CHAPTER XI.
WHAT WAS UNDER THE HAT.
THE flames crackled merrily, and the seven boys who lounged there in ascomfortable attitudes as they could strike, were fully enjoyingthemselves. This sort of outdoor life seemed to appeal very strongly toall of them, though of course to some more than others.
It had always been a passion with Thad, for instance; and Allan couldlook back to scores of occasions when he sat by a camp-fire; because hewas a Maine boy, and as such had spent considerable time in the pineywoods of his native State, hunting, fishing, and living close toNature's heart.
While they could not indulge in any of their songs, according to theregulations that had been put in force by the patrol leader, this didnot prevent the boys from enjoying sundry good laughs when comicalstories were told.
"Reckon Bob's been gone more'n an hour now," remarked Step Hen, who hadbeen more thrilled by the story of the Government agent's sad fate thanany of the others; because Step Hen had always been a great reader oftales of daring and adventure, and often pictured himself playing therole of a hero, with the admiring crowd cheering him to the echo, andwanting to carry him around on their shoulders.
"Yes, and pretty soon Allan will be going out to communicate with him,because, you know they arranged a series of signals by means of thelantern, and burning matches that Bob'll hold up. But don't talk tooloud about that same matter, Step Hen; because, you understand, we'reclose by the road; and somebody might be coming along at the time.Remember that man we saw sitting on the rock with his gun between hisknees? Well, I guess there are a considerable number of others just likehim around these diggings; and by now they all know we're in themountains, bent on some errand they can't understand."
Of course it was Thad himself who said all this. He knew the failingStep Hen had of shouting everything out loud; and Thad really believedthey would be wise to carry on their conversation in tones that couldnot be heard very far away.
It turned out later that he was wiser than he dreamed, when he gave StepHen this little hint.
They had started Bumpus telling how an angry bull had once chased himaround a tree on his uncle's farm, and the boys were laughing at hiscomical description of the scene at the time when the pursuit washottest, and he could have caught hold of the animal's tail had hewanted, when a dismal wail arose.
"Well, did you ever, if that ain't Step Hen putting up his regularhowl!" exclaimed Giraffe, indignantly.
"And just when Bumpus here had got to the most exciting point in hisyarn," added the disgusted Davy Jones.
"Whatever are you looking for now, you poor silly thing?" demanded thestory-teller, who himself disliked very much to have his thrilling taleinterrupted in this manner.
"I can't find my hat, and that's what?" declared the scout whosebesetting sin was carelessness; "Had it on only a little while ago, butnow it's sure gone up the flue."
Step Hen twisted his neck as he spoke, and looked up into the branchesof the tree under which they had built their camp-fire; just as thoughhe really suspected that a giant hand had been lowered from the foliage,to clutch his campaign hat from his head, and vanish with it.
Things that Step Hen owned were always in great demand among thesemysterious spirits of the air; since nothing belonging to his chumsseemed ever to disappear.
"Oh! sit down, and let Bumpus finish his story," growled Giraffe."What's an old hat after all, to kick up such a row over it? Ten to onenow you've stowed it away in one of your pockets. I've known you to dothat more'n a few times."
"'Tain't so, because I've tried every pocket I've got, and never found athing. P'raps, now, one of you fellers happened to see it lying around,and put it on, of course by mistake, thinkin' it his own. Anybody gottwo hats on?"
"You make me tired, sure you do, Step Hen," Giraffe continued. "We knowwhat he is, boys, and that none of us will get any peace till his oldhat turns up. Might as well get out, and find it for the poor baby. If Ilost things as much as Step Hen does, I'd just get some twine, and tieeverything on, good and tight. Then if I missed my hat all I'd have todo would be to pull in a certain string, and there she'd be, all slickand sound."
While he was speaking Giraffe arose to his feet, but not without makingsundry wry faces; for he had been sitting a whole hour in a crampedposition, and his muscles were moreover tired from the day's jaunt.
"Now watch me find your old hat before you can say Jack Robinson fiftytimes," he boasted, as he started to hustle about.
Step Hen seemed quite willing that he should carry out his word, for hehimself made no further move looking to hunting for the missinghead-gear.
Suddenly they heard Giraffe give a queer little grunt, that seemed tocontain a mixture of satisfaction and disdain. He darted into theadjoining bushes.
"Here she is!" he called out, "and alyin' in the shadows, as cute as youplease. Use your eyes next time, Step Hen, and p'raps--oh! greatgovernor!"
Giraffe came jumping back into the circle of light cast by thecamp-fire. He certainly did have a hat clutched in his hand, at which hewas staring in the oddest way imaginable.
