CHAPTER XX—WE CONSIDER OUR PREDICAMENT

(THAT’S PEE-WEE’S HEADING)

I said to Brent, “Now you’ve killed a child and highway-robbed people and broken into houses, I hope you’re satisfied.”

“And larcenied,” the kid shouted.

“Shut up,” I told him; “do you want the whole town to hear you? It’s bad enough as it is; suppose somebody should come walking into this van.”

Brent said, in that crazy way of his, “Boys, this is the end of an evil career. This is what comes of getting mixed up with the boy scouts. See where it has brought me. Never again will I do a good turn.”

“You’re crazy,” Pee-wee shouted.

“Shh,” I told him; “have a heart. Do you want to get us all pinched?”

“It was about the best turn I ever did,” Brent said; “I turned the stop-cock all the way open. And here I am a prisoner in a dry goods delivery van with boy scouts for keepers. I’d be ashamed to look an honest burglar in the face.” Honest, that’s just the crazy way he talked. He said, “Now the question is to escape. I want to escape in a way that’s full of pep.”

Pee-wee said, “You make me tired. Do you mean to say that good turns——”

“Will you shut up about good turns, and listen?” I said.

“I mean to say that a good turn is the cause of my downfall,” Brent said; “and I wish I had a cigarette. Boys, take a lesson from my terrible example and don’t ever do a good turn.”

“What are you talking about?” the kid shouted.

“Shh,” I told him; “keep still, will you? The first merry-go-round you see you can get on it and do all the good turns you want, only keep still and give us a chance to see where we’re at, will you?”

“It’s printed on the National Headquarters’ letterheads,” he said, “to do a good turn——”

“It’s bad advice to give a young boy,” Brent said.

I said, “Keep still, you’re worse than he is. Give me a chance to think, will you?”

“Roosevelt’s name and Taft’s name are on that letterhead,” the kid began, “so that shows——”

“I’m surprised that they should give such advice to young boys,” Brent said. “I wonder if I could escape from this van with a file and let myself down with a rope?” Then he picked up a can opener and said, “Ha, ha, just the thing.”

I said, “Will you please keep still a minute, both of you? Maybe you’ve heard the scout motto, ‘Be Prepared.’ That’s just as important as good turns. How are we going to get away from this town? That’s the question. You and your crimes, and Pee-wee and his good turns, make me tired. We’ve got to look facts in the face.”

Brent said, “I’m ashamed to look even a fact in the face.”

“Well,” I told him, “you’ll be looking a sheriff in the face if you don’t talk in a whisper, and maybe you’ll find it isn’t so pleasant being arrested.”

Brent said, “I’m not thinking about being arrested, I’m thinking about escaping.”

“Well, you can’t escape from a dry goods van,” I told him.

He said, awful sad, kind of, “I know it. Oh, if I were only Eliza and could be pursued by ferocious bloodhounds.”

I said, “Well, you can’t have everything. You’ve done pretty well so far.”

“Sure you have,” Pee-wee whispered; “there’s one of those notices tacked up in the Post Office, and everybody is talking about that fellow escaping. I told them that often boy scouts find missing people. I was telling them about good turns, and I said we’d be on the lookout.”

“I hope they won’t look _in_” Brent said.

“What else did you tell them?” I asked him, good and scared. Because I knew that if our young hero had been able to round up an audience in the Post Office, most likely he had given them the whole history of the Boy Scouts of America and a lot of other stuff besides.

“I was telling them about good turns,” he said. “There was an old lady there and I carried a big bundle out to her carriage for her.”

“And that’s all you told them?” I asked him.

“I told them we were going to the Veterans’ Reunion at Grumpy’s Cross-roads,” he said.

I said, “Did anybody ask you any questions?”

“Sure,” he said; “a man asked me if I liked gumdrops. He gave me a bag of them. Want one?”

“Well,” I said, “the best thing for us to do is to get out of this place as quick as we can. When we once strike open country, we’ll be all right and when we meet the rest of the crowd we can scrape up some civilized duds.”

“I wonder how I’d look in Brother Abbington’s plug hat just now,” Brent said.

“You should worry,” I told him; “you look bad enough already.”

“Speaking of plug hats,” he said, “don’t forget we have to get a couple of plugs for the motor. What place is this, anyway?”

