turns. Then she threw a tennis ball at me, but it missed me. That'sone thing about girls, they can't throw a ball. They can't whistle,either.
Now comes another adventure. After breakfast I went to Marshtown(that's a few houses down near the river) to Jake Holden's shanty.
It's a funny kind of a place made out of barrel staves and part of aboat all jumbled up together, and it looks kind of like a chicken coop.He lives all alone and kind of camps out. He's a nice man, you can bet,only you have to get on the right side of him. If you can't get on theright side of him the safest place is behind him. He catches fish andcrabs and goes around town selling them.
He taught me how to cook.
When I got to his shanty I saw it was locked up and he wasn't anywherearound. I guess he event down the bay crabbing. Anyway, I ran as fastas I could to Marshtown landing to see if he had gone yet, but therewasn't any sign of his boat there. Maybe you think I wasn'tdisappointed. Anyway, I began looking around like a scout is supposedto do, to see if there were any signs to show me whether he'd be backsoon, because maybe he only went up to the club landing for gasoline.But there weren't any signs and he didn't show up.
Now, if I hadn't been a scout I would have gone home and played tennisor followed the shore up to the club landing and waited for the troopto come and go to work on the houseboat. But instead of that, I keptlooking around and pretty soon what do you think I saw? I saw afootprint. Some Robinson Crusoe, hey?
It was a funny kind of a footprint. It wasn't Jake's, I knew that,because he always wore fisherman's boots. It was in the soft earth nearthe landing and I could see it plain. I guess maybe it was made by agood shoe, because it was pointed, but it was all worn out, that wasone sure thing, because there was a place that was made by a stockingor a bare foot, where there wasn't any sole at all.
Maybe you don't know much about deduction, but that's one thing scoutslearn about, and I tried to make out what it meant, but it had meguessing. Because the shoe was pointed and had the remains of a rubberheel--I could tell that by the big screw holes. And that meant goodshoes. And I thought it was funny anybody who could wear good shoeswould let them wear out like that.
Anyway, it was none of my business, only there was one mighty funny thingabout that footprint. There was an Indian's head stamped right in themud. It wasn't very plain, but I could see it was an Indian's head allright. It was something like the Indian's head on a cent.
Oh, boy, I was all up in the air then, because I didn't understand howthat could be there, Maybe you'll say that it was stamped there to showwhat make of shoes they were, but that's where you're wrong, becausemost of the sole was all worn away and the mark would be worn away, sosomebody must have cut it there lately, that was one sure thing, and Icouldn't understand why any body would want to cut that on an oldworn-out shoe.
So I sat down on the edge of the float to think about it and then I sawtwo or three more just like it, and even more, too, only not all of themwere so plain. Believe me, I didn't know what to think. Then all of asudden I happened to remember that the Indian's head is the design ofthe scout pathfinder badge.
Jiminetty, but didn't I get down on my knees and study those somemore. Maybe it didn't have anything to do with the scouts, but maybeit did.
And even if it did I couldn't make out what it meant, because that shoewas no scout shoe. I know a scout shoe when I see one, you can bet.
Anyway, I made up my mind I was going to follow that track as far as Icould. Maybe it would peter out on a street or something and then--goodnight!
You'll see what happened in the next chapter. Oh boy, it's going to bea peacherino!
CHAPTER XIV
THE SLACKER
One thing, I wished Tom Slade was there, because he was the best trackerwe ever had. He could track an airplane--that's what the fellows used tosay. But he was over in France and the only other fellow in our troopwho is a crackerjack at tracking, is Westy Martin. I don't say thatjust because he's a Silver Fox, because I have to admit that Artie VanArlen and Wig Weigand are heroes, and they're not Silver Foxes. But,honest, Westy is a winner when it comes to tracking, and you've got toremember that, because now I'm going to tell you some other thingsabout him and maybe you won't know just what to think. But I'm goingto tell you straight just what happened.
Well, I decided that I'd rather have another fellow with me, becausethat's a good rule in tracking and anyway two fellows are better thanone. And anyway, I knew he could hold a track longer than I could. Hegot the pathfinder's badge for one of the best tracking stunts that wasever done up at Temple Camp and he's done enough tracking stunts to winit two or three times over. He's a fiend on tracking.
By now I knew that the fellows would all be coming down to the boat clublanding to work on the houseboat, because we had it fixed that they wouldall be there by nine o'clock. I wasn't going to flunk on that, you canbet, but I thought if I told them about the footprint they'd let Westyand me off for a little while, because if a scout is after a merit badgehe can usually get leave all right. Anyway, that's the way it is in ourtroop. And all the fellows knew I had the tracking bee, all right. Gee,I hate to tell you about this, but I have to. Now, the way you get fromMarshtown landing up to the boat club landing is to follow the shore andits only about a quarter of a mile. After I'd hiked it a little way, Icould hear the fellows talking and sawing and hammering, and I knew theywere all busy working.
When I got there they were all over the houseboat like flies, paintingand varnishing and fixing up the flagpole, and I could hear Pee-wee asusual, shouting away. Jiminy, but it sounded good.
