Part 4

'It is a sin To steal a pin; It is a greater To steal a "tater"'?"

"Maybe those fellows stole the canoes first," muttered Midkiff.

"Hustle up the breakfast, Cloudman," Rex commanded. "And I'll tell you all our tale of woe. It's some tale, too. How's your stone-bruise, Jawn?"

"About the same as your scraped shin, I reckon; and your foot. Why, that's badly bruised, Rex," he added, with sudden commiseration, as he saw how tenderly the skipper of the _Spoondrift_ was bathing his injured foot with arnica.

"Goodness gracious! Yes!" barked Rex. "Hospital job, very likely. That Indian has a foot like an elephant's."

"Vicious scoundrel," acclaimed his friend.

"He's a hard hitter--with his feet. Perhaps the rest of them are when they're not hived up in a tent."

"We'd better sail over to that Blackport place and get a constable," the older boy suggested. "Those chaps are trespassers, all right."

"Leave it to yours truly," Rex said, putting on his canvas shoe with care.

"What's your scheme?"

"Haven't any. I'll roll my sleeves up to prove my innocence," returned Rex. "But I am awfully curious."

"I believe, on my soul," said Midkiff with vigor, "that you'd rather get into trouble than not."

"No, I like to get out of it," confessed Rex. "Of course, a fellow can't slip out of a row unless he first gets into it. See?"

"Sounds foolish," declared the older fellow. "That's because you don't know all the facts in these premises, as old Yad would say. Wait till we're hitting the eats, then I'll talk. Don't that smell good?"

For some minutes the sputtering of pork, frying out in the pan, had come from below. Now the fragrance of frying fish was wafted to the nostrils of those in the cockpit. Cloudman and Peewee were busy with the breakfast. Red came up, fully dressed, and began to spy out the encampment and its surroundings through a pair of opera glasses.

"What do you see, Father William?" queried Rex.

"Not much," grunted Phillips.

"They must be sleeping late after our call last night," muttered Midkiff.

"Sleep? They must be dead," said the red-haired youth. "What do you know about fellows camping out, sleeping till this time of day?"

"They are rich. Don't have to work," said Cloudman, coming up to breathe.

"Say, King," little Hicks begged to know, "did you and Mid call on those chaps last night? I suppose they gave you the canoes?"

"Sure," Red grumbled. "Bet there was a pretty mess--and the rest of us out of it."

"You could have my lame foot, for all I care," Rex said sweetly. "Keep your hair on, Reddy. Maybe it isn't as bad as you think. At any rate, I fancy you will be in plenty of time for the next mess--if it comes off."

Cloudman darted down to dish out the first relay of fried soup and potatoes. Hardtack took the place of bread, and the coffee was good. The cowboy had not lived most of his life on the plains for nothing.

"You're a pretty fine cook, Applejack," admitted Rex, beginning on his plateful with gusto.

"Don't jolly me," said the Westerner. "I've pretty near got fed up with _that_. When we get ashore, it's somebody's turn beside mine--don't you forget it."

"Are we going to get ashore--on this island, I mean?" put in Midkiff.

"Come on," Red urged. "Give us the yarn, Rex. Who are those fellows over there?"

"Haven't the first idea--only I got their names down pat. But I never heard of them before, that I know. However, that makes no difference. They know us."

"They do?" exploded Midkiff.

"One-sided introduction, eh?" giggled Peewee.

"At least," explained Kingdon more fully, "they are expecting us on the island. Our coming to camp here is known to them, and they know that they are in for trouble. Of course, the signs along shore would tell them that much, even were they greenhorns from afar."

"What do you know about that?" said Red, scowling.

"We'd better sail over to Blackport and bring the constable," urged the cautious Midkiff.

"Let's go put 'em off, bag and baggage," cried Phillips.

"They can't get off if we don't give 'em back their canoes," cried Peewee. "Hi, King! What do you mean to do?"

Just then, while all eyes were fastened upon the encampment on the shore of Storm Island, the first of the lazy campers appeared from the main tent. He was a tall, black-haired fellow; they could see that easily enough without the use of Red's glasses.

He came down toward the place where the canoes had been moored, wearing a scarlet bathing suit and carrying a towel over his arm. Suddenly he appreciated the fact that the canoes were gone. A glance showed him the catboat with the missing craft tied to her stern.

He turned to shout something to his friends still in the tent. Midkiff muttered:

"Now there'll be a stir!"

