"What did they do, wake you up?" said Safety First as they pulled theboat up on shore.
"I should think they did," said Jim Burton; "they rang the bell ahundred times and went out into the garage and tooted the horn. Whydon't you teach your scouts manners?"
"Can't be did, Jim. Let's take a pike at the place. Hello Fido, thatyou? You sure about them going as far as the mill?"
"Yop."
"Yop, hey? Well, that's not so bad. You'll get a second helping ofdessert some day. Come on, who's going? Pile in. Mighty good of you,Jim."
A brief moment's inspection of the shed and they were off. Jim Burtondrove the car and by him sat Scoutmaster Ned. The others, Safety First,Nick Vernon, Fido Norton and Charlie Norris, sat in back.
"Too many?" asked Scoutmaster Ned.
"She rides better with a load," said Jim Burton.
"I don't suppose there's much chance," said Ned. "You notified thecops, didn't you, Nick? Good. The battery is low and there isn't anycrank on my bus and my only hope is that she'll lay down on them. Soakit to her, Jim."
"Do you want to stop and look at the tire marks yourself?" asked Norton."It was that new Goodyear that I was tracking, the one that's allcrisscross."
"You tracked it past the East road? So they didn't turn down there?Sure?"
"Yop."
"That's enough. Let's see her step, Jim."
Jim "soaked it to her" and she stepped. Not a bit of fuss did she makeover it. Just stepped. A silent, fleet step, like the step of a deer.And the spectral trees on either side seemed to glide the other way, andeast road seemed like a piece of string across their path, and Oppie'smill was but a transient speck and Valesboro was brushed aside like aparticle of dust.
The car of a thousand delights could not do that....
CHAPTER XXIX
VOICES
Pee-wee, the irrepressible, was subdued at last. In gaping amazement hewatched the Justice cross from the 'phone to the table, sit down, andbegin to write. The demeanor of the Justice was anything but dramatic;he was calm, matter of fact, as if this were no more than he hadexpected.
"What do you mean, it's--in--his garage?" Pee-wee stammered. He was notat all defiant now. "Are you--were you talking--are you sure it washim?"
There was a note of sincerity, of honest surprise, in his voice whichthe Justice did not miss. And as for Peter Piper, his heart went out tothis poor, shabby, little misguided fellow, whoever and whatever he was.He was so much at a disadvantage now, that Peter felt sorry for him.
"Now, sonny," said Justice Fee, breaking the tense silence, "I'm goingto hold you till we get to the bottom of this. Mr. Sanders, who'sconstable, is going to look after you (Pee-wee gulped and fingered hiscap nervously) till we can overhaul that pal of yours. You're more to bepitied than blamed I reckon. There's altogether too much of this usingsmall boys in criminal enterprises. I know," he added, holding up awarning finger, "he told you just what to say if you were caught, andyou needn't say it, because, you see, I can't believe you."
Pee-wee was visibly sobbing now; he knew what "being taken care of"meant. He was afraid, yes, and bewildered at being caught in this cruelweb of circumstance. But most of all he was incensed and shamed by thisindignity. He could not trust himself to speak, he would break down.Something was wrong, _everything_ was wrong, fate was against him, hecould not grapple with the situation. If he spoke, he would say too muchand lose his temper in that solemn hall of justice. And what wouldhappen to him then?
His hands played nervously with his old cap, he bit his lips, and triedto repress the torrent that was surging in him. The outlandish old graysweater with its rolling collar bulging up around his small, jerkingthroat, did not seem comical now. It made him the picture of pathos. Hedid not dare try to explain; that wonderful old man would only catch himin another trap and perhaps send him to state prison. His breath camequick and fast; he could no more speak than he could escape. He wishedthat Roy Blakeley were there, and Tom Slade, who knew how to talk togrown-up men and....
"Yes, and I'll pin the merit badge over your mouth if you don't keepstill," he heard a hearty voice say. "Sure, wintergreen is good to eat!Go and eat some poison ivy for all I care. Do you think I'm going to bepassing out merit badges for helping me to find my own car?"
"I wonder where they went?"
"I should worry where they went; I'm thankful we found the car. Maybethey've gone to join The Bandit of Harrowing Highway; he'll have pistolsenough to go around, anyway; seventy was it?"