Then I could hear somebody say, "Well, well better late than never," andI saw it was our scoutmaster, Mr. Ellsworth. He took a day off to helpthe fellows.
"I'm only six minutes late," I said; "Silver Foxes always show up."
"Well, let us hope so," Mr. Ellsworth said
And I kind of saw that something was wrong. "Westy isn't here," somebodyshouted.
"He'll be here in a minute," I said; "get to work; you should worry aboutWesty."
But just the same I felt sort of uncomfortable because one thing Mr.Ellsworth is a stickler about is us being on time. Whenever a scout comeslate for campfire up at Temple Camp or at a troop meeting either, healways gets a look from T. E. At camp we have breakfast at 7:42 andlunch at 1:23 and supper at 7:13, just to teach the fellows to go byminutes.
Anyway, I started working with my patrol, who were painting the deck. Istuck right to it, but all the time I was wishing that Westy would showup. Every time I heard a sound I looked up. Because maybe you don't knowthat a patrol leader is responsible for his patrol and if one of themfalls down, it's just the same as if he fell down. First the fellowskidded us about it, especially me, and spoke about the Tardy Foxes, andthe Sleepy Foxes, but pretty soon Mr. Ellsworth came to me and said heguessed I'd better go into the club house and telephone to Westy andfind out what was the matter.
"Find out if he
's awake yet," somebody said.
"Maybe we'd better send a taxi for him," another fellow shouted.
"You think you're very funny, don't you?" I said, "Maybe you ravingRavens won't rave so much when you find out he's sick in bed." So I wentin and telephoned, and oh, jiminy, that was the first time in my lifethat I ever really wished a fellow was sick. But his mother told me hehadn't been home since about half-past seven and that when he went outhe had a catching-mitt and a baseball with him.
Jiminies, I don't often get scared, but I could feel my heart up in mymouth, kind of, and I didn't know what to tell the fellows and Mr.Ellsworth. It was like a disgrace to my patrol and it disgraced me, too,you can bet. He would go off and play ball and let us fellows do all thework on the boat and then he'd go in it up to Temple Camp. Gee, that'sone thing a scout never is-mean. We had it all fixed up to work and thenhe flunked and let us do it all.
First I thought maybe I'd kind of not tell Mr. Ellsworth all about thatphone call and say I couldn't hear very plain, and all like that. But Isaw if I did that, I'd be worse than Westy. It was bad enough having aslacker in my patrol without having a liar.
No, siree!
So I just went up to him and I said, "Mr. Ellsworth, he's out playingball somewheres and I guess he didn't intend to come. I admit itdisgraces my patrol and it disgraces the whole troop. I was going to askyou if you thought maybe I could go away for an hour or so to follow atrack I found, but I won't now; I'll just stay here and work twice ashard so as to make up for him. And the other fellows in my patrol willtoo. Maybe that will make it seem not quite so bad."
CHAPTER XV
DURING NOON HOUR
One of the things that made me feel especially bad was that Wig Weigandand Artie Van Arlen were there working, even after being nearlykilled the night before, and Artie was kind of lame, too, from straininghis ankle when he fell. Gee, I had to hand it to those fellows. And evenPee-wee was working away with the rest of the Ravens and running to buynails and everything.
Both of the other patrols were all there except Tom Slade in the Elks,but they kept his place open for memory, sort of.
After a little while Mr. Ellsworth strolled over to where I was workingand said to me--gee, he was awful nice the way he said it--he said,"Roy, if you want to follow up that trail you may as well go ahead andcome back after lunch. We're going to hit the eats pretty soon now."That's the way he always says it, "hit the eats."
"I was expecting Westy to go with me," I told him.
"Well, no matter," he said; "Go alone and don't worry any more aboutWesty. It wasn't because Westy or any other single scout was neededhere for we have plenty of scouts on the job, but it was just that hedidn't show up when we all planned to be here, that's all. I don'tlike to think of any; of my scouts falling down."
"It's the same about my patrol," I said, "and I'm ashamed, that's onesure thing."
He said I shouldn't feel that way and that he guessed playing baseballwas good exercise anyway. But he only said that so I wouldn't feel bad.Anyway as long as they were going to eat I thought I might as well goahead and see if I could do that tracking if it didn't take me too far.On the way down to the other landing I thought what I'd say to Westy.I knew he'd get a troop reprimand, but I decided he'd get a patrolreprimand too, you bet. And I was feeling pretty bad about it too,because none of the Silver Foxes ever got a troop reprimand. They gotpatrol reprimands but not troop reprimands. And Westy had gone andspoiled it all and, gee, that's one word I don't like--slacker.
When I got to the other landing I started following that trail. If youthink Westy had anything to do with it, you're mighty mistaken, becausehe didn't. He always wore scout shoes, I knew that.
Well, believe me, that trail was a cinch and I could follow it as easyas a clothes line. It went right up through River Lane where thereisn't any pavement and every footprint was plain. I was afraid it wouldgo through Daws Place, because that's the easiest way to get to MainStreet, and I'd lose it there on account of the pavement. But it didn't,and, oh, boy, wasn't I glad! Instead of going that way the tracks wentright up across the ball field, just as plain as print. That's anotherway to get to Main Street, and it brings you out at Harvey's candystore, but don't ever go there for ice cream cones, because you getbigger ones down at Jack's.