*CHAPTER VIII.*

*A BARGAIN IS STRUCK.*

The fellow in the red bathing suit descended to the edge of the water and plunged in without hesitation. Three others came running from the larger tent--a fat chap, a lean one, and the third almost as stocky as Red Phillips. Rex Kingdon could identify them all by what he had heard the night before.

After a minute a fifth youth appeared from the smaller tent, and by his look and dress Rex knew this last must be the Joe Bootleg with whom he had had the struggle.

"Five of 'em," said Peewee. "Even Stephen."

"We ought to be able to hold our own with that crowd," Red murmured.

"You can have my share of the Indian, Red," Kingdon drawled.

"Well, what are you going to do?" demanded Midkiff.

Only the tall fellow of the party of campers ventured into the water. The others dressed hastily, chattering excitedly the while. The tall fellow went ashore, stripped, rubbed himself down, and got into his own clothes leisurely.

"Well set up lad, that," Phillips said to Rex, admiringly. "He looks about your build, Beauty. Made of whipcord and wire cable, too. Notice those biceps when he put on his shirt?"

Red had been looking through the glasses, and forgot that the rest were not eagle-eyed. Hicks chuckled:

"If it comes to a rough-and-tumble, I choose the fat one for my meat. He must be so clumsy he can't get out of the way of his own feet."

"Always looking for the easy work, infant," said Rex. "Go wash up the dishes; that's your job. We'll up anchor and----"

"Make sail for Blackport?" put in Midkiff.

"Like fun we will!" cried Phillips. "Aren't going to turn tail and run from those chaps, are you, Rex?"

"Guess we'd better have a pow-wow first," admitted Kingdon. "Time enough to shout for help when we find we need it."

"I wouldn't say a word to them," complained John Midkiff.

"Gentle lamb, Jawn is," drawled Kingdon. "_He_ doesn't like a fuss, of course--oh, no!"

"Not for the sake of the fuss, as you and Red do," snapped Midkiff. "You two are always hunting trouble."

They paid little attention to Midkiff's complaints. The anchor was dragged over the bows. The sail was hoisted. It filled, and the _Spoondrift_ began to move. She was not a graceful craft, but she slid through the water rapidly. The painters of the canoes tautened and they hobbled along astern. Rex shortened the line of one so that they would not bump and damage each other. He steered the cat for the deep mooring place under the two arching trees below the encampment.

"They chose a pretty place to set up their tents," Peewee said, lying on his stomach and trailing dish after dish overboard to wash them. "Just as pretty places all along the shore here," Rex said. "A hundred parties could easily find room on the island."

Midkiff stared at him. "I know you're getting ready to do something foolish," he declared, sourly.

"I'd hate to have your suspicious nature, Jawn," was the retort as Kingdon skillfully steered the _Spoondrift_ shoreward.

"Hey! What are you doing with our canoes?" was the shouted greeting of the fellow whom Rex suspected was named Ben.

"Why, I declare! are these your boats?" drawled the blond chap. "Don't you think you were mighty careless with them?"

"Now you said a mouthful," barked the belligerent Kirby. "But we didn't know there were thieves about."

"No?"

"We hadn't seen anybody who looked dishonest before," said the good-looking, black-haired fellow they called Horrors, as Red Phillips let out the sheet at a gesture from Rex and the flapping sail came down on the run.

"What's the matter?" squealed little Hicks in reply to the last speech. "Did you all forget to bring your pocket mirrors?"

"You come ashore here, you little chipmunk," blustered Ben Comas, "and I'll show you something. It won't be in a looking-glass, either."

"Naughty! Naughty!" laughed Kingdon. "Don't threaten; it isn't nice. Drop the anchor again, Jawn. You fellows let me do a little of the talking, will you?"

"Aw, well----" began Hicks. But Cloudman reached for him and laid him carefully on his back.

"Hush up, infant!" the Westerner advised. "We can't hear ourselves think for your chatter."

"Going to give us back our canoes?" shouted Kirby.

"For a price," Kingdon coolly told him. "Of course, you don't expect to get anything for nothing? It isn't done, my boy; it isn't done."

Before Harry Kirby could sputter again, the tall, dark fellow interfered. The catboat now swung so near the shore on the morning tide that a conversational tone between the two parties was all that was necessary.

"I say," Horace Pence said, "you're Rex Kingdon, aren't you?"

"Bull's-eye," admitted the blond youth lazily. "But I haven't the pleasure, have I?"

"That makes no difference. I suppose it was you who came ashore here last night?"

