The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  A general nodding of heads.

  “You didn’t nod, Mr. Hall.”

  “I have the map before my mind’s eye,” replied the Scout Master; “I am following you.”

  “Since the discovery of the North Pole, you have all become familiar with the contour of the polar regions. Locate the Arctic Islands in, say seventy-five degrees north latitude; then draw an imaginary line from those islands down along the coast of Labrador, across to Newfoundland, and down to Nova Scotia, then over the Atlantic to the Lesser Antilles in the West Indies, from there to Brazil and across Argentina and end your line in Patagonia at the extremity of South America.

  “You have mentally swept over a tremendous stretch of country and water, but are not yet through. Push on westward to the Pacific, northward up the coast, then across Central America and up the Mississippi Valley, through central Canada and back to the Arctic Islands from which you started. Truly a long journey and yet it is the yearly itinerary of the American golden plover, which, measured in miles, is three-fifths of the distance round the world.”

  “You have mentioned one of the most remarkable facts in natural history,” commented Mr. Hall, who, like every listener, was deeply impressed.

  “Quite true,” replied Uncle Elk, “though there are many equally inexplicable. I have sometimes fancied that birds resemble men in their longing for travel. With means of locomotion at their command still far beyond the skill of our best aviators, what wonder that our little brothers of the air are impelled to gather the best that can be secured?

  “This, however, is a fanciful theory which the naturalists will not accept. It must be remembered that the majority of golden plovers who start on this long journey never complete it, for almost every mile is attended with danger. They are dazzled by the vivid electric lights of the cities, and confused by the tall buildings, telephone and telegraph wires, especially on dark nights when the birds fly low. Thousands are thus killed, besides which adverse gales blow many out to sea, and blizzards and snowstorms destroy myriads.

  “Perhaps we have talked enough about birds,” said Uncle Elk, “but I shall be glad to answer any questions that may occur to you.”

  After a moment’s silence, Mike Murphy rose to his feet. His face, as usual, was serious even when about to indulge in some of his waggeries, but this time he was in earnest.

  “Maybe it’s mesilf that knows mighty little about birds excipt them as is met with in Ireland, which isn’t many. There is one that I once heerd of that belongs to anither counthry.”

  “Describe it, Michael,” remarked the old man indulgently.

  “It has the bill of a duck, webbed feet, lays eggs, has a furry body and I belave is what is called a mammal. It’s a mighty qu’ar bird that I’d like to know the name of.”

  In answer to the general smiles Uncle Elk asked:

  “Have you ever seen one of the creatures, Michael?”

  “Not that I know of, though I have often made search for ’em.”

  “Michael has described no fancy creation. Such a thing exists. Can any one tell me its name?”

  Isaac Rothstein replied:

  “It is the ornithorhynchus or water mole of Australia, but it is not classed as a bird.”

  “No, although there seems to be some reason why it should be. You see what a limitless field opens before you when you leave the American continent to make investigations elsewhere. For a long time to come we shall find our hands full in our own country.”

  “What about the birds that are called Indians?” gravely asked Mike.

  “There are some facts regarding Maine Indians which are worth remembering. In 1612, they numbered 38,000. At the close of the French and Indian War this number had been reduced to a thousand, which is the aboriginal population today. The decrease was due to the fierce wars which the tribes waged among themselves. The Indians in Maine were four times as numerous as those in Massachusetts. The Pine Tree State was the ‘dark and bloody ground’ of colonial days.

  “In a general way the tribes bore the same names as rivers. Those west of the Penobscot were of the Abnaki group, and those to the east into New Brunswick called themselves Etechemins. All belonged to the Algonquin nation. When King Philip’s War broke out in 1675, the Maine Indians numbered about 12,000. This was twice the white population and sufficient to wipe out the settlements nearly to the New Hampshire border. Finally, in 1759, the Indians in Maine did not number more than a thousand. They were mainly Penobscots and Passamaquoddies. They remained faithful to the Americans throughout the Revolution. It is a curious fact that while the Passamaquoddies have decreased in number during the last ninety years, the Penobscots have increased to the extent of seven, the former being slightly more numerous. Both keep up their tribal conditions, and the Penobscots live in the same village site that their forefathers occupied before the white men set foot on the continent.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  A Council of War

  That night, after Uncle Elk had left the bungalow, Alvin Landon, Chester Haynes and Mike Murphy held what Alvin called a council of war.