"And a couple of blackjacks."
"Well, we've got him beaten for a romance of the road. Let's go in thishouse and see if we can scare up some gasoline. Jim, you and I ought togo into the movies--we'd have a six reeler called The Kids of KidderLake or Fido of Frying-pan Island. How's that strike you? Most of thosekids don't need any pistols, they can kill time without them. We've gotsome dead ones over there, Jim, only they haven't got sense enough tolie down. What do you bet we don't get some gas in this house? Well,here goes for a knock on the door by Ned the Nabber,--_one_ pistol."
Pee-wee held his breath, listening. What could this mean? Seventypistols? Blackjacks? His old friend, The Bandit of Harrowing Highway?Dead ones? Was he indeed in the spell of some horrible nightmare? Whaton earth could this mean?
In a kind of trance he heard a knocking on the door and a lot of hearty,clamoring, bantering voices. They did not seem at all like robbers andcut-throats. They were not stealthy--a couple of million miles from it.Pee-wee rubbed his glistening eyes with that old cap that he held andblinked to make sure he was awake.
CHAPTER XXX
FACE TO FACE
Still in a daze, Pee-wee saw the old man step to the door; he heard ahearty, good-humored voice asking about gasoline. "If you could just putus on the track of some," the voice said; "we're good at tracking."
Tracking! Pee-wee's eyes opened. Tracking?
"Well, could we use your 'phone, then?" he heard.
The next thing Pee-wee knew, half a dozen boys and young men spilledinto the room. All but one of them, and that was Jim Burton, were inscout attire. Pee-wee stood gaping at them as if they had dropped fromthe clouds.
Whatever their wee hour call meant they seemed all to be in highgood-humor and amused at their own adventure. One of them, a scoutmasteras Pee-wee knew, was particularly offhand and jovial and seemed to fillthe room with his breezy talk. Peter Piper stared like one transfixed;they were scouts, the kind he had read about, the kind that were on thecover of the handbook! He backed into a corner so as not to get in theirway....
"Yes sir, we've had some night of it," said the young scoutmaster,falling with mock weariness into a chair, throwing one knee over theother and tossing his hat very neatly onto one foot. "My car is stalledup the road in front of the next house. Lucky they ran out of gas.There's a sign up there says, 'road closed,' but I can't see anythingthe matter with it. Anyway, they ran out of gas and then ran out of themachine as I make out. They deserted it when the supply gave out, Isuppose. All's well that ends well, only we need gas.
"I bet--I bet we've covered a hundred and fifty miles of territoryto-night; what d'you say, Bill?" He didn't pause long enough to giveBill, or the Justice either, a chance to speak. "We saw the light inyour window and just came in to see if you had a gallon or so of gas.We've got another car up yonder. Yes, sir, we've got The Bandit ofHarrowing Highway looking like a tame canary for adventures; hey ScoutNick? Nick's our signal shark--"
Peter Piper looked at Nick with humble reverence, and backed fartherinto the corner. He could not take his eyes from him.
Justice Fee was about to say, "Here is one of the culprits," but he didnot get the chance. Scoutmaster Ned had the floor, also the walls andthe ceiling. He seemed not to care anything about the culprits. All heseemed to care about was getting his Hunkajunk car back and recountingtheir adventures. Perhaps he was even a little grateful to the culpritsfor affording them such opportunity for adventure. At all events, hekicked his hat around on the end of
his foot and filled the room withhis quick, breezy talk.
"Yes sir, we rode to Bridgeboro, New Jersey, got a prize cup for mykindergarten class to try for, looked in at a show, saw a guy with a lotof pistols, got home at about, oh I don't know--rowed over to the islandwhere we're camping, and these two kids rowed back to get the cup out ofthe car, and found the car gone and sent a signal that nobody saw and wecame along in this fellow's Packard. Well, we've got the old Hunkajunkback, anyway, haven't we kids? I'll say we have. These kids told theworld only the world was asleep or something. Well, we've had prettygood luck at that, I'll say; we found the car, the school burned down--"
Suddenly, like a burst of thunder rose the recovered voice of Pee-weeHarris, while in frantic accompaniment his feet beat the floor and hissmall arms swung in wild excitement. With his deadly vocal artillery hesilenced the breezy talk of Scoutmaster Ned and set the company aghastwith his triumphant clamor.
