“If he went into the woods it would be a hard job to trail him,” was the comment from Farmer Mason. “If he ain’t careful he’ll lose himself so completely he’ll never git out, b’gosh!”
“Well, I don’t know but what that would suit me,” responded Tom dryly.
The search was begun, and several others joined in. It lasted until night was fairly upon the party and was then given up in disgust.
“It’s no use,” said Dick. “He has slipped us!”
“But we ought to notify the authorities,” said Tom. “They will probably put a detective on his track.”
“Yes; but a detective can’t do any more than we can, up in this wild locality.”
“He won’t remain in the woods forever. He’ll starve to death.”
“Well, we can send the police a telegram from Cedarville.”
This was done, and the Rover boys returned to Putnam Hall by way of the side road leaving past the homes of the Stanhopes and the Lanings. They found Sam and the girls very anxious concerning their welfare.
“We were afraid you had been shot,” said Dora. “I am thankful that you escaped.”
“So am I,” put in Sam. “But it’s too bad that Baxter got away. I wonder where he will turn up next.”
They all wondered, but could not even venture an answer. Soon the boys left the girls and hurried to the academy, where their story, had to be told over again. Captain Putnam looked exceedingly grave over the narrative.
“You must be careful in the future, lads,” he said. “Remember, you are in my care here. I do not know what your uncle would say if anything should happen to you.”
“We will be on our guard in the future,” answered Dick. “But I am awfully sorry we didn’t catch him.”
“So am I. But perhaps the authorities will have better luck,” and there the talk came to an end, and the boys retired for the night.
CHAPTER V
FUN AND AN EXPLOSION
Several days slipped by, and the boys waited anxiously for some news from the authorities. But none came, and they rightfully surmised that, for the time being, Dan Baxter had made good his escape.
On account of the disastrous ending to the kite-flying match, many had supposed that the feast in Dormitory No. 6 was not to come off, but Sam, Tom, Frank, and several others got their heads together and prepared for a “layout” for the following Wednesday, which would be Dick’s birthday.
“We’ll give him a surprise,” said Sam, and so it was agreed. Passing around the hat netted exactly three dollars and a quarter, and Tom, Sam, and Fred Garrison were delegated to purchase the candies, cake, and ice cream which were to constitute the spread.
“We’ll do the thing up brown,” said Sam.
“We must strike higher than that feast we had, last year.”
“Right you are!” came from Tom, “Oh dear, do you remember how we served Mumps that night!” and he set up a roar over the remembrance of the scene.
Hans Mueller had become one of the occupants of the dormitory, and he was as much, interested as anybody in the preparations for the spread. “Dot vill pe fine!” he said. “I like to have von feast twist a veek, ha I ha!
“He’s a jolly dog,” said Tom to Frank.
“But, say, I’ve been thinking of having some fun with him before this spread comes off.”
“Let me in on the ground floor,” pleaded Frank, who always wok a great interest in Tom’s jokes.
“I will, on one condition, Frank.”
“And what is that?”
“That you loan me that masquerade suit you have in your trunk. The one you used at that New Year’s dance at home.”
“You mean that Indian rig?”
“Yes.”
“Hullo, I reckon I smell a mouse!” laughed the senator’s son. “I heard you giving Hans that yarn about us training to fight Indians.”
“Did you indeed.”
“I did indeed; and I heard Hans say that he wanted nothing to do with the Indians.”
“Well, he’s going to have something to do with at least one Indian,” grinned Tom. “What do you say I get the suit?”
“Yes; if you’ll fix it so that I can see the sport.”
“All of the crowd can see it, if they don’t leak about it,” returned the fun-loving Rover.
Tom soon had the masquerade suit in his possession and also, some face paints which Frank had saved from the New Year’s dance mentioned. Shortly afterward Tom joined the crowd in the gymnasium, where Hans Mueller was trying to do some vaulting over the bars.
“I dink I could chump dem sticks of I vos taller,” the German youth was saying.
