CHAPTER XIII.

WHAT HAPPENED IN THE WOODS.

“My sister told me all about it,” burst out Dale, plunging into the object of his mission without any preliminary skirmishing. “It was a mighty brave thing to do, Rob.”

“Rot!” rejoined Rob. “It was just a Boy Scout good turn. Say no more about it, old fellow.”

“But I must,” hurriedly went on Dale, bringing out his words rapidly, as if he had nerved himself to the performance of an unpleasant, but necessary task. “I—I want to tell you, Rob, that I feel pretty small and cheap and mean over the way I’ve let those fellows jolly me into annoying you.”

“That’s all right, Dale. Never mind about what’s past,” Rob said; “but in the future let’s make this talk have some good effect. Let the Hawks and the Eagles get together. I know that the rank and file of the Hawks are friendly toward us, and——”

“You bet they are,” blurted out Dale. “It’s only Hunt’s influence that drew them apart, and it’s this same influence that’s keeping them there. We could get together to-morrow if it wasn’t for Hunt and one or two of his cronies. I’m ashamed to think that I was one of them, but it’s over now. I’m disgusted with Hunt—through with him for good.”

Rob saw that the boy was agitated by something more than the mere mention of Hunt’s name. He appeared to be anxious to say something more, but apparently it stuck in his throat.

“Why, what has Hunt done recently to make you so disgusted with him?” asked Rob, by way of giving the other a lead.

“Why, don’t you know?” exclaimed Dale; “haven’t you guessed who put up that job on you when that soldier and the Jap attacked you?”

“I’ve often wondered how they came to know we would be traveling by that road,” said Rob. “It puzzled me a good deal, but I attributed it to accident, for lack of a better explanation.”

“It was no accident,” Dale assured him. “Hunt and Jack Curtiss found that a secret passage ran from the beach to the grounds of the old De Regny house. They sneaked through it the day that you were out there, and lay in a clump of bushes close behind you while you talked. They thought they saw a chance to get even and hastened off to set those two fellows on you.”

“The dickens they did!” exclaimed the other. “That explains a whole lot that wasn’t clear before. Hunt is a worse young rascal than I thought him.”

“He certainly is,” agreed Dale. “I was disgusted clear through when they told me about it, and said so. But Hunt and the others threatened to do me up if I said anything to you, so I kept quiet for a while. But when my sister told me that it was you who had rescued them from that bull of Jeffords’, I just had to come and see you, and tell you how sorry I was. I hope you’ll be friends.”

“Of course, I will,” said Rob heartily, “and I hope we can make this a means of getting the two patrols together.”

“The only stumbling block now is Freeman Hunt. He’ll do all he can to work against us,” went on Dale.

“Don’t see that he can do much,” rejoined Rob, after a few minutes of thought. “If the patrol doesn’t want him and can show good cause why he should not be at the head of the Hawks, they can appeal to the scoutmasters and elect a successor.”

After some more talk the two boys separated, but that conversation proved the beginning of the end for Freeman Hunt. A proposal was made to him some days later to adjust the differences between the Hawks and the Eagles, but he stubbornly refused to retreat from his position. In the meantime, the scoutmasters, Mr. Blake and Commodore Wingate, had heard something of the difficulties of the two patrols, and the result was a peremptory order to Hunt to adjust all differences at once.

“I’ll quit first,” grunted Hunt, when this news was conveyed to him. “That kid Blake wants to own the earth.”

The leader of the Hawks finally was as good as his word, and, after a stormy scene in their armory, he strode out of the organization. Soon after Dale Harding was elected to the leadership in his place. Lem Lonsdale and Hunt’s other cronies, refusing to follow their leader out, still remained, however, as sources of trouble. Thus, for the time being, ended Freeman Hunt’s association with the Boy Scouts. But he was not the sort of lad to accept defeat any more easily than his father. It was noticed that soon after his resignation from the ranks of the Hawks, Hunt, Jack Curtiss, and Bill Bender formed an inseparable triumvirate, but for a time they gave no sign of making mischief.

With the first sprinkle of snow, the boys of Hampton began to get out their guns—those of them who possessed any—and little was talked of but rabbit hunting and the merits and demerits of various hounds. The aeroplane experiment grounds were closed till spring, only a small detachment of soldiers being left behind to look after things, and see that no one molested the place. Old Captain Hudgins, as was his winter habit, had deserted his island, except for occasional visits, and would not go back to it till the early spring. In the meantime, he meant to pass the chilly months in a small-cottage lying a little outside Hampton to the east. Of course, it was right on the coast, for the captain could not bear to be out of sight or sound of the sea.