“It’s the place we were looking for,” Pee-wee said; “it’s Barrow’s Homestead. There aren’t any scouts here, but I told the people all about them. They’re going to start a troop.”

I said, “Well, it’s time to start this troop if we don’t want to get into trouble. This is a pretty risky business.”

XXI—GETTING STARTED

As soon as I heard that Pee-wee had been in the Post Office talking, I decided that we had better get away from that place just as soon as we possibly could, if not sooner. Even Brent said he guessed the best way to escape was inside the van; he said it was more comfortable and convenient. He said the good old times when people used to escape from towers and be pursued by ferocious bloodhounds weren’t any more except in the movies. He said he was discouraged.

Gee whiz, when I looked at him sitting there on that grocery box with his face all grimy and his hair cropped and that striped suit on him, I just had to laugh. I have to admit he’s awful funny, that fellow is.

I said, “Well, one thing, it’s mighty lucky I know how to drive a car and I can get us out of this village. And another thing, it’s mighty lucky we’re still just where the village begins; if we weren’t we’d be surrounded. If we can get past the Post Office, we’re safe.”

So then Pee-wee and I tore down the signs we had outside the van about going all the way from Klucksville to New York, because people would wonder at fellows our age doing that when there was no big fellow with us. Safety first, that’s what I said.

“If they think we’re only going as far as Grumpy’s Cross-roads,” I said, “I guess nobody’ll be suspicious.”

Pee-wee said, “Yes, but how about Jolly & Kidder’s name, and New York printed all over the sides of the van?”

“A scout is resourceful,” I told him; “let’s tear down the canvas from inside and be quick about it.”

Now inside that van was lined with canvas to keep things from getting scratched, I guess. Brent said it was a padded cell. So we took that down and tacked it up outside on both sides so that all the printing was covered. After we did that we closed the doors of the van and locked the padlock and Pee-wee took the key. Brent called out to us that we should take a lesson by his terrible example. Then we could hear him kind of muttering, “I will escape; I will foil you all yet.” Honest, he’s crazy, that fellow is.

Pee-wee and I sat down on the back step for about half a minute to make up our minds what we should say if any one stopped us and asked us questions. “Anyway,” he said, “that canvas on the sides will make people suspicious with no printing on it.”

I said, “Well, we’re not going to print any lies on it, anyway.”

He said, “We don’t have to print lies. Truth is stranger than fiction—that’s what it said in a movie play I saw.”

Then, all of a sudden he out with a piece of chalk that he always carries so as he can make scout signs and he sprawled all over one side of the van,

BOY SCOUTS EN ROOT TO SOLDIERS’ REUNION

Our Mottoes:

BE PREPARED DO A GOOD TURN DAILY

I said, “That isn’t the way to spell en route. What’s the matter with you?”

I guess he was thinking about root beer, hey?

XXII—SILENCE!

I said to Pee-wee, “Now all we have to do is to go straight about our business and keep our mouths shut and we’ll get out of this burg all right. Just keep silence. Nobody’s going to stop us as long as people don’t get suspicious. I can drive the car till we get out of town and I don’t think any one will stop me. All _you_ have to do is to keep silence.”

“How long do I have to keep it?” he wanted to know.

I said, “Oh, keep it till it’s all used up, and then I’ll give you some more. Believe me, you can’t have too much of it just now.”

“We’ll have to use up a lot of it, hey?” he said.

“More than _you_ ever used before,” I told him.

“Anyway,” he said, “an innocent man has nothing to fear.”

“You got that out of the movies,” I told him. “An innocent man with his hair cropped and a convict suit on has a whole lot to fear.”

“Innocence is a shield,” he said; “it’s in my copy book.”

“Yes?” I said. “Well, an enclosed van is a better shield.”

“Our lips will be sealed, hey?” he said. I guess he got that out of the _Dan Dauntless Series_; he eats those books alive.

I felt kind of shaky driving that van, but I knew I had to do it, and if a scout has to do a thing he does it. Gee whiz, I like things that are hard—except licorice jaw breakers. You get three of those for a cent. Even I can eat those if I have to, but I like marshmallows better. I like peanut brittle too. But anyway that hasn’t got anything to do with driving a car.

For maybe an eighth of a mile there weren’t any houses, because where we stopped was really on the edge of the village. Anyway that village didn’t have much of an edge to it. Pretty soon the houses began to get near together. I guess they were always just as near together but they—you know what I mean.