“Or the sticks were lower,” replied Tom, with a wink at the crowd. “That’s right, Hans, you had better learn how to jump now, and to run, too.”
“The Indians have come,” put in Frank.
“Indians?” repeated Hans Mueller. “Vere is da?”
“They say a band of them are in the woods around here,” answered Tom. “If you go out you want to be careful or they may scalp you.”
“Cracious, Rofer, ton’t say dot!” cried Mueller in alarm. “Vot is dem Indians doing here annavay?”
“They came in East to hunt up some buffalo that got away. They had something like half a million in a corral, and about two thousand got away from them.”
This preposterous announcement was taken by Hans Mueller in all seriousness, and he asked Tom all sorts of ridiculous questions about the savage red men, whom he supposed as wild and wily as those of generations ago.
“No, I ton’t vonts to meet any of dem,” he said at last. “Da vos von pad lot alretty!”
“That’s right, Hans, you give them a wide berth,” said Tom, and walked away.
Later on Tom persuaded Dick to ask Hans if he would not walk down to Cedarville for him, to buy him a baseball. Eager to be accommodating, the German youth received the necessary permission to leave the academy acres and hurried off at the full speed of his sturdy legs.
“Now for some fun!” cried Tom, and ran off for the Indian suit and the face paints. These he took down to the barn and set to work to transform himself into a wild-looking red man.
“You’re a lively one!” grinned Peleg Snuggers, who stood watching him. “We never had such a lad as you before Master Thomas.”
“Thanks, Peleg, and perhaps you’ll never have one like me again—and then you’ll be dreadfully sorry.”
“Or glad,” murmured Peleg.
“Mum’s the word, old man.”
“Oh, I never say nuthin, Master Thomas; you know that,” returned the man-of-all-work.
A number of the other pupils had been let into the secret, and, led by Dick, they ran off to the woods lining the Cedarville road. Tom came after them, skulking along that nobody driving by might catch sight of him.
Not quite an hour later Hans Mueller was heard coming back. The German boy was humming to himself and at the same time throwing up the new ball he had purchased for Dick.
“Burra! Burra!” thundered out Tom, as he leaped from behind a big tree. “Dutcha boy heap big scalp-me take um! Burra!” And he danced up to Hans, flourishing a big tin knife as he did so. The masquerade was a perfect one, and he looked like an Indian who had just stepped forth from some Wild West show.
“Ach du!” screamed Hans, as he stopped short and grew white. “It’s dem Indians come to take mine hair! Oh, please, Mister Indian, ton’t vos touch me!”
“Dutcha boy heap nice hair,” continued Tom, drawing nearer. “Maka nice door-mat for Big Wolf. Burra!”
“No, no; ton’t vos touch mine hair-it vos all der hair I vos got!” howled Hans. “Please, Mister Indian mans, let me go!” And then he started to back away.
“White bay stop or Big Wolf shoot!” bellowed Tom, drawing forth a rusty pistol he had
picked up in the barn. This rusty pistol had done lots of duty at fun-making before.
“No, no; ton’t shoot!” screamed Hans. Then he fell on his knees in despair.
Tom could scarcely keep from laughing at the sight, and a snicker or two could be heard coming from where Frank, Dick, and the others were concealed behind the bushes. But the German youth was too terrorized to notice anything but that awful red man before him, with his hideous war-paint of blue and yellow.
“Dutcha boy dance for Big Wolf,” went on Tom. “Dance! Dance or Big Wolf shoot!” And the fun-loving Rover set the pace in a mad, caper that would have done credit to a Zulu.
“I can’t vos dance!” faltered Hans, and then, thinking he might appease the wrath of his unexpected enemy he began to caper about in a clumsy fashion which was comical in the extreme.
“Hoopla! keep it up!” roared Tom. “Dutcha boy take the cake for flingin’ hees boots. Faster, faster, or Big Wolf shoot, bang!”
“No, no; I vos dance so hard as I can!” panted Hans, and renewed his exertions until Tom could keep in no longer, and set up such a laugh as had not been heard around the Hall for many a day. It is needless to add that the other boys joined in, still, however, keeping out of sight.
