CHAPTER X.

A BIG COUNT FOR THE WOLF PATROL.

They were soon on the way back, though of course the boys had to walk rather slowly, on account of the weak condition of the aeronaut.

“I’ll send some one later to gather up what is left of my faithful balloon,” he told them; “because, though I fancy I’ll never go up again, it must always have pleasant associations for me.”

Hugh, leading the rest, followed the trail closely. Still, he used those eyes of his to wonderful advantage and seemed to see everything that moved around them on the ground, in the air high above, or among the branches of the trees. No chipmunk sprang for its hole at the base of a stump, no squirrel flew like a red or gray streak of light to the opposite side of a tree-trunk, no thrush whirred through a thicket, but that Hugh knew all about it. He had long studied the small birds and animals of these woods, and was well acquainted with their habits and haunts.

After a while they arrived at the cold spring, and when Mr. Perkins had been given a drink of water in a coiled leaf made into a cornucopia cup, he pronounced it “nectar fit for the gods.” The boys considered that it suited them all right, though they would never have thought of describing it that way.

“And let me tell you, son,” said the gentleman to Billy, when the latter had for the fourth time leaned far down and filled the green cup for him to empty, “this clear cold water that bubbles up out of the pure white sand is a thousand times more healthful for us all than anything brewed or distilled by human hands, I care not what it may be. Yes, and although I’ve drunk water from a thousand wells, often in African deserts where it meant life itself, none ever tasted sweeter than this does to me now, taken from a primitive cup made out of a big leaf.”

He lay back to rest a while, and Hugh thought it well not to hurry him. They had another stretch of nearly a mile before the road could be reached, where in case of necessity they could find some farmer who would be willing, for a consideration, to hitch up and carry the gentleman, and, perhaps, Hugh himself, the balance of the way to town.

And as he thus took his ease in the shade of the forest trees, Mr. Perkins presently became interested in watching a little thing that happened. Having just learned how scouts are ever on the watch for ways to do a good turn, either to man or beast or even smaller living creatures, he was beginning to study boy nature as it had never before occurred to him to do, with most pleasant results.

Bud had apparently discovered something that interested him, for he lay on his stomach, boy fashion, with his head held up by his hands and both elbows planted on the ground.

Hugh had also observed his attitude, for presently he called out:

“What have you struck there, Bud, that makes you forget you’ve got three good chums close at hand? I’ve asked you a question several times, and you have never so much as given me an answer.”

“Oh! excuse me, Chief,” replied Bud, without even turning his head or changing his attitude the least bit; “you see, I’ve been watching about as game an exhibition of pluck and determination as you’d ever expect to find anywhere; and when I am stuck fast on anything like that, I’m next door to deaf.”

“What might it be?” asked Arthur, busy with his camera strap, which he was shortening to rid it of a worn place.

Mr. Perkins knew, for he chanced to be close enough to discover what it was at which Bud was gaping with eager eyes.

“Why, you see,” remarked the other scout, just as if it might be the most natural thing in the world for him to show such an interest in small things about him, “it is one of those big black ants. He has a pack about three times as large as himself, which he wants to carry up a sand hill about six inches high that leads to his home, I guess. And I’ve counted eleven times now that he has made a balk of it.”

“Whee! that’s going some,” admitted Billy, showing a certain amount of interest. “And he doesn’t like to give up, does he, Bud? He is like some fellows I know.”

“Give up? Why, that ant never will quit trying!” was the enthusiastic reply. “Every time he misses connections, and then ant and pack roll down to the very bottom again. But he holds on like grim death to his prize, which, I take it, must be the biggest dinner he ever tried to tote home, and he’s some proud of it.”

“What else does he do?” asked Hugh, smiling at the gentleman, who had looked toward him and nodded.

“Why, he lets go and runs around the pack to see what’s the matter,” continued Bud. “Then he just grabs hold once more and starts up the old track. Mebbe he’s been doing that same thing all morning. Blamed if I can stand it to go away and never know that he _did_ get up in the end! Here, you poor, game little runt, I’m just going to _lift_ both you and the prize pack to the top of the heap, hanged if I’m not!”

And picking up a strong leaf, he proceeded to do as he said, after which he gave a satisfied chuckle and muttered:

“Run out of sight like you was scared, did you? But I guess you’ll come back after your prize, and it’ll please you to find that it’s up on top. But you deserve all you got, that’s right; and I’m glad to help you.”

Mr. Perkins drew in a long breath. There was a look on his face that expressed volumes as he watched Bud getting ready to shoulder some of his traps. No doubt this trifling exhibition of the interest a boy could take in the small things around him, and the sympathy that game little ant’s actions had aroused in one who was naturally as heedless as most boys, determined the gentleman more than ever to investigate the movement that could cause such a happy condition of mind.