Pee-wee didn’t say a word; he just sat straight up beside me like a little tin soldier. It was a shame to see him wasting so much silence.

Pretty soon we came to the Post Office. There were a lot of people standing around the Post Office and they were talking about the railroad strike. I knew that if we once got past the Post Office we’d be all right. Because post offices in the country are where sheriffs and constables and other people that haven’t got anything to do hang out. It wasn’t much of a post office. I guess they called it a post office because there was a post out in front of it. There was one of those signs tacked to that post.

I said to Pee-wee, “This is a young reviewing stand. Look straight ahead, keep your mouth shut, and look kind of careless—you know—carefree.”

_Good night_, you should have seen the look he put on!

“Is that what you call care free?” I whispered to him. “You look like an advertisement for tooth powder.”

“That’s the scout smile,” he whispered.

Honest, you’d have laughed to see him; he was looking straight ahead and grinning all over his face.

“Look natural,” I whispered to him. “Look as if there wasn’t a convict in the van. Look as if you never saw a convict.”

“How can any fellow look as if he never saw a convict?” he whispered. “Most everybody has never seen a convict.”

“Well, look like them, then,” I told him. “Look the same as a person would look if he wasn’t helping a convict to escape.”

He put on another kind of a smile and then he whispered to me, “I bet now those people will say I’m not helping a convict to escape, hey?”

“Sure,” I told him; “you look as if you were on the track of an ice cream soda. Keep still and the worst will soon be over.”

XXIII—FIXING IT

As we went past the Post Office I felt pretty shaky, because there were a whole lot of people there and some of them were women, and there were a lot of children, too. The women said, “Isn’t he cute?” They meant Pee-wee.

Everybody stared at us as we went by, and read the printing on the van and said how the boy scouts were all right. It didn’t seem as if anybody was suspicious at all. Some of them waved to us and we waved back and I heard a man say that we were lively youngsters. Gee whiz, nobody ever accused us of being dead, that’s one sure thing.

One lady said how she had seen Pee-wee in the store and how he had told her all about good turns. She said it must be great to be a boy. Gee whiz, she said something that time.

“Now you see,” Pee-wee whispered; “it’s good I was in that store. It’s good I told them all about the scouts, because now they’re not suspicious. They think it’s all right for kids to be doing this, because I told them scouts are resourceful.”

“Did you tell them how we have plenty of initials?” I asked him.

“Do you know what safe conduct is?” he asked me.

“I know that yours isn’t always safe,” I told him.

“It means when a general promises not to interfere with anybody, even an enemy. He gives them safe conduct; that means that they can go ahead and not worry about being pinched, see? These people gave us safe conduct and they’re not bothering us, because they know the scouts are all right. It’s on account of the way I talked to them. I came along first like a kind of a—you know—a what-d’ye-call-it——”

“I don’t know _what_ to call it,” I said.

“A herald,” he blurted out.

“Well,” I said, “you look more like the funny page in the Journal to me. Don’t talk too loud, the danger isn’t passed.”

By that time we had got about fifty yards past the Post Office and I was feeling kind of nervous, but just the same I knew the danger was over.

Pee-wee said, “Do you mean to tell me that those people would let a couple of kids like us go by driving a big van, and never ask them any questions, if they didn’t know that we were all right? I fixed it all right, while you and Brent were worrying your lives out in the van. Now we’re safe.”

I said, “Oh, you’re the little fixer, all right.”

Just then, _good night_, one of those men came running after us calling, “Hi thar, wait a minute, you youngsters!”

Oh, boy, a cold shudder ran down my back. I said, “We’re pinched. I knew it was too good to be true.”

I stopped the car and when the man caught up with us he said, all out of breath, “What’s this here talk one of you youngsters were givin’ us ’baout good turns? Allus ready ter do a favor, as I understand?”

Oh, bibbie, wasn’t I relieved.

“That’s our middle name,” Pee-wee said.

“Wall then, haow abaout doin’ one naow?” the man said.

By that time there were about a dozen people standing around in the road and I gave Pee-wee a nudge and said, “Watch your step; let me do the talking.”

But he didn’t pay any attention to me. Off he went with a lot of stuff out of the handbook and wound up by saying how scouts were supposed to help strangers. “Sure, we’ll do anything you want,” he said; “all you have to do is to ask us.”