The others had gained their feet, drawn by some motive that possiblythey themselves did not half understand; but it had seemed to Thad asthough there was a note of sudden alarm in Giraffe's cry; and the othersmay have thought the same thing.
Step Hen, believing himself to be entitled to the recovery of hisindividual property, hustled forward, and deliberately took the hatfrom the hand of his comrade.
"Much obliged, Giraffe, on account of going to all that trouble for me,"he said, sweetly, so as to impress the other, and cause him to repeatthe favor at some future time. "But it's mighty queer how my hat evergot over in that clump of bushes. Give you my word for it, I ain'tstepped that way since we struck here; afraid of snakes, you know,fellers. Goes to prove what I told you about _something_ hoverin'around, that we just can't see, and which grabs things belongin' to meevery--say, Giraffe, what sort of a joke are you playin' on me now; thisain't my hat!"
"I--know--it--ain't!" gasped the tall scout, who seemed to have somedifficulty in regaining his breath.
"It's an old and worn-out thing in the bargain; and see here, it ain'teven regulation campaign, because it's off color. There ain't no cordaround it either; and my hat's got my badge fastened to it, to tell itfrom the rest when they get mixed. Where'd you get this old thing,anyhow, Giraffe?"
By now the other had recovered from the shock which he seemed to havereceived. He was even eager to tell his version of the affair, as hiscomrades clustered around him.
"I saw the hat when I told you I did," he began, in an awed voice; "andall the time I was aspeakin' I kept pushin' my way into the brush,intendin' to snatch up the same, and throw it out to Step Hen here. Thereason I cut short was because, when I grabbed the hat by the rim, andgave a jerk, _I felt a head under it_!"
Bumpus immediately caught hold of the arm of the scoutmaster. It was notbecause he was afraid, though Bumpus had often been reckoned a bittimid; but the action appeared to inspire him with confidence. He knewthat Thad would be equal to the emergency. And in times of stress itfeels good to be in close touch with one who is going to save the day.
Thad understood without being told, what it all meant. Some spy had beensecretly observing the movements of the scouts, hidden in that bunch ofbrushwood; and when his hat caught the eager eye of Giraffe, the latterhad supposed of course that it was the missing head-gear.
They looked blankly at each other, Thad, Allan and the other five. Then,as if unconsciously, and by mutual consent, they turned their gaze inthe direction of the thicket from which Step Hen had just emerged,bearing the tell-tale stranger hat in his hand.
Perhaps they expected to see some one rushing away in hot haste, so asnot to be caught napping by these young fellows wearing the uniform inuse by United States regulars.
But nothing seemed to be moving there; at least they caught no sound toindicate that the spy was in full flight at that moment.
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bsp; Thad reached out, and took the hat from the trembling hand of Step Hen;who heaved a sigh of relief upon feeling it leave his clutch; as thougha spell might have been broken by the act.
One look told the patrol leader that in all probability the hat belongedto a mountaineer. It was indeed old, and had an unusually wide brim.Being somewhat of the same color as those worn by the scouts, in thesemi-darkness it was no wonder Giraffe had made the mistake he did, andreached out for it, under the belief that he had found the missinghead-gear of the careless comrade.
Of course he realized his astonishing mistake the instant his fingerscame in contact with a human head that had been held low down, in theexpectation that the spying owner might remain undiscovered.
Thad knew that they were apt to see more of the one to whom that articlebelonged. Sometimes these mountaineers think a good deal of the hatsthey wear; at least Thad knew they clung to them a pretty long time, ifthe greasy appearance of some he had seen might be taken for an index tothe affection they entertained for the felt that sheltered their headsfrom the summer sun, and the wintry blasts.
"Well, Giraffe, you certainly made a big mistake when you took this hatfor the one our chum had lost," remarked Thad, in a loud, clear voice,which he hoped would reach the ears of the one in hiding, and bring himforth; "and you owe some sort of an apology to the owner."
"But how in the wide world c'n I tell whose hat it is, Thad?"expostulated the tall and lanky scout.
"Thet's all right, younker," said a gruff voice, "I'm the critter asowns thet ere hat; Phin Dady's my name. Reckon ye've heard o' me," andwith the words a man stalked into the camp.
He was tall and straight, and carried a long repeating rifle. More thanthat, he had a small face, and piercing eyes like those of a badger. Andevery scout felt a thrill as he realized that he was face to face withthe notorious moonshiner, Phin Dady, whom the whole United StatesGovernment had tried for years in vain to capture.
Boy Scouts in the Blue Ridge; Or, Marooned Among the Moonshiners Page 11
