Although there was considerable excitement around the encampment caused by the discovery of the German submarine base, the cadets were not allowed to forego their drilling and their army maneuvers. Nor did they give up the athletic contests they had promised themselves. There were swimming races and boat races, and likewise several baseball matches, and also contests in running, high and broad jumping, and in a tug-of-war.
“I’ll tell you one thing—this encampment is one long to be remembered,” remarked Jack, when the outing had almost come to an end.
The next day came a message from Camp Huxwell. The fathers of the Rovers, as well as many of their friends, were to depart immediately for Hoboken, there to take one of the big transports for France. Of course, the boys, as well as their sisters and their mothers, went to see Dick, Tom, and Sam Rover off.
“The best of luck to you, Dad!” cried Jack, when the time came for parting. “I hope you make a good record for yourselves.”
“You can rest assured, Son, we will do our best,” answered Dick Rover.
Then there were numerous handshakes, the waving of handkerchiefs, and while the girls and the women were trying hard to smile and to keep back the tears, the soldiers departed on the train.
“Gee, I wish I was going along!” sighed Fred. But this, of course, could not be, for all the boys were much too young to join the army.
By leaving Camp Barlight that day the Rovers had missed one of the important baseball games, but for this they did not care. They tried to join in the festivities that evening, but it was a failure. Their thoughts were with their fathers. Would they come back from the war in safety?
“All we can do is to hope for the best,” remarked Randy; and there the matter was allowed to rest.
Of course, the boys were eager for news concerning the Browns and the Martells, and also the Germans who had been captured, and they eagerly devoured every shred of information that came their way.
“Well, one thing is certain—we are well rid of Slugger and Nappy and their fathers,” remarked Jack.
“Yes, and I guess we are rid of Gabe Werner, too,” returned Fred. “He seems to have dropped out entirely.”
But in his remark concerning Werner the young lieutenant was mistaken. Gabe Werner turned up in their path most unexpectedly, and how will be related in the next volume in this series, to be entitled “The Rover Boys on a Hunt; or, The Mysterious House in the Woods.”
In that volume we shall learn what the Rover boys did on a most important outing, and also learn something of what happened to their fathers while fighting on the great battlefields of France.
“Well, boys, I’ve got pretty good news to-day,” remarked Randy, rushing into the camp one afternoon and holding up a letter. “Mr. Powell has invited all of us to spend ten days or two weeks at his camp on Lake George this summer. May is going to have all the girls there, including Mary and Martha and Ruth, and Mr. Powell wants every one of us to come up and take part in the good times.”
“Gee, that suits me right to the top of the flagstaff!” burst out his twin brother. And then, in high spirits, Andy turned several flipflaps, and ended by beginning a wrestling match with Fred.
“Well, we’ll be there, all right enough!” cried Jack.
“Will we?” came from Fred. “Just wait and see!”
Then the drums rattled, and the young captain and the young lieutenant, followed by the others, rushed off to get ready for the evening roll call and parade. And here, for the time being, we will leave the Rover boys and say good-bye.
THE ROVER BOYS ON A HUNT
CHAPTER I
THE BOBSLED RACE
“All ready, boys?”
“Wait a minute, Jack.”
“Can’t wait; life is too short!” cried Jack Rover gayly. He was seated at the front of a long bobsled holding six boys. “Remember, we’ve got to be back at the Hall in half an hour.”
“Please don’t mention it!” pleaded Randy Rover, his cousin.
“Hi, you fellows! are you going to race or not?” came from another youth on a bobsled standing close by.
“You bet we’re going to race!” sang out Fred Rover, who was at the tail end of the first sled. “And we’ll beat you, too, Bill Glutts!”
“You will, like fun!” grumbled the cadet addressed, a rather heavy-set and by-no-means pre-possessing youth. “Come on now, unless you’re afraid.”
“We’re afraid of nobody!” sang out Andy Rover, and, leaning sideways from where he sat on the bobsled, he scooped up a handful of loose snow and threw it playfully at Glutts.