"Seems to me I remember something like that," admitted Rex suddenly a-smile. He saw the Indian behind the group of other boys, and the smile was for him. But Joe Bootleg did not respond; only stared down at his erstwhile antagonist threateningly.

"What do you want here at Storm Island, anyway?" demanded Pence boldly.

"You ought to go ashore and tell him, Rex," declared Red Phillips in disgust. "The gall of him!"

"We ought to go to Blackport and get a constable to put the whole gang off the island," added Midkiff.

"Why be childish?" said Rex. "I rather like our neighbor with the black eyebrows."

"Well?" demanded Pence. "Lost your voice?"

"Not any," quoth Kingdon. "Was just wondering how much you fellows would be willing to pay for your canoes? We might keep 'em, you know."

"You'd better not!" yelled Ben Comas, red in the face and shaking his fist at the catboat's crew.

"My father----"

"Drop it!" growled Kirby, yet loud enough for the Walcott Hall boys to hear. "If your father knew where you were----"

"They're a bunch of thieves," declared Ben, just as wildly. "Ain't they, Pudge?"

The fat boy kept discreetly silent. The black-haired youth said:

"Stop your yipping, you fellows, and let somebody talk sense. Hey, Kingdon! You needn't think you've got us caged here for the rest of the summer. We could hail a fishing party before the day's over, and get a boat from Blackport. Don't fool yourself."

"Got it all planned out, haven't you?" said Cloudman.

Rex made a gesture to quiet Applejack, and said:

"I have an idea you don't care to stir up any inquiry at the port. Am I right? Let's settle this between ourselves--right in the bosom of the family, as it were. What do you say?"

"Shoot!" said Pence. "Let's have your idea."

"We give up the canoes. You let us land and set up our camp, and let us alone. Is it understood?" asked Rex with more seriousness.

The expressions on the faces of the fat fellow, Ben, and Kirby showed relief. Horace Pence said:

"It's a bargain. The island's big enough."

"All agreed?" drawled Rex.

"I think we are," Kirby said.

"Sure!" chimed in Ben and Pudge MacComber. Yet the former murmured: "There's something up his sleeve. There must be!" Pudge looked doubtful, too. Joe Bootleg scowled in the background, saying nothing.

"Hope you may die, cross your heart, and all the rest of it," said Rex, cheerfully. "I put you all on honor. It may be an awful strain; but they say a singed cat is often better than it looks. We're to camp where we choose, and let you alone. You fellows ditto with us. Is it agreed?"

"Come along," invited the black-haired chap. "You needn't waste so much breath over it."

Rex looked inquiringly at the others. Kirby, Ben and Pudge nodded. But it was noticeable that the Indian youth made no sign of acquiescence.

*CHAPTER IX.*

*A CHALLENGE.*

They chose a pretty cove, half way along the northern shore of the island, where there was a little beach but where the water deepened quickly so that the _Spoondrift_ could be moored inshore. With her centerboard raised, her draught was small.

"We should have a tender, King, just as I said," Red Phillips declared. "What's the good of a fellow getting wet to his waist every time he wants to 'board ship?"

"Hold your horses, you scarlet pimpernel," requested Rex. "Maybe this isn't the only water vehicle we'll have. The summer's young yet."

"And you're fresh," growled Red. "Pimpernel, indeed! I'm a healthy looking roadside flower."

"We might have kept one of those canoes," suggested Peewee, with one of his impish grins.

"I don't want anything to do with them or their canoes," Midkiff announced. "I've a mighty poor opinion of that gang."

"Here, too," said Red. "I've a notion they're not going to be good neighbors."

"They promised," Hicks observed seriously.

"What's a promise to fellows like them?" growled he of the auburn hair.

"What do you know about them, Reddy?" Kingdon asked. "Jumping at conclusions, aren't you?"

"If a dog shows his teeth I take it for granted he can bite," was the prompt reply. "I don't have to go up to him and put my hand in his mouth to make sure."

"True, true, Carrots. And quite philosophical. You are improving."

Suddenly, Cloudman appeared from the wood that covered the heights of the island behind the camping place. He came scrambling down toward the tent that had already been set up and secured.

"Here comes the P.L.," said Phillips, squinting up at the lank Western youth.

"What's that?" asked Midkiff. "'P.L.'--pretty lucky? He's missed most of the work."

"Principal Loafer," explained Red. "And my hands are sore tugging at those guy-ropes."