  Sauntering a little way from the building, they sat down in the silent depths of the woods where no one could overhear what was said by them. Not that a Boy Scout would be guilty of eavesdropping, but it was best that no inkling of what was in the air should become accidentally known to others.

  Without quoting all the conversation, let me make clear its substance. The three were so mystified by the incidents already told that they determined not to cease their efforts until the puzzle was solved. They were the only Boy Scouts who knew the particulars, and it was natural that their friends should give their chief interest to fishing, rambling in the forest, studying trees, picking up what they could of natural history, and laying in unnecessary stores of health and strength.

  One thing was certain: Uncle Elk knew the secret and he wouldn’t tell. More than that, Chester Haynes startled his chums by the declaration:

  “So does Mr. Hall,—at least I am pretty sure he does.”

  “What reason have you for thinking that?” asked the astonished Alvin.

  “I have seen them more than once whispering in a way that showed they were keenly interested.”

  “Did you hear anything that either said?”

  “Not a word.”

  “How do you know then to what they were referring?”

  “I don’t; I’m only guessing.”

  “I belave ye’re right,” added Mike; “I obsarved the same thing and had the same ’spicion, and would have spoke of it if Chest hadn’t got ahead of me. But I’m thinking that if Mr. Hall knows it all, why the mischief doesn’t he tell us afore we bust?”

  “For the simple reason that Uncle Elk has bound him to secrecy. No; what we find out must be done without the help of either.”

  “And we’ll doot!” exclaimed Mike, “or we’ll break a trace trying.”

  “How shall we go about it?” asked Alvin. “Whatever we do must be done without either of them, especially Uncle Elk, knowing it.”

  “And there’s the rub.”

  Bring three bright-witted boys together and let them concentrate their mental energies upon the solution of a problem, and even if they don’t succeed, they are sure to evolve something worth while.

  “It is useless to apply to Mr. Hall,” said Alvin, “for nothing could induce him to violate the confidence of another. But Uncle Elk holds the master key and can speak when he chooses.”

  “Which the same is the rule with most folks,” commented Mike.

  “Now, see here,” put in Chester; “he has shown a fondness for you—”

  “Can ye name any one of me acquaintances that hasn’t?” interrupted the wag.

  “Why can’t you set to work and coax it out of him?”

  “Begorra! haven’t I tried more than once. I’ve hinted and asked him straight out until I’m in the fix of Phil Rafferty.”

  “What was that?”

  “Phil took a notion that
he could butt ivery other admirer of Bridget Mulrooney off the track. He kipt at it till one day he towld me he had a dim ’spicion that Bridget and her big brother Tarn and her dad of the same name, not forgitting Bridget her-silf, weren’t as fond of him as they oughter be. They had dropped purty plain hints and the last time Phil called, Bridget remarked sorter off-hand like, that she niver wanted to see his ugly mug agin. Her brother kicked him off the porch and flung him over the fence and the owld gintleman set their dog on him, which the same nearly choked in trying to swaller the seat of his pants. Phil said he was beginnin’ to ’spicion that the family took as a whole, didn’t love him as they oughter. It’s the same wid Uncle Elk and me. He’s riddy to talk on anything excipt the raison them two tramps was scared into taking a bath, and he won’t throw any light on that p’int.”

  “Then there is no use of either of us trying.”

  “I could hev towld ye that long ago.”

  Once more it was Chester who showed the most subtlety.