“Hi, you! what do you mean?” roared Bill Glutts in anger, as the snow landed directly behind his right ear.
“Hello! I guess it must have begun to snow again,” cried Randy Rover, mischievously.
“I’ll ‘snow’ you!” retorted Glutts. “I guess you fellows are afraid to race. That’s why you are cutting up.”
“Never mind—race them anyway, Bill,” came from a small, pasty-faced youth, who was usually called Codfish on account of his broad mouth. “Go ahead and show ‘em what your new bobsled can do.”
“That’s the talk!” cried another cadet, a newcomer at the academy. “Show ‘em that the Yellow Streak can lick anything on this hill.”
“That’s a dream that will never come true!” cried Spouter Powell. “Come ahead, Jack, let’s start this race,” he added to the oldest Rover boy.
The scene was Long Hill, a rise of ground located about midway between Colby Hall Military Academy and the town of Haven Point. There was something of a wagon road leading up the hill from the main highway which skirted Clearwater Lake, and this road had been converted by the cadets of the academy into a slide for their bobsleds.
From the top of the hill the slide ran down and over two smaller hills, then crossed the main highway and shot down another road onto the lake, which at this season of the year was covered with ice.
It was a Saturday afternoon, and, as usual, the cadets of the military academy were making the most of their off time, some with bobsleds and other with ordinary handsleds and what were locally called “bread shovels.”
For some weeks before this the boys, as well as many other residents in that vicinity, had enjoyed skating on the lake. But a rather wet snow had fallen which the wind had been unable to sweep away, and consequently skating became a thing of the past. Then the lads turned to their bobsleds, the Rovers getting out one they had used the season before. This they painted and varnished very carefully and christened the Blue Moon.
“Because, you see,” explained Randy, with a wink, “it’s only once in a blue moon that she’ll be beaten.”
The Rovers and their chums, as well as many other cadets and boys and girls from that vicinity, had been using the hill for a couple of hours when the race between the Blue Moon and the Yellow Streak was proposed by Nick Carncross, the new friend of Bill Glutts.
Now, as my old readers know, the Rovers and Bill Glutts were by no means on good terms with each other. In the past Glutts had proved himself anything but a friend, and they had had more than one personal encounter with this freckled-faced bully.
But it was not in the nature of any of the Rover boys to refuse a challenge to race, knowing well that if this was done many would think they were afraid of being beaten. So the challenge was accepted, and immediately the details were arranged.
Each bobsled was to carry six cadets, and they were to start down the hill side by side, the Blue Moon keeping well to the right and theYellow Streak well to the left. The first sled to cross a mark located out on the lake was to be declared the winner.
With the four Rover boys were their intimate chums, Spouter Powell and Gif Garrison. With Glutts were Codfish, Carncross, and three other of the bully’s cronies.
“Gee! I wish I was in that race,” came from Will Hendry, who, on account of his
unusual stoutness, was always called Fatty.
“Nothing doing, Fatty,” remarked Dan Soppinger, another cadet. “You’d make the Rovers lose sure.”
“All ready?” questioned Walt Baxter, who had been settled on as the starter of the race.
“All ready,” answered Jack Rover, after a glance around to see that nothing was out of order.
“Been ready half an hour,” grumbled Bill Glutts.
“All right, then!” cried Walt. “One—two—three—go!”
As he finished Fred Rover, who was at the rear of the Blue Moon, gave that bobsled a quick push and leaped aboard. At the same time Carncross sent the Yellow Streak forward and also sprang to his seat. Then, side by side, the two bobsleds moved down the long hill, slowly at first, but gradually gathering speed.
It was five o’clock of an afternoon in early December, and consequently quite dark, even on the snow-clad hills. Many of the smaller children, and also the girls, had gone home, leaving the place to the cadets and a few others.
“I hope we win this,” remarked Randy, as the two sleds continued to speed forward side by side.
