CHAPTER XXII
ONE CAR AND THREE COWS
The young man looked worried. He was capless and coatless, and thesleeves of his shirt were rolled to the elbows. When he saw the nineboys approaching, he stopped and waited for them.
"I'll bet you," said Specs, "that's George W. Trouble's youngest son.About half the world seems to be needing help to-day. Shall we walkright past without seeing him?"
"Shall we?" asked Bonfire slyly. "We can pretend, of course, that wedon't notice his car, on ahead a bit."
"Whose car? Where? How do you know?" Specs was twisting his head andstraining his eyes for some glimpse of an automobile. "What makes youthink he has a car?"
Bonfire grinned. "Well, maybe he carries those goggles in his shirtpocket just to look like a driver, but--"
"Anybody could guess after seeing them," sniffed Specs, unimpressed. Hecaught the snicker that was going around the patrol. "Oh, all right!All right! Maybe I did overlook 'em. If you're so smart, Mr. SherlockHolmes, tell me where the car is and why he isn't riding in it."
Bonfire bowed mockingly. "Certainly. The car is down there in thehollow, off to one side of the road. It is stuck in the mud. The manhas tried chains on the rear wheels, but it won't pull itself free,even with them. He wants us to give him a lift."
"Rats!" said Specs. He dismissed the statements as careless banter."But if that fellow has a car able to run to Belden, and needssomething like a loose switch tightened--" A heavy wink completed thesentence.
Bunny frowned. There were times when Specs simply could not and wouldnot remember the Scout law about taking pay for good turns. But it wastoo late to thresh out the question with him. By this time, they wereabreast the young man.
"Good afternoon, fellows!" he said to them. "I'm in a bit of a mess,with my car stuck in the mud there in the hollow. I swerved off theroad, to avoid running down a dog, and plumped into the soft creek-bed.She won't pull out, even with chains."
Bunny nodded his willingness to help. He was afraid Specs would blurtout something about pushing out the car in return for a ride to Beldenbut he need not have worried. Specs was wholly beyond speech. Theabsolute confirmation of Bonfire's guesses, detail by detail, had lefthim stunned and dumb.
"Say," he gasped to that Scout, as they turned to follow the young manto a point where the road dipped into a broad gulley, "how did youfigure it all out, anyhow? What did you see that made you know aboutthe mired car?"
"Nothing," smiled Bonfire good-naturedly. "I didn't see a thing exceptthe goggles; they connected the man with a car. But I did use my ears.Halfway down the hill, when everybody was pretty glum and not sayingmuch, I heard a motor racing, then the clutch thrown in, then a sortof churning, with the motor slowing till it almost stalled. Once ortwice it did. So I knew a car was stuck. It was off the road a ways, ofcourse, because this is a state highway, with a rock bottom. And theonly place a car would mire is in some low hollow, where the sun neverhas a chance to shine through the trees and dry the mud. That's all."
"But you said the car had chains on."
"Oh, yes, the chains. I did use my eyes there. It was the mud on theman's shirt sleeves, where he reached around the tires putting them on,that told me he had tried chains. Anything else you want to know?"
"What color are his grandmother's eyes?" Specs demanded fiercely. "Tellme that, you bunk detective. What's his sister's middle name? What makeof car is it?"
"Saybrook touring," answered Bonfire, picking up the last question.When Specs, completely dazed by this new flash of information, lookedup with awestruck eyes, the other Scout pointed a gleeful finger at thecar beside the road. "All you have to do, my boy, is to keep your eyesand ears open. Come on; Bunny's calling."
Getting the car out of the mud was neither a long nor a difficult job.All it required was a little knowledge and common sense. The wheels hadevidently sunk a few inches at the outset, and their useless whirlinghad furrowed a nasty rut, made deeper by the use of chains. But whenthe boys had helped jack up the rear end and filled the holes withbranches, against which the chains could bite, and had made a pathof the same material to the solid road, the car pulled itself clearwithout any trouble at all.
"Well," said the young man, wiping his forehead, "I might have done allthat by myself. Just the same, I'm much obliged." He drew a purse fromhis pocket. "How much do I owe you?"
The "busted" patrol gasped. It was as if they feared their leader mightfalter before this temptation. But Bunny waved back the bill the youngman was offering.
"Nothing at all," he said. "We are Boy Scouts, and we are not allowedto take pay for doing good turns."
"But if you are going to Belden--" Specs began insinuatingly.
"I'm not," said the young man.
"If you are," Specs persisted, "or if you could go there, we'd like tobe taken along."
"Well, I'm not," said the young man again, "and I can't." He said itvery decisively. "I'm much obliged for your help, but I can't payfor it--that way." He smiled a little derisively, stepped on theself-starter, and shot the car at the long hill down which the boys hadjust come.
"I hope he gets stuck again," snorted Specs, looking at the swirl ofdust that marked the young man's going. "I hope he breaks a steeringknuckle and six spokes, and has nineteen punctures."
"No, you don't, either," Bunny put in. "You're wrong and he's right. Doyou realize, Specs, that this is the first time in all our trip we havegiven a wrong impression of the Boy Scouts? That man thinks we did hima good turn in the hope of a reward; he'll think we always want somekind of pay when we help somebody out. Well, we don't; and what's more,we're going to stop making people think we do."
In the face of this gentle reproof, Specs had nothing to say. When theyresumed their hike, he fell in at the rear and seemed to be ponderingthe matter. Opposite the next farmhouse, he drew up to the patrolleader and said, in a nonchalant way. "All right, Bunny; I'm cured."Then, to prove it, he raced into the yard and pumped a trough full ofwater for an old lady, and raced out again to the Scouts before she hadtime to thank him.