“You’re a corker, Hans!” cried Tom in his natural voice. “You ought to join the buck-and-wing dancers in a minstrel company.”
“Vot—vot—?” began the German boy in bewilderment. “Ain’t you no Indian?”
“To be sure I am; I’m Big Wolf, the Head Dancing Master of the Tuscaroras, Hans, dear boy. Don’t you think I’m a stunner.”
“You vos Tom Rofer, made up,” growled Hans in sudden and deep disgust. “Vot for you vos blay me such a drick as dis, hey?”
“Just to wake you up, Hans.”
“I ton’t vos been asleep, not me!”
“I mean to stir up your ideas—put something new into your head.”
“Mine head vos all right, Tom.”
“To be sure it is.”
“Den vot you say you vos put somedings new py him, hey?”
“I mean to make you sharper-put you on your mettle.”
“I ton’t understand,” stammered the German youth hopelessly.
“That’s so, and you won’t in a thousand years, Hans. But you are the right sort, any way.”
“I dink I blay me Indian mineselluf some tay,” mused Hans. “Dot vos lots of fun to make me tance, vosn’t it? Vere you got dot bistol?”
“Down in the barn. Look out, or it may go off,” added Tom, as he held out the weapons, thinking Hans would draw back in alarm.
Instead, however, the German boy took the pistol and of a sudden pointed it at Tom’s head.
“Now you tance!” he cried abruptly. “Tance, or I vos shoot you full of holes!”
“Hi, Tom; he’s got the best of you now!” cried Frank from behind the bushes.
“You can’t make me dance, Hans,” returned Tom. “That old rusty iron hasn’t been loaded for years.”
“It ton’t vos no goot? No. Maybe you vos only fool me.”
“Pull the trigger and see,” answered Tom coolly.
He had scarcely spoken when Hans Mueller did as advised. A tremendous report followed, and when the smoke cleared away the boys in the bushes were horrified to see that the rusty pistol had been shattered into a thousand pieces and that both Tom and Hans lay on their backs in the road, their faces covered with blood.
CHAPTER VI
THE STRANGE FIGURE IN THE HALLWAY
At the fearful outcome of the joke Tom had been perpetrating the boys concealed in the bushes were almost struck dumb, and for several seconds nobody could speak or move.
“Oh, Heavens, Tom is killed!” burst out Dick, who was the first to find his voice. He ran forth as speedily as possible, and one after another the other cadets followed.
Tom lay as quiet as death, with his eyes closed and the blood trickling over his temple and left cheek. Quickly Dick knelt by his side and felt of his heart.
“Tom, Tom, speak to me! Tell me you are not seriously hurt!” he faltered.
But no answer came back, and Sam raced off to get some water, which he brought in a tin can he had discovered lying handy. The water was dashed over Toni’s face, and presently he gave a little gasp.
“Oh my! what struck me?” he murmured, and then tried to sit up, but for the minute the effort was a failure.
“The pistol exploded,” said Frank. “A piece must have hit you on the head,” and he pointed at a nasty scalp wound from which the flow of blood emanated.
As well as it could be done, Frank and Dick bound up Tom’s head with a handkerchief, and presently the fun-loving lad declared himself about as well as ever, “Only a bit light-headed,” as he added.
In the meantime the others had given their attention to Hans, who had been struck both in the scalp and in the shoulder. It was a good quarter of an hour before the German youth came around, and then he felt so weak that the boys had to assist him back to the academy.
“Honestly, I thought the pistol was empty,” said Tom, on the return to the Hall. “Why, I think I’ve pulled that trigger a dozen times.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Frank with a shiver. “Why, only last week I pointed the thing at Peleg Snuggers and played at firing it. Supposing it had gone off and killed somebody?”
And he shivered again.
“Dot vos almost as pad as von Indian’s schalping,” put in Hans faintly. “I dink, Tom, you vos play no more such dricks, hey?”