“Wall then,” the man said, “here’s a lot of folks wantin’ to go to the reunion at the Crossroads and we was thinkin’ as haow you might pack ’em inter this here van of yourn as long as the trains ain’t runnin’.”

_Jumping jiminies!_ I nearly fell through the seat.

XXIV—SNOOZER SETTLES IT

That was a home-run all right I said, all flabbergasted. “You see, the only trouble is I’m not an experienced driver and these are—they’re pretty rough roads—and—eh—”

“That’s one thing about us,” Pee-wee piped up; “we’re not as smart as we look. Maybe it seems as if we could do most anything, but we can’t. That’s one thing about a scout, he has to admit it if he doesn’t know everything. He has to—he has to—eh—he has to safeguard the lives of others. See? Suppose we ran into a ditch and upset the car and everybody got killed. They wouldn’t thank us, would they?”

One of the ladies said, “Oh, isn’t he just too funny for anything!”

The man said, kind of slow and drawly like, he said, “Wall, yer could drive slow en’ thar ain’t no ditches.”

“Even one ditch would be enough,” the kid said. “Isn’t there just one?”

Jiminetty, I could hardly keep a straight face. There were all those people crowding around the van and saying how nice it would be if we would take a group to the reunion and how we had plenty of room. I thought of Brent sitting on the grocery box inside, and I bet he was laughing.

I said under my breath to Pee-wee, “All right, you got us into this with your good turns; now you can get us out.”

Then a man said, “A couple of boys who are going to have an eye out to recapture a convict, like this here little feller says, they ought to be smart enough and kind enough, I reckon, to give some of these here disappointed souls a lift. Jest you boys open these here doors and let the youngsters pile in, so they can go see Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”

“That—that show isn’t going to be much good,” Pee-wee said; “and I can tell you one thing, it’s pretty stuffy in that van. That’s one thing scouts believe in—fresh air.”

By that time he was fidgeting around on the seat and some of the people were laughing and some of them looked surprised.

“That’s just it,” Pee-wee said; “if you were boy scouts and you were going to try to capture a criminal, you wouldn’t want a lot of children along, would you? And ladies? Ladies are a-scared of criminals; gee, I don’t blame them.”

Somebody said, “Oh, I guess the hounds they got on the trail will find the convict, all right, so you boys can jest consider if you’re goin’ to live up to your words or not ’baout doin’ good turns.”

Oh, boy, that was a terrible moment in Pee-wee’s life. I guess _Dan Dauntless_ never had so much to worry about. But that kid has some sense, anyway, and that’s more than that story fellow has. In a couple of seconds I noticed that he was wiping his face with his handkerchief and I saw that he was getting the key sort of rolled up in the cloth at the same time. Then he made believe to put the handkerchief in his back pocket, but really he dropped it through the little window into the van. You couldn’t even hear it drop inside.

Then he said, “The trouble is that this van is locked and we haven’t got the key.” That kid would never have said that while he had the key, because it would have been a lie. And scouts don’t lie, that’s sure.

Jiminy, I don’t know what those people thought; anyway I felt pretty mean. The ladies said anyway they were just as much obliged to us. The men looked kind of as if they didn’t have much use for us, but they didn’t say anything and I had to admit that Pee-wee had got away with it all right.

Then, _good night, Sister Anne_, what should I see but our old college chum Snoozer from the Uncle Tom’s Cabin show. There he was, right among all those people, pushing them out of the way and sniffing around as if he was half crazy. Pee-wee and I jumped down and pushed past the people who were all crowding around the back of the van, and, _good night_, there was that pesky actor dog with his feet on the step, sniffing and sniffing at the doors and barking and yelping for all he was worth.

“Chop down them doors!” I heard a man say. “That’s somethin’ wrong here. This here dog is an official bloodhound, and, _by gum_, he’s tracked that thar convict. That chap paid these youngsters to help him escape, that’s what he has—by thunder! Somebody get an axe out of the Post Office and chop down these here doors. Don’t either one of you youngsters try to run or, by thunder, you’ll drop in your tracks. Good turns, eh? So them’s the kind of good turns you do, hey? Get an axe somebody—quick!”

XXV—BIG EXCITEMENT AT BARROW’S HOMESTEAD

I was kind of excited, but I said to Pee-wee, “Don’t get scared; all they’ll do is arrest him; he’ll get off.”

Then one of the men came up and said to us awful loud and gruff, “Naow, you kids, aout with that key, hand it over!”