With this minor worry off his mind, Bunny faced the greater problem ofgetting to Belden in time for the ball game.
"It's a good nine miles yet," he told the others, "and we have lessthan two hours to make it. At the Scout pace, we might possibly coverthe distance in time, but it would leave us all played out. I guesswe'll have to turn in somewhere and--and find another Mr. Jenkins."
They were in the lowlands now. The road stretched ahead, as far asthe eye could reach, between lush fields of corn and wheat and oats.Grimly, without talking, the boys plodded on, pressing ahead assteadily as if Belden were just around the next corner. But it wasn't,of course, and something had to be done to revive their droopingspirits. At the worst, a halt at some house would serve to break themonotony of the hike.
Bunny chose a prosperous looking place on the right. The house wasbig and freshly painted. The barns and granaries were in good repair.Up-to-date farm implements nearly filled the yard. Everywhere was anair of success.
A shaggy shepherd dog ran to meet them, barking uncertainly and waggingits tail, as if divided between a desire to be courteous and yet toserve its master at the same time. Bunny called to the animal, and itcame close and sniffed at his legs, and was satisfied. He hoped itsowner would prove as friendly.
But when he knocked at the door, there were no answering footsteps. Heknocked again. A third time. Convinced at last that they were merelywasting precious time, he turned to the others with a little gesture ofdisappointment.
"There's nobody home," he said.
"I can tell you something else," added Bonfire. "The man who lives heredoesn't own an automobile; there's no garage. And he has only two horsestalls in that big barn, both empty. Even if he wanted to help us getto Laurel, he couldn't."
Bunny nodded gloomily. "We might as well hike on."
Fifty yards down the road, Bonfire lifted a pointing hand.
"Look there!" he shouted. "Three co
ws in that cornfield, gobbling upthose little stalks as if they were prairie grass. I don't believe--Ah,I thought so! See that gap in the fence on the far side. They havebroken in."
"And nobody around to chase them out," said Specs briskly. "I guessit's a job for us."
"What good would it do us?" Bunny tested him. "There isn't a soul aboutto thank us or to give us a lift on our way."
Specs hung his head. "Aw, Bunny!" he protested; "forget it, won't you?"
And then everybody laughed, as if it were a great joke, and finallySpecs laughed, too. After that, there was no question about what theymeant to do. Nine boys climbed through the barbed-wire fence along theroad and went whooping toward the astonished trio of cows. Tender andjuicy as the cornstalks were, the animals realized that their stolenmeal must end. They turned and galloped awkwardly through the gap inthe fence, back into their own field.
"Sorry, old girls!" shouted Specs, quite himself again, "but you can'teat up a crop just for the sake of one square meal. Besides, you'd getan awful, awful tummy-ache."
"Now let's patch up the break," urged Bunny. "We can prop up thisbroken post and restring these wires. It won't take ten minutes."
In something like half that time, the fence was as good as new for allpractical purposes. While they were winding the last loose strand aboutthe bolstered post, a voice from the cornfield said pleasantly:
"When the boss's away, the cows will play. Thank you, boys; thank you!"
The minute Bunny looked at the man, he knew he was going to like him.He stood just beyond the dividing fence, his lean, brown face crinklinginto an irresistible smile.
"Are those your cows, sir?" Bunny asked.
"I own them," the man admitted, "and I still own the sprouting corn inthis field--thanks to you boys. I came up the road just in time to seewhat you did for me. But I am curious to learn how you happened tobe passing, and why you stopped to save my crop from serious damage.Suppose we all adjourn to my house yonder, where we can talk thingsover. There is a crock of cold milk there, and a jar of cookies anddoughnuts. If you will do me the honor--" He broke short the sentencewith another of his big, fine smiles, and turned to lead the way. TheScouts fell in behind him.
Over the doughnuts and milk, Bunny fell ready victim to the stranger'swarming personality; and somehow, without being able to tell exactlyhow the conversation started, he was revealing the troubles of theBlack Eagle Patrol in getting to the baseball game at Belden, andexplaining the mishaps it had encountered. Bonfire's previous assurancethat there were no cars or horses on the place made it easier. The mancouldn't possibly misunderstand.
Nor did he. He knew all about Boy Scouts and good turns without hopeof reward, and he nodded and smiled and said, "Exactly!" when Specsremarked that they knew he hadn't any means of taking them to Belden.
"And I am afraid," the man added, "there isn't a thing on wheels orfour legs in this country that hasn't trundled or trotted to thefarmers' institute at Middletown this afternoon. That's where my ownteam went, and I do not own an automobile." He looked quizzically atthe boys. "You are ready to admit, I suppose, that you have come to thepoint in your trip where, if it were a story, the author would write'The End.' It isn't even 'To Be Continued.'"
"But it is, sir," Bunny denied sturdily. "We're going on to Belden. Iknow we can't make it afoot in time now; but even if we reach the ballpark during the ninth inning, and even if we get there so tired we canhardly move, we're going to make it. We--we aren't quitters, I guess."
"Good!" said the man. "I like that spirit. It moves mountainsand--hearts." He walked to the window and stared toward a distantfield. "Then you boys could not help me on the farm this afternoon, Isuppose?"
"No," Bunny confessed reluctantly, "I'm afraid not."
"I did not expect you could," the man said, with his understandingsmile. "Anyhow, my machinery needs overhauling by some expert."
The nine boys smiled back. A Scout must be cheerful. But it was hard tosmile, very hard, with the clock on the wall striking half past one andBelden nine miles away.
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