“Of course we’ll win it,” came promptly from Gif Garrison.
“We’ve got to win it!” added Fred Rover.
“If you don’t win Bill Glutts will never stop crowing over you,” put in Spouter Powell.
“Hi, there, Glutts! Keep to your side of the run,” warned Jack suddenly. The Yellow Streak had swerved over well into the middle of the road.
“I know what I’m doing,” growled Glutts. “You tend to your own business.”
“Well, you know the rules,” warned Jack. “You keep over on your own side. If you don’t there’ll be trouble.”
“Humph! you don’t have to tell me what to do,” growled the other cadet; and then, striking a bit of extra smooth roadway, the Yellow Streak bounded ahead, much to the delight of its riders.
“Hurrah! here is where we leave them behind,” sang out Codfish.
“Nothing to it but the shouting,” added another of Bill Glutts’ cronies.
“We’ll be a mile ahead by the time we reach the lake,” exulted Nick Carncross.
For half a minute it looked as if his prophecy might be true. TheYellow Streak was gliding over the icy surface of the long hill, and consequently going ahead, while the Blue Moon struck several soft spots where going was anything but good.
“Oh, Jack! can’t you pull out of this?” queried Gif Garrison anxiously. “Pull over to the left where the going is harder. It’s too soft here entirely.”
“I’m sticking to my side of the road, just as I was expected to do,” said Jack grimly.
The Yellow Streak disappeared over the first rise, and for a few seconds was lost to view. But then the Blue Moon came along, and beyond this rise found going somewhat easier. Slowly but surely they crawled up behind the other bobsled.
“Keep to your side of the road, Glutts!” yelled Jack, in a second warning. “If you don’t, there’ll be trouble.”
“And you’ll get the worst of it,” added Randy.
“I know what I’m doing,” retorted Glutts. He had found the snow somewhat soft on his side of the road, and was now running near the center, and occasionally crowding to Jack’s side.
“We’ll run into ‘em sure!” came from Spouter Powell in alarm. “Look out, Jack!”
“Look out!” echoed Fred.
“Over on your own side, or we’ll smash you, Glutts!” yelled Jack, for the Blue Moon had suddenly found going much easier and was forging forward rapidly. “Get out of the way!”
The call was so peremptory that Glutts felt bound to obey. He swerved to his side of the road, and with not a second to spare, for almost instantly the Blue Moon shot past and continued down the slope toward the lake.
“We win! we win!” yelled Andy gayly.
“But the Yellow Streak is just behind us!” cried Spouter, looking back. “Here they come!”
“Yes, and on our side of the road, too!” cried Fred, in alarm. He turned his head still further around. “Glutts, get to your own side!”
“Aw, dry up!” cried the other cadet, in disgust. “You don’t have to act as if you owned the whole road.”
“You know the rules of the race,” flung back Fred.
Crossing the highway which skirted the lake was not so easy, and beyond this the snow was rather deep, and consequently the speed of the Blue Moon was slackened. The Yellow Streak came dangerously close, and then Bill Glutts seemed to lose his head completely. He slued around to his own side of the road, but made such a short turn that in a twinkling the long bobsled was upset and the occupants hurled in all directions.
“There they go! They are upset!” yelled Fred. And then he lost sight of those left behind as the Blue Moon shot out on the surface of the lake and beyond the mark set for the end of the race.
“We win! we win!” cried Andy, leaping from the bobsled, and in the exuberance of his spirits he turned a handspring in the snow.
“What happened to the other sled?” asked Jack, who had been so busy steering the Blue Moon he had paid little attention to what had been going on behind.
“They had a spill,” answered Fred. “But before they took it they came pretty close to running into us.”
“It was up to them to keep to their side of the road,” said Gif Garrison. “Why, we might have had a terrible accident if they had run into us!”