I said, “Didn’t you hear my chum say that we haven’t got the key? It shows you don’t know much about scouts if you think they lie. If you want to know where the key is, it’s inside.”

“Wall then, yer better crawl through that little winder up thar in front and git it,” he said.

“I don’t have to get it,” I told him; “go and get it yourself if you want it. You must have been reading dime novels if you think that boys like us help convicts to escape. If you tear down those doors you’ll put them up again, I’ll tell you that.”

Just then along came a man with a brass badge on about as big as a saucer. I said to Pee-wee, “Look what he’s hiding.” He had an axe, too. There were a lot of people crowding all about him. One of them said, “It’s a pretty desperate attempt, Constabule.” The man said, “I’ll have him behind the bars in about a jiffy. These boys is accessories, that’s what they are.”

“Accessories are things that come with motor-boats,” the kid whispered to me.

I said, “Well, we’re the kind of accessories that come with motor vans. This is some circus; Brent will get his wish and go to jail, all right. There’s no use getting scared.”

By that time everything was excitement. People came running out of houses and crowded around the van and stared at Pee-wee and me. Gee whiz, I don’t know where all the people came from. All the while the dog kept clawing at the doors of the van and barking and yelping. I wondered how Brent felt inside the van. In about five minutes the whole town was out, gaping and talking, all excited.

The constable said to us, “Naow then, you youngsters, you been compoundin’ a felony, that’s what you been doin’. Now who’s inside that van? Who yer hidin’? Somebody, hey?”

“I’m not denying anything,” I told him. “All I say is we didn’t break any law.”

“Wall, yer admit yer concealin’ somebody in thar, ain’t yer—huh?” he shouted.

I said, “I’m not denying it, but I’m not scared of you.”

He said, “Yaas? Wall, we’ll soon see. We’ll have him under lock and key for sartin, if that’s what he likes.”

“That’s his favorite pastime,” I said; “you don’t know him.”

“Surraound this here wagon, you people,” the constable said, “and keep a watch on these kids; they’re pretty slippery.”

So then the constable and another man began chopping down the doors. “It’s up to them,” I said to Pee-wee; “we should worry.”

“What do you suppose Brent will do?” he said.

“They’ll lock him up till the whole thing is explained,” I said; “they won’t take our word for anything. He’s got troubles of his own at last; I hope he’s satisfied. He wanted bread and water, now he’ll get it.”

“They’ll lock us up, too, won’t they?” the kid said, good and scared. “That man is keeping his eye on us.”

All the while the dog kept yelping and clawing at the doors and the people crowded closer around so as to see better. Gee, I felt kind of sorry for Brent, because I saw he was up against it.

All of a sudden down came one of the doors and the bloodhound sprang inside and came out again. The constable poked his head in and said, “_Well, I’ll be jiggered!_” Pee-wee and I looked inside and, good night, that van was as empty as an ice cream soda glass when Pee-wee is through with it.

“Well—what—do—you—know—about—that?” I stammered under my breath to Pee-wee.

“His dream came true,” Pee-wee whispered to me; “he kept his vow, he foiled everybody, he _escaped_. He—he—he what-d’ye-call-it—he hasn’t lived in vain—hey?”

“He hasn’t lived in the van very long, that’s sure,” I whispered. “He has put it all over these people and us too. Can you beat that fellow?”

“He defied locks and bolts and dungeons like Houdini,” the kid said. I guess he saw Houdini in the movies.

“Sure, he’s a real hero at last,” I said; “but he’s got _me_ guessing.”

The constable and a couple of other men were stamping around inside the van and he called out, “Thar ain’t no clew here, nothin’ but this here can opener.” And then he came out with the can opener in his hand.

Gee whiz, I just couldn’t help shouting right out in front of everybody. I said, “That clew explains the whole mystery. There was a can of baked beans in that van, and he must have opened it and emptied them out and secreted himself in the empty can. When we threw the can away, he escaped.”

The constable said, “What’s all this talk? I want to know who you kids is, anyway. And I want ter know what you’re doin’ here, runnin’ this big van all by yourselves.”

I said, “I’m Sherlock Nobody Holmes, the boy detective. This is my trusty pal, Scout Harris. We’re on our way to kidnap Major Grumpy in this van and hold him until he gives up one thousand dollars to the Boy Scouts of America. Can you tell us where we can buy a couple of spark plugs?”