"You said something," agreed Hicks. "Cloudman's a regular pet, isn't he? He's too strong for work."

"He's got a bad wing, and you know it," Kingdon put in admonishingly. "Don't want him to make it worse. He's had a lame arm ever since that chap from Winchester--the one that nicked Henderson's brother for his roll--hit Cloud with a club. I told him to go easy."

"How about me?" growled Midkiff. "That same fellow took a twist at my arm, too. If he'd been trying to break up our nine so Winchester could win the pennant, that scoundrel couldn't have done better."

"But you showed 'em, Middy, in the last game--didn't he, fellows?" cried Peewee. "You put the starch into those last few innings, believe me!"

"And near ruined your arm," said Kingdon, eyeing his roommate with lazy pride. "I've got a couple of cripples on my hands. That's why I was particularly anxious for you and Applejack to come on this cruise, Midkiff."

"How's that?" asked the Colorado lad, landing suddenly with a crash beside them.

"Want you both to get into A-1 shape by fall. We'll have a series to play off in September and October, and you two fellows must be able to do your very best on the mound."

"How 'bout Henderson?"

"Hen's promised to keep in trim, too. Walcott is mighty weak in its pitching staff. We've got three--three, mind you! And we ought to have half a dozen good twirlers."

"Don't you suppose any of those fellows Stanley Downs was nursing along on the scrub nines will develop, Rex?" Red Phillips asked anxiously.

His place was fixed in the infield, but Red was thoroughly loyal to old Walcott. Indeed, it had been his scouting for athletic material that had brought Rex Kingdon to the school.

"About as much chance of the coach developing a comer out of that bunch as you have of developing a love for mathematics, Sunset," responded Rex.

"There isn't a natural born pitcher among 'em, and if there's no natural talent, what can we expect of the coach? It isn't his fault."

"I'm going right to work with John and Applejack, here. If there's a level spot on this whole island----"

"I've found it," interposed Cloudman.

"Eh?"

"Found just the place. Right on the top of this hill. Big enough for a three-ring circus."

"Fine!" Kingdon exclaimed. "Let's have dinner and a nap, and then go up and look it over. If we could get those chaps over there into it, we could have a half decent ball game--all positions filled and somebody to rap out a few."

"Oh, prunes!" grunted Red. "They don't look as though they could play beanbag."

"Don't you get attached to that idea so that you can't be pried loose, old man," Kingdon advised. "That tall fellow looks good to me."

They had drawn lots and it had fallen to Rex to get dinner, with Phillips to assist. Hunger urged them to prepare a "bounteous repast," but neither of the cooks would ever win a medal from the Association of Chefs, and Peewee so declared.

"If it wasn't for the canned beans, this layout would be a frost," croaked that diminutive critic. "Who couldn't warm over beans? Is that dish going to be about all we get our teeth clamped on this week?"

"I'll try some flapjacks for supper," promised Phillips.

Cloudman grinned. "Ever make any?" he asked.

"No. But we've got a cook at home that makes 'em fine."

"What are you going to make 'em out of?"

"There's a package of flapjack flour. All you got to do is to mix 'em up and fry 'em, I s'pose."

"The directions say, 'Mix with buttermilk,'" chuckled Applejack.

"Huh!"

"Oh, my!" chortled Peewee. "Where you going to get buttermilk, Red?"

"We got canned milk and butter. Can't we combine 'em and make buttermilk? Nothing to it!"

"Listen to that!" cried Midkiff. "This red-headed lunatic will poison us before he gets through."

"Wish we'd hired an Injun to cook for us, same as that other crowd have," Cloudman said.

"Not a bad idea," Peewee agreed patronizingly. "You're pretty near as wild as any Indian, Cloud. I move you be made permanent cook."

"Like fun!" said the Colorado youth. "I cooked all the way over in that boat. No more."

"What do you know about this, Red?" Rex said. "Mutiny, hey?"

"And the worst kind," agreed Phillips. "It's a great deal worse to mutiny against the cook than against the skipper and other officers."

"Here we have both forms of the iniquity. What, ho! call the guard! Sentinels to their places! Let the pork and cabbage fall--I mean the portcullis! I sentence the entire mutinous gang to sharp practice at three o'clock. Let the dishes alone, Red, till later. I hanker for forty winks. Talk as you please, fellows, canned beans are filling."

The island, which had been steaming all the morning after the rain, was beginning to cool off by three o'clock. The five Walcott Hall lads climbed the stiff hill to the hidden lawn, and were delighted with it. It was not long before they discovered that others had been ahead of them.