  “Uncle Elk knows that Mike is doing all he can to solve the puzzle; he knows he’ll not stop trying till he learns the truth; if Alvin and I keep him company, he will understand that we have joined forces. It will be as easy for him to baffle us three when we are together as to defeat any one of us. Therefore we ought to separate and each push the hunt for himself.”

  “Ye’ve hit it!” exclaimed Mike, “and to encourage ye in good works and to show ye the honor ye oughter hev, I offers ye me hand.”

  He gravely extended his palm in the gloom and it was warmly shaken.

  Let a party of boys engage in some plot—and the same is true of adults—and their chief fear is that it will be discovered and defeated by someone else more or less interested. No precaution must be neglected. It was agreed by our friends that no one of them should drop a word in the hearing of others that could rouse curiosity, and not to show by their manner that anything unusual was on their minds.

  One question considered was whether Dr. Spellman should be taken into their confidence. He had witnessed the panic of the tramps and was as curious as the boys to learn its cause. Alvin disposed of the matter.

  “I don’t see how he can be of any help and he doesn’t wish to leave his home too long since the trouble he had with the bums. Uncle Elk, for some reason, hates the doctor; the two would be pretty sure to meet if the doctor joined forces with us, and the consequences would be bad. Say what you please, Uncle Elk has a queer twist in his brain, and I dread doing anything that will excite him. Let us work independently of every one else.”

  “I’m wid ye,” assented Mike, and Chester agreed.

  This much decided upon, the particulars of the plan remained to be arranged. Mike proposed that he should saunter off alone to the western end of the lake, near where Alvin and Chester had gone in the canoe during the day, and there with no companion should set himself to learn what he could. The others would take the opposite course, which would lead them to the home of Uncle Elk. They had no intention of questioning the old man or even letting him know what they had in mind, but would employ their wits as opportunity offered.

  Nothing would have been more pleasing than for Mike to use the canoe to reach the western end of the lake, but he decided that the safest course was for all three to let the boats alone. The hermit would doubtless be on the watch and would know the errand of the lads.

  “Do we need to have signals?” asked Chester.

  “What for?” inquired Alvin in turn.

  “If one of us finds out something, he will want to tell the others.”

  “I don’t see how the plan can work, for we shall be so far apart that any call we make will be heard by some of the Scouts and may give the whole thing away. Whatever comes to light can wait till we meet here after supper tonight.”

  Mike, who had been thoughtful for a minute or two, now spoke:

  “We thought that being Mr. Hall’s lips are closed, Uncle Elk is the only one that can ixplain the queer actions of Biggs and Hutt, but Uncle Elk isn’t the only one.”

  “Who else can do so?”

  “Biggs and Hutt.”

  “That is true,” said Alvin, “but I don’t believe they would show any more willingness than Uncle Elk. Besides, after such a fright as they got yesterday, they are probably miles away at this minute and still running.”

  “Which doesn’t signify that they won’t come back again. One would think they would have taken the warning Dr. Spellman gave them, but they didn’t. I believe there is going to be more trouble with those two scamps,” said Chester impressively.

  “They’ve got to behave thimselves,” added Mike with more feeling than he had yet shown, “or I’ll git Mr. Hall to lead the whole troop agin ’em.”

  “You know the Boy Scouts are opposed to all violence.”

  “And so’m I, excipt whin it’s yer dooty to lambaste the ither chap, as whin he drops a hint that he doesn’t think ye’re able to doot. If Biggs and Hutt go to stealing or stepping too hard on us, do ye ixpect we’re going to grin and bear it?”

  “Without answering that question,” remarked Alvin, “let me suggest that if any one of us happens to meet either or both the hoboes, he does his best to get an explanation from them. If you don’t succeed, no harm will be done.”

  “Good counsel,” commented Chester, “but I don’t believe it will bring any result.”

  “We mustn’t neglect anything—”

  “Whisht!” interrupted Mike, suddenly laying his hand on the arm of this comrade.

  All three became silent, and each distinctly heard faint footfalls from a point deeper in the wood.

