CHAPTER VIII.

A SCOUT IN TROUBLE.

“Don’t get excited about it, Billy,” said Hugh, in his soothing way.

“I’ll try and keep cool, Hugh,” came the reply; “but there’s something about the looks and ways of that fake doctor that makes my blood boil. He couldn’t drag me around like he does that Cale; but, then, everybody isn’t alike.”

“Yes, he’d have a pretty hefty job hauling you around with him,” assented Hugh, with a chuckle, as he surveyed the stout figure of his chum. “Speaking of our interfering—it mustn’t be done hastily.”

“Do you mean that it might get Dr. Merritt wild?” asked the other.

“It would make a bitter enemy out of him, which stands for the same thing,” Hugh said, thoughtfully.

“But I miss my guess, Hugh, if you refuse to lend that poor boy a helping hand when he needs it the worst kind.”

“Scouts seldom do that, you know, Billy.”

“He’s a weak chap, but he’s nerved up to make a try for freedom, whatever the kind of bonds that are holding him may be,” Billy ventured to say, as though he had been figuring the whole case out.

“Yes, that sounds encouraging,” Hugh told him.

“I didn’t find a chance to say a single word to him when next I saw him hovering around the stand where they sell that stuff. He happened to see me, and gave me a nod. Hugh, there was the most mournful look on his face you ever saw. Gee! it’ll sure haunt me for ever so long if we let this game go right along under our eyes, and don’t help Cale.”

“For one thing, Billy, make up your mind in the start that we _will_ help him!” the scout master declared, firmly.

“Bully for you, Hugh!” exclaimed the stout boy, wringing the hand of the leader of the Wolf Patrol. “When I hear you say that I know the thing’s as good as done! Looking back, I can’t remember a single time when we failed to win out after you decided to lead the way.”

“No blarney, now, Billy,” warned the other, shaking his head and smiling. “We’ve got our hands full trying to figure this thing out. And from what I’ve seen of that man I should say first of all that he has a violent temper.”

“If you heard the way he stormed at the boy inside that tent you’d believe it easy enough!” declared Billy. “Why, he must have had the poor fellow trembling like anything for fear he would be knocked down.”

“Now, supposing you devote the rest of this afternoon to watching your chance to talk with Cale,” suggested the scout master.

Billy considered this for a moment.

“All right, Hugh,” he said, presently. “I can fix that easy enough. What ought I do if I get the chance; how shall I talk to him?”

“Try and find out just what sort of a hold the fakir has on him,” advised Hugh.

“You mean ask what he’s ever done to be so tight in the grip of such a bad man; is that the idea, Hugh?”

“Yes,” replied the other scout, “because if there was nothing except his fear of the man you’d think he would have run away long ago.”

“But, Hugh, you’re forgetting what I said before?” urged Billy.

“You mean about there being some sort of hypnotism which the ‘doctor’ exerts over Cale so as to make it impossible for him to break his bonds; is that what you’re referring to, Billy?”

“I’m as sure of it, Hugh, as that my name is Billy Worth.”

“Oh, well!” said the scout master, “even if we let it go at that, you must tell Cale he’s got the backing of the scouts, and that we’re bound to see him through. Unless he’s done something terrible, which the man is holding over his head, there’s no reason why he should keep on being a slave in this free country of ours.”

“That’s right, Hugh,” vowed Billy. “I’ll trot along and see if I can give him the wink to let him know I’ve just _got_ to have a little chin with him. Depend on me to fix it, if only he shows he’s got the nerve to meet me half way.”

“Wish you luck, Billy!” the scout leader told him, as the stout boy hastened away, bent upon his errand of kindness; for good-hearted Billy Worth was never so happy as when doing something for others.

Another influx of eager and curious visitors at this moment took Hugh’s attention from the affair of the medicine fakir and his dupe. Once more the scout master was called upon to explain some of the duties and rewards that came the way of the wearers of the khaki. That he did his work well could be told in the satisfied remarks made by the groups of visitors as they departed for other fields.

It was a rare pleasure for Hugh to sow the good seed in this fashion. His heart was in the work, for he believed in the mission of the Boy Scouts to lift American lads to a higher plane of usefulness, and to a better way of living.

That must have been a record crowd for Oakvale County Fair, and the oldest inhabitant was heard to declare he had never before seen anything like the outpouring of people from near and from far who attended.

They were everywhere throughout the spacious enclosed grounds given over to the Exhibition of products of the soil, the orchard, the dairy, the hennery, and in fact representing every part of country life.

While the grandstand at the racetrack was packed, and crowds loitered along the fence enclosing the quarter-mile circuit to witness the aëroplane ascent, with its wonderful evolutions, proving the mastery of the pilot over his craft, there was no lack of people in other sections.

They came and went at the camp of the scouts. Hugh had talked so much he was actually feeling hoarse; but as another hour or so would wind up the show for that day he was bent on sticking to his task to the end.