There were about a dozen boys on the lake who had witnessed the finish of the race, and these, along with those who had come down on the Blue Moon, now turned back to see what had happened to the Glutts party. They found the cadets who had been spilled picking themselves up and brushing the snow from their garments. One was nursing a bruised ankle, and another a bruised elbow, while Bill Glutts was wiping some blood from a scratch on his chin.
“Well, we won the race,” said Jack briefly. He had no desire to crow over his opponents.
“Huh! you didn’t win it fairly,” growled Glutts, glaring at him.
“Didn’t win it fairly!” exclaimed Jack. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean you got in our way so we couldn’t get past you—that’s what I mean!” growled the other.
“That is false, Glutts, and you know it,” retorted the oldest Rover boy.
“See here, Jack Rover! you can’t talk to me in that fashion,” roared Bill Glutts. He had been in a more or less bad humor all the afternoon, and the defeat had not improved his temper. “I say you got in my way, and that is why I lost the race.”
“And I say your statement isn’t true,” returned Jack sturdily.
“It is true! And I won’t let you or anybody else say any different,” said Bill Glutts. And then, in sudden passion, he stepped forward and gave Jack a shove which sent the oldest Rover boy flat on his back in a snowbank.
CHAPTER II
ABOUT THE ROVERS
The attack upon Jack Rover was so unexpected that he had no chance to save himself from going down into the snowbank. He went down so hard and the snow was so soft that for the moment he was almost covered and had to flounder around quite some to regain his feet.
“See here, Bill Glutts! what do you mean by attacking my cousin?” cried Randy, leaping forward and catching the bully by the arm.
“He had no right to talk to me the way he did,” retorted Glutts. “Let go of me!” and he shook himself free.
“What Jack said was true,” put in Fred quickly. “I was on the back of our bobsled and watched you nearly all the time. You came over on our side of the road at least three different times.”
By this time half a dozen of the cadets were speaking at once, Carncross and several others upholding Bill Glutts. In the midst of the discussion Jack managed to regain his feet, and, leaping forward, he caught Bill Glutts firmly by both wrists.
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p; “Glutts, you listen to me,” said he sternly, looking the bully in the eyes. “If I wasn’t an officer at the Hall, I’d give you a sound thrashing for what you just did. As it is, I expect you to apologize or else take the consequences.”
“Huh! I suppose you mean by that you’ll play sissy and report me,” said the bully.
“No, I won’t report you, but I’ll see to it that you get what is coming to you,” answered Jack.
“Knowing he is an officer and can’t fight you, you took a mean advantage of Jack,” broke in Gif Garrison. “You ought to be thrashed for it, Glutts.”
“I don’t think Bill meant to shove him down into the snow,” put in Codfish, somewhat timidly.
“He did mean to do it!” said Jack quickly. “And he’ll either apologize for his actions or he’ll take the consequences.”
“Well, I’ll take the consequences, whatever they are,” retorted Bill Glutts, with a sickly grin. “I know that race wasn’t a fair one. Come on, fellows, let’s get back to the Hall, it’s almost supper time,” and with that he trudged away, he and his cronies pulling the Yellow Streak behind them.
“He sure is one sweet-tempered fellow,” was Spouter’s comment.
“Jack, why didn’t you pitch into him, anyway?” questioned Andy anxiously.
“I didn’t have to,” returned Jack briefly. “Just the same, I won’t forget the way he has acted. If it wasn’t that I am captain of Company C, and am expected not to fight, I’d have given him the thrashing of his life.”
To the many young folks who have read the former volumes in this series, the Rover boys will not need an introduction. But for the benefit of new readers a few words concerning my characters will be necessary.
In the first volume, entitled “The Rover Boys at School,” I related how three brothers, Dick, Tom, and Sam Rover, were sent to Putnam Hall Military Academy, where they made a great number of friends, including a cadet named Lawrence Colby.
From Putnam Hall the boys went to Brill College, and, after leaving that institution of learning, joined their father in business in New York City, with offices on Wall Street. They organized The Rover Company, of which Dick was president, Tom, secretary and general manager, and Sam, treasurer.
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