"I've got an insulation--I mean an inspiration--listen--keepstill--everybody! I'm the one that--that fixed it so you could have allthose adventures--I'm the one--I got into the wrong car--inBridgeboro--I saw that show and I thought you were the ones that hadpistols and now I know that you're not murderers--because I was halfasleep and I came out because I hate educational films but I likebandits, but I don't like real ones--"
"He likes _reel_ ones," suggested Safety First.
"--And I met a thief and he was disguised as a manual training teacherand now he's foiled because I asked him to help me take Mr. Bartlett'scar back and it's already back, because this is a different car and Iwas under--I was disguised under the buffalo robe--and I wrote a letterunder there and pinned it to a piece of sandwich with a safety pin thatI was being kidnapped--you can ask anybody so that shows I'm not abandit and I can prove I'm a scout--I don't care what anybody saysbecause you can hang an apple on a string and I can bite it withouttouching it with my hands, and I'm the only one in my patrol that can dothat and I'm not an enemy to you because if that school burned down I'mglad too and I've got seven merit badges and the bronze cross and if youfind that letter I wrote you can see how that piece of sandwich fits mymouth where I bit it and that's better than finger-prints and I canprove it--I don't care what anybody says--I got into the wrong car andeven the smartest man in the world--even--even--even George Washingtoncould do that. I've got seven merit badges," he concluded breathlesslyas a climax to his outburst.
With an air of profound solemnity Scoutmaster Ned arose and made thefull scout salute to the mascot of the Raven Patrol, F.B.T. B.S.A. "MayI ask the name of the hero who was disguised as my buffalo robe?" heasked.
"Pee-wee Harris, only size doesn't count," said the scream ofBridgeboro's crack troop.
"Quite so," said Scoutmaster Ned; "George Washington might have beensmall once himself. Am I right, Nick?"
"Positively," said Nick.
"And the manual training bandit? May I ask about him?"
"He's _foiled_," said Pee-wee. "I met him when I escaped from yourgarage; he gave me a lead pencil and he said he'd help me take the carback to Mr. Bartlett that took me to the show in his car. Gee whiz, youget sleepy sometimes, don't you?"
"Very, but I don't get a chance to sleep much with bronze cross scoutsand manual training teachers to keep me on the move."
"Gee whiz, I'm sorry I woke you up."
"Not at all, the pleasure is mine," said Scoutmaster Ned. "I live in aden of wild Indians; I seldom sleep. And our friend escaped? It doesn'tspeak very well for teachers, does it? School--"
"Gee whiz, I'll help anybody to foil a school."
"Good. Come over here, Pee-wee Harris, and let us get at the details ofthis adventure; I have a hunch that you and I are going to be friends.You are a--what shall I say?--a bandit after my own heart. So you haveseven merit badges and the bronze cross, eh? Do you think you couldsteal--excuse me--_win_ a silver cup?"
"Can you drink out of it?" Pee-wee demanded.
"Positively--lemonade, grape juice, root beer--"
"Malted milk also. And a sandwich goes with it. I think that cup wasmade for a bronze cross scout. Come over here a minute."
Pee-wee went over and stood between the knees of Scoutmaster Ned. "He'smine, Bill," said Ned to his fellow scoutmaster, "I saw him first."
Meanwhile you should have seen the face of Justice of the Peace Fee. Hesat at his desk, with his long legs projecting through the middle, acigar screwed away over into the corner of his mouth, contemplatingPee-wee with a shrewd, amused twinkle. Not a word did he say asScoutmaster Ned asked questions of the Raven's mascot, while the otherslistened and laughed.
CHAPTER XXXI
ALONE
But there was one there who smiled almost fearfully, as if doubting hisprivilege of mirth in that gay, strange company. He smiled, not as oneof them, but in silent awe, and did not dare to laugh aloud. He hopedthat they would not notice him and tell him to go home. He had dreamedof some day seeing such wondrous boys as these, and here they werebefore him, all about him, in their natty khaki, self-possessed,unabashed, merry, free. Was not that enough for Peter Piper of Piper'sCrossroads?