  “Some one has been listening,” whispered Alvin, “but he couldn’t have heard anything.”

  “And what if he did?” asked Chester; “we have no enemies in this part of the world.”

  Mike had started in the direction of the suspicious sound. He did not take time to soften the noise of his feet, and the stranger thus warned hurried away. Evidently he was a better woodman than his pursuer, for he got over the ground faster. Mike caught a glimpse of him in the star-gleam, as he emerged on the beach and ran off. A few minutes later the Irish youth rejoined his friends.

  “Do you know who it was?” asked Alvin.

  “No; he didn’t spake nor look back. I thought it best to return to ye.”

  “Why?”

  “I hadn’t me shillaleh wid me, and I was in too much danger of overhauling the spalpeen.”

  CHAPTER IX

  An Unwelcome Guest

  What may be called a minor mystery was settled within a few minutes after Alvin, Chester and Mike came out of the wood and sat down for a brief while on the porch. Most of the other Boy Scouts had gone inside for the night, though the murmur of voices showed the majority were awake. The laugh of Scout Master Hall was heard in response to some jest, he being, as has been said, as much of a youngster as the most youthful of the troop.

  A tall form loomed to view in the starlight, and coming up the steps sat down beside Mike with a greeting to all three. He was recognized as Hoke Butler, a member of the Stag Patrol.

  “If you had run a little faster,” he remarked with a loud laugh, “you surely would have overtaken me, Mike.”

  “Why didn’t ye slack up and give me the chance? Me legs ain’t as long as yours.”

  “I did put on the brakes, but you turned back.”

  “I’d come to the belaif that if ye didn’t want me company, I shouldn’t force mine upon ye, so I quit. What were ye doing in the wood behind us?”

  “I was strolling behind the bungalow when I heard voices and was stealing up to learn who you were when you heard me, and for the fun of it I darted off as if I was scared half to death.”

  “What did ye think of the views of mesilf and Alvin and Chester as regards the nixt Prisident?”

  It was a shrewd question and brought the desired answer.

  “You talked so low I couldn’t catch a word. Don’t you know that when Americans talk
politics they yell and generally end in a fight?”

  “We hadn’t got that fur; ye oughter kept still a little while longer and ye might hev took part in the shindy.”

  So the eavesdropping amounted to nothing, and so far no one besides the three knew of the plan which they had formed. A half hour later every Boy Scout in the bungalow, including Jack Crandall, was asleep.

  The morning dawned clear, bright and sunny. Jack would not permit any one to stay with him, so his chair was wheeled out on the front porch, where he became absorbed in a work on ornithology, while his friends broke into small groups and wandered into the woods as fancy prompted them. Scout Master Hall strolled off with several members of his Patrol, the understanding being that it was to be another day in which each should do as he pleased.

  Let twenty men, boys or girls be thrown together in close companionship for weeks, and likes and dislikes are sure to develop. There may be nothing in the nature of hatred, nor even an impatient word uttered. Naturally affiliations spring up, while others avoid one another, without suspecting there is a cause for the mild repulsion.

  Alvin Landon, Chester Haynes and Mike Murphy were chums from the first and were nearly always together. Mike was popular with all because of his many fine qualities, aside from the marvelous treats he occasionally gave in singing. One boy formed so marked a fancy for him that Mike did not like it because he could not respond. This was Hoke Butler,—he who had tried to play the eavesdropper the night before. Something about him which could not be defined repelled Mike, and caused him to avoid or at least to try to avoid his company. Perhaps it was Butler’s habit of boisterous laughter when no one else saw any cause for mirth, his disposition to slap the knee or shoulder of the boy nearest him, and his greediness at meals. Be that as it may, Mike did not like him, though too considerate to hurt his feelings by showing his sentiments.

  Alvin and Chester were pleased, when they supposed all the boys had left the bungalow, to see Butler come up the steps, take his place beside Mike and give his knee a resounding slap.

  “Hello, old chap! what are you going to do today?” he asked in his boisterous manner.