“No, I’ve had enough,” replied Tom very soberly. “If you had been killed or seriously hurt I would never have forgiven myself.” And it may be added here that for some time after this event fun-making and Tom were strangers to each other.
At the proper time the feast which had been planned came off, and proved to be an event not readily forgotten. It was no easy matter to obtain the good things required, and the boys ran the risk of being discovered by George Strong and punished; but by midnight everything was ready, and soon eating was “in full blast,” to use Sam’s way of expressing it.
A few of the boys from the other dormitories had been invited, and the boys took turns in standing out in the hall on guard.
“You see,” explained Tom, “Mr. Strong may come in, and I won’t be able to play nightmare again, as I did last year.”
“Say, but that was a prime joke,” laughed Frank.
“And Mumps!” cried Larry. “I’ll never forget the orange flavored with kerosene,” and a general laugh followed.
Somebody had spoken of inviting Jim Caven to the feast, but no one cared particularly for the fellow, and he had been left out.
“Perhaps he’ll tell on us,” suggested Larry, but Frank shook his head.
“He hasn’t got backbone enough to do it. He’s a worse coward than Mumps was.”
Soon it came time for Sam to do his turn at guarding, and stuffing a big bit of candy in his mouth, the youngest Rover stepped out into the dimly lit hallway and sat down on a low stool which one of the guards had placed there.
For ten or fifteen minutes nothing occurred to disturb Sam, and he was just beginning to think that watching was all nonsense when he saw a dark figure creeping along the wall at the extreme lower end of the hallway, where it made a turn toward the back stairs.
“Hullo, who’s that?” he muttered. “It doesn’t look much like Mr. Strong.”
He continued to watch the figure, and now saw that it was dressed in a black suit and had what looked like a shawl over its head.
“That’s queer,” went on the boy. “What can that man or boy be up to?”
Presently the figure turned and entered one of the lower dormitories, closing the door gently behind it. Then it came out again and made swiftly for the rear of the upper hallway. By this time Sam was more curiou
s than ever, and as the figure disappeared around the bend by the back stairs he followed on tiptoes.
But as what light there was came from the front, the rear was very dark, and the youth could see little or nothing. He heard a door close and the lock click, but whether or not it was upstairs or down he could not tell.
For several minutes he remained in the rear hallway, and then he went back to his post. Soon Tom came out to relieve him, and Sam re-entered the dormitory and told his story to the others.
“That’s certainly odd,” was Dick’s comment
“Was it a man or a boy, Sam?”
“I can’t say exactly. If it wasn’t a man it was a pretty big boy.”
“Perhaps we ought to report the matter to Captain Putnam,” suggested Frank. “That person may have been around the hallways for no good purpose.”
“Oh, pshaw! perhaps it was somebody who was trying to spy on us,” put in Fred. “If we tell the captain we will only be exposing ourselves, and I guess you all know what that means.”
“It means half-holidays cut off for a month,” said Dick.
“Besser you vait und see vot comes of dis,” said Hans, and after a little more talk this idea prevailed, and then the boys went in to clear up what was left of the feast. Everything was gone but a little ice-cream, and it did not take long to dispose of this.
Sam was bound to have some fun, and instead of eating his last mouthful of cream he awaited a favorable opportunity and dropped it down inside of Fred’s collar.
“Great Scott!” roared Fred Garrison. “Whow!” And he began to dance around. “Oh, my backbone! That’s worse than a chunk of ice! Oh, but I’ll be frozen stiff!”
“Go down and sit on the kitchen stove,” suggested Dick.
“Sit on the stove? I’ll sit on Sam’s head if I get the chance!” roared Fred, and made a rush for Sam. A scuffle ensued, which came to a sudden end as both sent a washstand over with a loud crash.
“Wow you’ve done it!” cried Frank. “That’s noise enough to wake the dead.”
“Great Caesar, stop that row!” burst out Torn, opening the door. “Do you want to bring the captain down on us at the last minute?”
The Rover Boys Megapack Page 34