Yes, that was enough, more than he had ever expected. It was like thescene he had "pretended" out in the little barn when he had presentedhimself with the fancied signalling badge.
Stealthily his hand moved to his ticking shirt and removed the campaignbutton. For there before him was a boy with a real, a _real_, signallingbadge. His eyes were riveted upon that badge; he could not take themfrom it. Suppose someone should ask him about the button; why he waswearing it now that Harding and Coolidge were in office? He would blush,he could not tell them.
He hoped that they would not notice him for he knew he could not talk tothem, that his voice would shake and that he would go to pieces. Nowthat he saw them, joyous, uproarious, bantering, wearing badges on theirsleeves, he realized that what _he_ had done was nothing at all. Heheard Scoutmaster Ned humorously belittling the exploits of his ownheroes. No, Peter Piper would not step rashly into that bantering throngwith that one exploit of his own.
So he stood in the bay window, half concealed by the old-fashionedmelodeon, and watched them. Just gazed at them....
And when they all crowded out he lingered behind and whispered to themusic-master of the milk cans, "Don't tell them, Ham; please don't tellthem anything--about me."
And so the party made their way along the dark road and Peter followedand heard the flattering comments and fraternal plans involving thelittle hero from Bridgeboro. Evidently they were going to keep ScoutHarris with them and have him patented, from what Peter overheard.
When they came to Peter's little home, Scoutmaster Ned discovered andspoke to him while Pee-wee was making an enthusiastic pronouncementabout Jim Burton's Packard car.
"You live here, sonny?"
"Y--yes, sir," stammered Peter, quite taken aback.
"Well, now, I'll tell you what we're going to do. We're going to rollthis stalled car a little way into your yard to get it off the road. Allright?"
"Y--yes, sir."
"Then we're going on to where that little fellow lives. I have to seehis folks and he has to get some scout duds and junk and stuff and thenwe're coming back. We ought to be here early in the morning."
"Y--yes, sir."
"You just keep your eye out for that car, will you? It has a way ofdisappearing."
"Y--yes, sir."
"I don't mean to watch it all the time, but just sort of have an eyeout. I'm taking this little jigger out of the distributer, so no onecould run the old bus anyway. But you just have an eye out, will you?"
"Y--yes, sir," said Peter anxiously.
"That's the boy, and some fine day you'll have a couple of autos of yourown to worry about."
Peter smiled bashfully, happily. That was a wonderful joke. And a realscoutmaster, just like the pictures, had said it to _him_. He thoughtthat, with the exception of Theodore Roosevelt, Scoutmaster Ned was themost wonderful scout that ever lived. He wondered how it
would seem toknow him all the time. Peter had no idea what a distributer was, but heknew now that _his_ method of crippling an automobile was very crude. Hewas glad they did not know so they could not laugh at him....
After the Packard car, with its noisy load, had started for that fairyregion where they had movie shows and things and where Scout Harrislived, Peter was beset by an awful problem. He was not sleepy, he wouldnot be sleepy for at least a year after what he had seen, and heintended to watch the car as it should be watched. The question thatpuzzled him was whether he dared get into it or whether he had bettersit on the old carriage step. He finally compromised by sitting on therunning board. And there he sat till the owl stopped shrieking and thefirst pale herald of the dawn appeared in the sky.
And when the sun peaked over the top of Graveyard Hill and painted thetombstones below with its fresh new light and showed the gray frost ofthe autumn morning spread over the lonesome, bleak fields, and finallycast its cheery light upon the tiny, isolated home, it found PeterPiper, pioneer scout, of Piper's Crossroads, seated there upon therunning board of Scoutmaster Ned's car, waiting for one more glimpse ofthose heroes....
CHAPTER XXXII
ON TO BRIDGEBORO
Scoutmaster Ned Garrison had a middle name. Handling parents, that washis middle name. He was a bear at that. He could make them eat out ofhis hand. Had he not engineered the camping enterprise pending thepreparation of a makeshift school? Parents did not trouble him, he atethem alive.
"You leave them to me," he said to Pee-wee as they advanced against poordefenseless Bridgeboro. "They'll either consent or we'll shoot up thetown, hey, Safety First? We're on the rampage to-night; somebody's beenfeeding us meat."
Pee-Wee Harris on the Trail Page 8