Then I lost the trail on account of the pavements. Gee, that's one thingI don't like about pavements. So there's where I did some deducing. Maybeyou don't know what bridging a trail-gap means. You have only yourselvesto blame for not being scouts. Bridging a trail-gap means stopping tothink when you lose a trail. You have to decide where it most likelystarts again. That's what grown-up scouts call mental tracking.So I sat down on Ridgeway's carriage step and thinked a couple ofthinks. That's right on Main Street, you know, and I had to decideif that person went up or down Main Street or across the street.Right across the street is the big bank building. I've got forty-twodollars and eighteen cents interest in that bank. Mr. Temple is thehead of it, and he's awful rich--he owns railroads and things. Hestarted Temple Camp. He calls me "Curly" because my hair curls. Ishould worry.
Right down alongside of the bank runs Barrel Alley. It reminds you ofFifth Avenue, it's so different. That's where Tom Slade was born, downthere. Most every day somebody dies down there, but anyway there arepaving--stones there now, that's one good thing. Except for tracking. Soyou see how it was that person, who ever he was, could have gone up MainStreet or down Main Street, or over the stone crossing into Barrel Alley.
I decided that he went across into Barrel Alley for several reasons. Onewas that he went across the ball field, and that meant that he'd have toget down and crawl under the fence, so I decided it was not a grown-upperson, because most of them have stiff backs and they'd rather walk amile than crawl under a fence. They're all the time saying they're notas young as they used to be. And if it was a boy he'd be most likely togo into Barrel Alley because, believe me, they have boys down there bythe dozens, especially the kind that wear worn-out shoes that rich peoplegive them. So that accounts for the good shoes all worn out. Smart boy,hey?
So you see that's the way I bridged that trail, though I couldn't besure I was right, I have to admit that. Anyway I went across the streetand I saw by the clock in the bank that it was half past twelve. I knewI couldn't go much farther because I wanted to get back to thehouse-boat by one.
I started down Barrel Alley, watching the mud along the edge of thesidewalk, so I could tell if the fellow left the sidewalk to go intoone of the houses. Barrel Alley is a blind alley-that means it has anend to it and you can't go any further. It runs plunk into the end ofShad Row. Norris Row is the right name, but old man Norris is namedShadley Norris, so us fellows call it Shad Row. You can get throughthe end of Barrel Alley if you climb over old man Norris back fence, soit isn't exactly a blind alley. It's just a little near-sighted, kind of.
Anyway I started through it and I knew if my quarry (that means thefellow you're tracking) went down there, he most likely went intoone of the tenement houses and I'd see that footprint as soon as heturned off from the sidewalk.
Well, pretty soon I did see it right alongside the sidewalk just wherehe started to go into one of the houses. And oh, wasn't I tickled! If ithadn't been for Westy Martin and the way he'd acted I would have feltas grand as the Grand Central Station. But that was the thing I wasthinking most about and when you're thinking about something like that,you don't have as much fun--I know I don't anyway.
But as long as I was there, I might as well find out who it was I hadtracked and solve the mystery about the Indian head. That's the wayPee-wee would have said it, "Solve the mystery!" He gets that kind oftalk out of books. The next-chapter is going to be a dandy and Ipromised to let him give it a name, so don't blame me whatever it is.
So long.
CHAPTER XVI
NOBLE RAGS
"Good night!" I said to Pee-wee, "what kind of rags do you call those?"
"Didn't you ever hear of noble rags?" he yelled; "that
shows how muchyou know about story writing."
"Are they any relation to a dish rag?", I asked him.
"You think you're smart, don't you," he said; "do you know what a herois--a ragged hero?"
"Sure, a hero is a male shero," I told him; "you learn that in thethird grade. Just the same as a cowardice is a female coward."
"You make me sick!" he yelled.
"I've heard of gasoline rags and dish rags and wash rags," I kept up,"but I never saw any noble ones. Have your own way. I should worry."
"It's a good name for a chapter," he said.
"I wouldn't know a noble rag if I met one in the street," I told him.So that's how this chapter got it's name, and I don't know what it meansany more than you do. I suppose the next one will be called "TrashPaper," or something like that.
Well, anyway, I stood on that doorstep for a few minutes, because Ididn't know what to do next. I was sure the fellow went in there, butI didn't know where he went and anyway, I didn't, have any excuse tohunt him out because I was only tracking him for a stunt. Anyway Iwent in and when I got upstairs one flight I saw just a sign of thatprint in the ball just in front of a door. The hall was all dirty andgreasy like. So by that I was pretty sure he had gone in there and yousee how I tracked him all the way from Marshtown landing. Then I made upmy mind that he sure wouldn't be mad if he knew I did it just for a stuntand I'd tell him I was scouting. For just a minute I was scared, then Igave a rap on the door.
Roy Blakeley: His Story Page 6