They were soon on the move again. If Mr. Perkins felt pain or weakness, he managed skillfully to conceal the fact from his young friends, for he kept up a running fire of talk all the while they were tramping along the trail.

Hugh guessed that he must be suffering, and as if incidentally, he would every little while mention the fact that they were getting closer to the road. Finally he pointed out the place where they would strike it, and added:

“There is a farm just a little way below, sir,—near where we left our wheels this afternoon,—and I know Mr. Appleby pretty well. If he is at home, we’ll be able to get him to drive you to town, all right.”

“I think I’m getting along marvelously, Hugh,” the wounded man replied, “though a cup of warm coffee right now would brace me up very much. It always acts as a stimulant with me, you know, as I use nothing stronger, and that only in moderation.”

“I’m sorry, then, we didn’t happen to have any,” Hugh told him; “but Mrs. Appleby will be only too glad to brew you a pot.”

“If you had happened in on our troop when we were camping,” Bud asserted proudly, “you would say we knew how to make the best coffee ever.”

“Well, here’s the road just ahead,” said Hugh; “and we may be lucky enough to have some one overtake us with a rig.”

“There’s one coming from town,” declared sharp-eyed Billy; “but that’s the wrong direction. Why, what’s this? Do my eyes deceive me, or is it our brave police force coming in that rig? I see blue coats and shiny brass buttons!”

“No, they’re strangers to me,” Hugh told him after a look. “I wonder if they can have anything to do with those two men in stripes?”

“Ginger! you’re right!” ejaculated Billy. “Why, these parties must be wardens from the penitentiary, out looking for the escaped convicts. Say, what ought we to do about it, Hugh? Would it be fair to tell on the poor wretches?”

Hugh considered a brief time, and then remarked:

“If they ask us questions, we will be bound to answer, and so tell them that we have seen their men. And from the style of those two fellows, I rather think the good people around here will be better off if they’re shut up again. That short one looked as if he wouldn’t mind smashing open a country bank.”

“He was hungry enough looking, seemed to me,” Bud broke in, “to burglarize a hen-roost or a smokehouse first. The bluecoats are slowing up, so I guess they mean to ask us square up and down if we know anything about stripes.”

In another minute they were halting alongside the vehicle which contained two athletic-looking men with strong faces, who were apparently well fitted for dealing with desperate characters.

“Howdy, boys, and you, sir!” said one of the officials. “Now, I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything of a precious pair of escaped convicts around this section of country? We’ve traced ’em this far, and we’ve got a hound in the back of the rig here that can run a trail, if only he gets a start; but we want to find their tracks first.”

“Why yes, we can tell you where they were about an hour or so back,” said Hugh; and then as rapidly as he could he narrated how the two rascals had tried to steal the valuable instruments of the wrecked aeronaut they had been rescuing.

“I noticed, too, that one of the men had lost his cap, and you’ll find it lying there under a tree,” Hugh finished. “That will do for your hound to sniff, so as to get the scent he needs. And I hope you’ll cage the fellows again, because they look like hard cases.”

The men asked a few more questions, and then proceeded to tie their horse to a tree back a little from the road. Hugh was tempted to ask the loan of the rig, with a promise that it would be returned in an hour. But as the farmhouse was now only a short distance away and as Mr. Perkins needed some sort of stimulant to sustain him through the remainder of the trip, he concluded that he had better not.

The last they saw of those officers, they were hurrying along the trail that would take them past the spring, and up to the spot where the stranded balloon told the tale of the wreck and rescue.

Five minutes later the little party arrived at Farmer Appleby’s place. He was in the field, but the good woman of the house sent a child out to call him, meanwhile starting to brew a pot of strong coffee and setting a table, after the generous way of farmers’ wives.

Mr. Appleby immediately consented to hitch up his team and take the injured man into town, nor would he hear of being paid for such a little service.

The boys managed to eat more or less of the good things put before them, while first one and then another of the party told the story of the balloonist’s rescue. And then, as Mr. Perkins declared himself feeling fit to make the last run of the journey to a doctor, the scouts went back for the hidden wheels,—all but Hugh, who sat up on the driver’s seat with the wounded aeronaut between himself and Mr. Appleby.

At Hugh’s request the farmer promised to keep the secret of the rescue, for the leader, having reasons of his own, did not want it known just yet.

In due time they arrived at the doctor’s place, where they had to wait half an hour until he came back from his afternoon round. When he arrived and unwound the bandage from the wounded man’s arm and examined what Hugh had done, listening the while to what Mr. Perkins was telling him of his adventure, the doctor turned to Hugh and said to him, with a sparkle in his eyes:

“Let me tell you, my boy, you’ll make the mistake of your life if you choose any other profession than that of surgeon. You’ve got a great future there.”