"Those interlopers, I suppose," Midkiff said, sniffing.

"Here's where they laid out their diamond," said Hicks. "Home plate, first base, third. Yonder's second. Looks like the real thing."

"And the box," Cloudman said, stepping into place, vigorously swinging his arm the while. "Somebody's pitched ball from here, Kingdon, that's sure."

"And now you're going to pitch some," Rex told him, adjusting his mitt. "See if you can put something on it, Wild-and-Woolly."

Cloudman's performance pleased him. Midkiff was taking his turn on the mound when there was a sudden sound of voices in the wood behind the catcher's station. The Walcott lads turned to see the crowd from the other camp appear.

"Oh, see who's here!" murmured Hicks.

The four approached the spot where Midkiff was shooting them over. Kirby swung his catcher's mask and mitt while Pence juggled a couple of balls. Pudge trudged behind the scowling Ben Comas, bearing the bats.

"Hoh!" grunted Ben. "What did I tell you? These prep. school fellows have grabbed our place. You might have known it."

Rex put up his hand to stop Midkiff in the middle of his wind-up, and looked over his shoulder.

"Why don't you keep a dog and let him do the growling for you?" he asked Comas. "Any crime in our tossing a few here? 'Bout the only level spot on the island--what?"

"It's our place," said Ben, weakly.

"I don't suppose you mean to camp here all day?" Pence said lazily. Then to Ben: "There's time enough. Let 'em go ahead with their practice," he added, patronizingly. "Let's see what they can do."

Phillips, who had got up from his seat in the shade, sat down again, with a grunt. Pence threw himself beside the red-haired youth. Midkiff scowled, but took the signal from Kingdon.

"Sure," the latter flung at Pence with a laugh. "There's nothing secret about this warming up. Now, old man, put something on it."

Midkiff whipped in a fast one, but it was wide.

"Very bad," said Horace Pence, pleasantly.

"Rather," agreed Kirby.

"They didn't like that one, Jawn," Rex Kingdon said sadly. "Didn't think so much of it myself. Try again."

In a regular game John Midkiff could stand the chaffing of the enemy pretty well, but the remarks of these strangers, looking on at practice, seemed to fret him. He tried to curve his ball, and made a mess of it. Kirby laughed. Pence drawled:

"Strike one--_not_!"

Even Pudge MacComber giggled at the next one, it was so wild. Midkiff turned to glare at the group.

"Look out, Horrors!" Kirby said to Pence. "He's going to bean you."

"If he did," said Red Phillips, "old Kid Horrors would certainly have something in his bean beside atmospheric pressure. He'd have a dent in it."

"Never mind the remarks from the side lines, Jawn," Rex found it necessary to say. "Keep your mind on that spherical object in your lily white hand. Let's do something with it. Now----"

He signaled again, and squatted to get the drop he had called for. Midkiff, steadied as he usually was by the captain's voice, sent in one that fairly grooved the pan.

"Bravo!" acclaimed Pence. "Quite pretty. But no speed."

Kingdon would not let his roommate use all his speed. Midkiff had not been using his arm much for a fortnight, and there was a reason for petting it a little. After a few more passes, Harry Kirby said impatiently:

"You fellers make me ill. Stop throwing kisses at each other, and let a _real_ man pitch."

"I'd like to catch for a real swift ball tosser," Rex said meekly.

"Believe me, you'd think you were doing it if you tried to hold Horrors."

"Is he good as all that?" queried Kingdon, picking a rather wild one of Midkiff's out of the air.

"He is," declared Kirby.

"Maybe I couldn't hold him," Rex said gently.

"You'd know you'd been catching something when you got through," the other laughed sneeringly.

Kingdon looked quizzically over at the silent Pence.

"You've got a good booster," he said. "Wish you'd show me a few."

"Oh, I can wait my turn," Pence drawled.

"No time like the present. Come on in, Mid. Our friend here is going to show us something fancy."

"Think you can hold me, do you?" asked Pence.

"I can try," Rex rejoined modestly.

"I've heard you think yourself the real thing," said Pence, rising languidly as the scowling Midkiff came in.

"Put 'em anywhere within reach and I'll grab at 'em," Rex promised.

*CHAPTER X.*

*KINGDON STATES A DETERMINATION.*

"'Minds me of Wash Hornbrook, Red. 'Member?" whispered Peewee Hicks, watching the tall, dark fellow going out to the mound.