Arthur helped out, for it happened that there had been no call for his services in the emergency tent. Now and then Hugh would cast a speculative glance over toward the quarter where the amusement zone was located. Doubtless he was wondering why Billy did not show up with some sort of report connected with the boy whom they were desirous of helping.

Still, there would be two more days of the Fair, and if the chance to do something failed to arrive on Thursday, perhaps it would come along on Friday, or even with Saturday. As long as the harvest was there, and could be reaped so easily, it seemed to Hugh there would be little danger of Doc Merritt packing up his stand and clearing out between two days.

“The only danger of that,” mused Hugh, “would be if he was doing such a land-office business there as to sell his entire supply of stuff out, and have to close shop on that account.”

Even then he could hardly believe so fertile a brain as that of the fakir would fail to devise some new means for reaping still further profits by taking up some other device.

It was about this time late in the afternoon when Hugh suddenly became aware of the fact that there had arisen some sort of commotion a little way off. First he thought he could hear angry voices as though men might be quarreling, and this gave him a bad feeling, because so far the fair had been remarkably free from all manner of fights, simply because liquor was not allowed on the grounds.

“What can it be, do you think, Hugh?”

It was Arthur who asked this question, showing that he, too, had not only caught the loud sounds, but was equally mystified in trying to place them.

Other voices joined in with the first ones. Shouts were even heard and then came the yelping of a dog as some man stepped on its tail, or else gave the animal a hearty kick after being almost tripped by having it get under his feet.

Harold Tremaine, who was a comparatively recent addition to the troop, and still looked upon as a tenderfoot, chanced to be at the camp when this furore broke out. Having an especial antipathy for dogs—for a reason that was connected with a bad scare he had once experienced when a small chap—Harold seized hold of Hugh’s sleeve and hastily asked:

“Oh! you don’t believe it could be a dog gone mad, do you, Hugh? Wouldn’t it be terrible if such a thing as that happened, with all this crowd here, and so many women and children, too?”

“Make your mind easy, Harold,” said the other, without the slightest hesitation, “it isn’t a mad dog scare, I’m sure of that.”

“What makes you think so, Hugh?” asked Harold, apparently not so certain in his own mind, and wishing to be reassured.

“If it was that,” said the scout master, “you’d hear men and boys shouting _mad dog_ at the top of their voices. With that cry, there never was a time when people kept on flocking _toward_ the scene, you know that, Harold!”

“That’s a fact, Hugh, certainly it is!” declared the other, in a relieved tone. “Every lasting one of them would run the other way as if he were crazy. As you say, they’re pushing up now toward the place where all that loud talking is coming from.”

“Seems to me they’re beginning to move this way, too,” remarked Arthur. “If that’s so, we’ll soon find out what all the trouble is about.”

Hugh saw this for himself. He wondered whether the excitement could have any connection with Billy Worth’s mission regarding the breaking of the strange ties between the medicine fakir and Cale.

This idea flashed into his head when he fancied he saw a boy dressed in khaki in the midst of the throng, apparently dodging about, as though he might be concerned in the row. Before Hugh could be sure as to his identity the crowd had once more swallowed him up; but it gave the scout master a little spell of uneasiness.

He found himself imagining all sorts of wild things. Possibly Billy, in his earnest desire to help the boy who was an unwilling assistant in the schemes of Old Doc Merritt, had gone beyond the bounds of prudence; perhaps he had even put himself in danger of being arrested on some charge formulated by the fakir!

Hugh had almost decided to start straight for the scene of confusion, so as to learn the worst, when all of a sudden the tenor of the cries changed. They were now of a more angry nature, such as a reckless mob would utter when chasing after some hapless fugitive.

Looking more closely, Hugh saw a figure burst into view. Many hands tried in vain to seize upon the fleeing boy, but with wonderful agility he seemed to avoid them all, and came madly racing and dodging toward the camp of the scouts.

“Why, looky there, Hugh!” cried Arthur, in surprise, “it’s one of our scouts, as sure as you live! Andy Wallis at that! I wonder what under the sun it all means, and what he can have been doing now!”

Hugh felt a cold hand rest upon his heart. Andy Wallis was one of the later additions to the troop. He had once been a crony of the reformed Lige Corbley; and while nothing had happened to indicate that the boy had not really turned over a new leaf, at the same time Hugh was not absolutely sure about him.

Andy was undoubtedly fearfully worked up. He did not mean that any one should prevent him from reaching the shelter of the scouts’ camp, though what sort of a haven that would prove for him was a question yet to be decided.

The crowd chased after him. Many loud cries were heard and Hugh shivered when he caught some of them, for they sounded like “stop the thief!”

Then the frightened Andy managed to reach the spot where the scout master stood. He threw himself down, and clasped Hugh around the legs, as he cried shrilly:

“Don’t let them take me, Hugh! That little man says I stole his pocketbook, but I give you the word of a scout that I’d sooner die than do a thing like that. You won’t let them arrest me, will you, Hugh? My father will throw me out if they do.”