XXVI—TO THE RESCUE

All of a sudden the plot grew thicker. I thought we’d have to thin it with gasoline, it grew so thick. For a few minutes Pee-wee and I just stood there wondering what had become of Brent and laughing at the constable who was holding his axe in one hand and our can opener in the other, and all the people stood around staring at us as if they didn’t know what to make of us.

The constable said, “I daon’t like the looks uv this here, I don’t. You allowed there was somebody in that van. Now whar is he?”

I said, “I didn’t allow anything, I just didn’t _deny_ anything. What’s the use of blaming us because you half chopped the van to pieces? All you’ve got is a can opener—we should worry. You seem to trust the dog; if you want to ask any questions you’d better ask _him_. The only person he knows how to track is Eliza, because that’s his business.“

“He’s on the stage,” Pee-wee piped up.

“You mean he’s in the van,” I said.

The constable said, “Wall, I reckon you youngsters’d better tell yer story ter Justice Cummins. It’s mighty funny two young boys travelin’ by theirselves in a big van.”

“I’ll recount our adventures to him,” Pee-wee piped up. “Where is he?”

For about half a minute the constable just stood there staring at us. I guess he didn’t know what he’d better do. All the rest of the people stood around, staring. I guess it was the biggest thing that ever happened in Barrow’s Homestead. Inside the van a couple of men were holding the bloodhound by the collar. Some excitement.

All of a sudden, zip goes the fillum, along the road came an auto, pell-mell! It came through the village from the direction we were going in.

“Look!” Pee-wee said. “Look who’s in it; it’s Harry; who’s that with him?”

Before I had a chance to say anything, the car was close up to us and Harry and another person were stepping out. Harry was laughing all over his face, but he was in a terrible hurry, I could see that. I gave one look at the person who was with him and began to roar.

“It’s—it’s Brent—Gaylong,” Pee-wee whispered.

I said, “Don’t make me laugh any harder or I’ll die of shock.”

Honest, even now when I think of it I have to laugh. He looked like Charlie Chaplin only more so. And he had such a funny way about him too—kind of dignified. He had on a great big straw hat like a farmer and a black coat like a minister, only it was all in shreds. It was his trousers that made him look like Charlie Chaplin. Laugh! They were about a hundred times too big and a mile too long, and every time he took a step he stumbled all over himself and had to hoist them up. His big hat was pulled way down over his ears and—oh, I just can’t tell you about it. He was a scream. And all the while he had a very dignified, severe look on his face, even when he tripped all over himself.

Honest, I just howled. I didn’t hear Pee-wee laugh; I guess he must have fainted. Harry came along behind Brent, trying not to laugh but every time Brent’s feet caught in his trousers I could see Harry’s face all twisted up just as if he was trying as hard as he could not to scream. Every step Brent took I thought he’d go kerflop on the ground. The people were all giggling, but he didn’t notice them at all, only kept on looking very sober and stern—oh, boy, it was a scream.

He said, “What is all this?” And then he fell all over himself and gave his trousers a hitch. “Who is interfering with these boys in the performance of their duty? Stand back, everybody!” And he went staggering against a tree and gave his trousers a good hitch up. “Who is the leader of this motley throng?” That’s what he said, and, gee whiz, I thought he’d skid and land on his head. You couldn’t see his hands, his sleeves were so long. “Who dares to stand—” he said, and, good night, he went kerflop on the ground and got right up again. I had a headache from laughing.

Harry Donnelle just sat down on the step of the van and shook and shook.

Brent pointed at the sheriff with the floppy end of his sleeve and said, “You and your minions are charged with trespassing upon the property of Jolly & Kidder, Inc., New York. Wait till I roll up my sleeves so I can point better. Who _dares_ to stand in the way of the Boy Scouts of America?”

“Thar’s a convict missin’ from araound these parts,” the constable said; “who are you, anyway, and your friend thar?”

Brent said, “We represent the Archibald Abbington Uncle Tom’s Cabin Company who are touring the country, drawing laughter and tears with their excruciating and heart-rending drama, and I am in search of one of our ferocious bloodhounds. We are in partnership with the Boy Scouts of America and any one attempting to interfere with our noble effort to put an end to slavery will be punished to the full extent of the law. When we have an opportunity we will endeavor to find your convict for you. Please stand aside, everybody, and allow the procession to pass.”