CHAPTER IX.

PETER, THE BOUND BOY.

“Oh! what if somebody was caught in that fire-trap, and so mixed up he couldn’t tell which way to go?”

It was Billy who said this. Always tender-hearted, the stout scout was appalled at such a dreadful thing happening. They all stood there and stared hard at the smoke-filled forest. Here and there flashes of flame could still be seen, and in more than one place a tree burned fiercely.

“Let’s hope it isn’t as bad as that,” said Hugh.

“The people up through this section had plenty of warning to get away, from what I heard,” remarked Ned Twyford.

“But some of them would sooner stay and take the chances, just as Mrs. Heffner here did,” Monkey Stallings suggested.

“You could hardly blame them, either,” another boy interjected.

“It’s hard to desert your property,” the widow told them, “especially when you’ve got a family of children to bring up, and no husband or father to lean on. But I didn’t dream the danger would be so great.”

“You mean,” said Hugh, “that if you’d known how bad it was you’d have gone off in the wagon and left things to burn?”

She drew her two younger children convulsively to her.

“Yes, I think I would,” she admitted. “The lives of my little ones are worth much more to me than even the farm buildings. But it would have been very cruel to have lost my home just when I was making the last payment to lift the mortgage.”

“Hugh! there it was again!” called out Ralph.

The boys of the Wolf Patrol always said Ralph had the ears of a fox. Either through natural causes, or because of the training he had received when trapping small fur-bearing animals during the winter time, Ralph certainly could catch sounds that were unheard by his mates.

At this fresh announcement new excitement arose.

“The same sound you heard before, was it, Ralph?” asked the scout master.

“As near as I could tell, it was, Hugh.”

“And you think it may have been someone shouting?” continued the other.

Ralph shrugged his shoulders.

“Seemed like it, that’s all I can say,” he replied.

Once again everybody listened. They could hear the crackling of the flames as the fire seized upon another half-dead pine tree not far away, mounting upward with fierce rapidity.

“There, didn’t you hear that?” demanded Ralph suddenly.

Several of the other scouts admitted that they had caught some uncertain kind of sound, though unable to say just what it seemed to resemble.

“It may have been a crow cawing,” suggested Jack Durham.

“Or else a dog barking in the woods?” added Bud Morgan.

“Whatever it can be,” persisted Ralph, “it’s headed this way, because all of you heard the cry that time and you couldn’t before.”

Hugh turned toward the widow.

“Who lives nearest to you over that way, Mrs. Heffner?” he asked her.

“The Bargers—oh! I wonder if he got back again last night?” was the answer she made.

Hugh saw that she was looking anxious.

“Why do you say that, Mrs. Heffner?” he asked.

“It’s this way,” she tried to explain. “Mr. Barger is a widower, and has three children. He doesn’t keep hired help but has a bound boy of about fifteen working for him. Poor Peter has a hard time of it because Mr. Barger is a drinking man, and not an easy boss.”

“Do you mean that he went away yesterday?” asked Hugh.

“He took a load into town,” she replied.

“But surely he had plenty of time to get back home again?”

“Most men would,” Mrs. Heffner explained, “but when Mr. Barger goes in once in a while he meets some boon companions, and he usually gets home the next day at noon in a muddled condition.”

Hugh grasped the cause of her alarm.

“You are afraid the three children have been left there with only that bound boy Peter to take care of them?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fearful that is what has happened, Hugh. And think of those poor children in the midst of that terrible smoke and fire. Even if they haven’t been burned to death, there’s a chance they’ve been smothered.”

All of the scouts had heard what was said. They looked toward the forest with pitying eyes. It was terrible to think of children being lost in those smoke-shrouded woods.

“Can we do anything, Hugh?” asked Billy, looking as though ready to even rush out into the forest himself if Hugh but gave the word.

“Yes, there is one thing that might help,” the scout master decided.

“Start out and scour the woods, do you mean?” questioned Harold.

“No, because we might manage to miss them after all,” said Hugh. “Let’s all join together and give a yell. They’re bound to hear it, if what we believe is true, and can head this way. Now, ready!”

Like every other high school pupil, Hugh had watched the clever tactics of the cheer captain when they fought for honors on the diamond or the gridiron with some rival school.

He knew how to bring out a concerted shout, capable of carrying a long distance, and when they all gave tongue together the result was certainly satisfactory.

“Listen!” warned the scout leader, as the sound died away.

Plainly all of them caught what seemed to be an answering cry.

“It must be that boy Peter,” said Mrs. Heffner, excitedly, “he’s tried to lead those poor children over to my house, not knowing where else to go. Oh! please help him get here, Hugh! The dear little things, just to think of them being out in those terrible woods.”

“Wait a minute and we’ll give another shout,” said Hugh.

When they did so the response came quickly.

“Closer than before,” said Jack Durham.

“He’s getting his bearings all right!” declared Ralph.

“We must keep him posted,” added Arthur Cameron, “and I hope none of them will be burned seriously. I’m glad I brought that salve along with me. We found it good at other times to take the fire out of burns.”

Each time they sent out that cheering shout it seemed as though the reply came from a point nearer at hand.

“He’s coming right along,” declared Billy.

“Another call or so ought to do the business,” Ned Twyford told them.

“Poor chap,” Harold ventured, “it’s enough to scare any one, just the thought of being lost in a forest afire.”

All of them were scanning the smoky edge of the woods as if they fully expected to see a party of childish figures issue forth and hasten toward them. It was a very exciting moment, and one those boys would not soon forget.

“I see something moving over there!” called out Ralph.

He pointed as he said this, and every one tried to follow the direction of his extended finger.

“Yes, there is some person coming,” ejaculated Bud Morgan.

“Only one did you say?” cried the widow, as though appalled.

“Seems to be,” Bud continued; “there, now he’s burst out on the open I can see him better.”

“Just one person?” persisted Mrs. Heffner.

“Looks like it might be the boy Peter you told us about,” said Ralph; “he’s bending over and trying to walk steady but he seems pretty groggy. Yes, that’s Peter all right, but he’s alone, Mrs. Heffner.”

“Must have cut out for himself, and tried to escape,” Jack Durham hinted, with all the scorn in his voice that a true scout would naturally feel for any one who would be guilty of such an act.

“But I wouldn’t have believed that of Peter,” objected the widow. “He always struck me as a steady, reliable, brave sort of boy. It wouldn’t be like Peter to run away and leave those motherless children to burn when the farm-house took fire.”

“Look! he’s fallen over now, poor fellow!” cried Billy.

“No, he’s got on his feet again, and keeps right along,” Jack Durham declared. “Bully for Peter; he’s got the grit all right.”

The boy came staggering toward them. He was, indeed, a piteous sight with his clothes burned in many places, his face fiery red from the heat, and his limbs fairly tottering under him.

He pushed aside the tin cup of cold water Hugh held out to him.

“Save—the kids—they’re in between the rocks at the Dry Spring—couldn’t fetch ’em any further. Oh! _please_ go,” and with that Peter collapsed in a heap.