One Saturday Rob and his inseparable companions set out for the woods with their guns, determined to bring home enough rabbits for three separate stews. Their way led them up over Jones’s Hill, where Paul meant to try out his winged sled when opportunity offered, past a few scattered dwellings on the outskirts of the town, and then into a tangle of woods and brush interspersed with sandy clearings covered with dried, brown grass.

Separating, they started through the woods, and every now and then the report of a shotgun rang out sharply on the frosty air. It was evident that they were having good sport, or at least getting plenty of shots.

Hardly had they disappeared into the brush before another group of hunters, leading a big liver-and-white pointer on leash, emerged into the roadway from a clump of bushes, behind which they had ducked as the three boys came into view.

The trio that had so suddenly appeared from what was, apparently, a hiding place consisted of Freeman Hunt, Jack Curtiss, and Bill Bender. All carried guns, and four rabbits carried by Jack showed that they had had some success.

“I suppose those brats are going to scare everything within five miles now,” muttered Jack, as they watched the Boy Scouts vanish into the woods. “They’re a fine bunch of hunters. I’ll bet there isn’t one of them could hit a barn door if he were locked in.”

“That’s right,” muttered Freeman Hunt, in a surly tone. “Young muckers, I owe them a long score, and they’ll have to settle it before long.”

“Yes, they did kind of knock you down and then rub it in, didn’t they?” grinned Bill Bender, fumbling with the breech of his gun.

Freeman did not relish this reference to his recent troubles, and an angry flush rose to his cheeks as he burst out:

“That’s the worst thing they ever did. I’ll get even with them if it’s the last thing I do. I haven’t thought up anything yet, but I will, and don’t you forget it. I hate them all.”

“Well, no use letting them have all the sport,” rejoined Jack Curtiss. “Let’s cut into the wood here, and then the old dog can nose up all the game they drive this way.”

By mid-afternoon Rob found himself alone, in a small clearing, surrounded with scrub oak and sea-stunted pines—a vegetation peculiar to that region.

He paused to listen for some sound of his companions, and, as he did so, he heard, quite near at hand, as it seemed, a crashing sound in the brush.

“That you, fellows?” he called out; but there was no answer, and in place of the crackling of the brush there was dead silence. Somewhere, far off, he could hear the steady blows of a woodsman’s axe, but that was the only interruption to the silence of the winter’s afternoon.

“Maybe it was a deer,” reflected Rob, as no answer came to his call. “They get off that millionaire Grogan’s place once in a while. Guess that must have been one.”

He looked down at the two rabbits he held.

“Not much for an afternoon’s work,” he smiled. “But they’ll have to do.”

The sun was beginning to sink quite low, and Rob thought to himself that he would have to be getting back. He was turning with this object in view when a sudden sound behind him attracted his attention, and a big liver-and-white pointer ran through the clearing. Its nose was on the ground and it paid no attention to him.

“Somebody else hunting round here,” thought Rob. “Queer, though, I’ve heard no other shots.”

A moment later he plunged into the brush, striking out toward the southwest. As he entered the tangle, and, bending low, began pushing his way through it with his broad, young shoulders, something happened.

A flash of fire, so close that it almost singed his hair, followed by a deafening report, and the whistle and spatter of shot among the leaves, brought him to halt with a gasp at his narrow escape.

Some one had fired a shotgun almost in his ear. A fraction of an inch and he would have been badly wounded, if not killed. As he stood there, angry at the unknown hunter’s carelessness and palpitating with the sudden shock, there came a great crashing in the brush. Somebody was evidently making off at top speed. Perhaps it was the man who had caused the accident.

“Hi!” shouted Rob, finding his voice at last. “Hi! come back there, you! You pretty nearly shot me.”

But the crashing kept on. Evidently whoever had fired the shot was in hot haste to escape.

“That’s a fine way to sneak out of a careless accident,” exclaimed Rob indignantly, hurling his voice after the unknown.

A sudden hot wave of suspicion and anger swept over him as he spoke. Was it an accident? Would any one who had come so close to jeopardizing a human life dash off like a detected criminal? Would he not stand his ground and explain matters?

Sorely perplexed, Rob stood a while listening to the further sounds of the retreating individual who had imperiled him. As he paused, rooted to the spot, something flashed across his path and vanished the same way as had the mysterious shooter. It was the same liver-and-white pointer he had noticed before.

“You belong to him,” exclaimed Rob, as the dog vanished. “I never saw you before, but I’ll know you if we meet again.”