CHAPTER III.

CAMP-FARE.

“Hold up!” called out Thad.

Of course, as the scout-master, his word had to be recognized as law by the members of Cranford Troop. Several of the boys manifested signs of disappointment, and impulsive Giraffe seemed to be the chief offender.

As a rule they were not averse to giving vent to their feelings; for besides being Boy Scouts, they had long been school chums.

“Oh! that’s too bad, now, Thad,” Giraffe remarked, dejectedly; “you didn’t want us to chase after that fellow. Four of us ought to’ve been able to beat him in a furious dash; and how d’we know but what it isn’t the very man we’ve come all the way from Cranford to see?”

“It’s too late now, anyway!” observed Bumpus.

“Yes, he’s disappearing among the shadows yonder,” said Davy, who had sharp eyesight; “and I saw him turn to look back at us just when he was passing through that bar of sunlight that crosses the water.”

“Did you think he was a negro, or a white man, Davy?” asked Thad, quietly.

“Well, to tell you the truth, Thad, I guess now he _was_ a coon, all right. He didn’t have any hat on, and his hair seemed woolly enough,” Davy admitted, frankly.

“I thought as much all along,” Thad told them, “and that was one of the reasons I wouldn’t give the word to pursue him. There were plenty of others, though.”

“Name a few, Mr. Scout-master,” requested Giraffe, still unconvinced.

“Oh! well, for instance, we’re all pretty tired as it is, and to make that dash would wear us out. Then we’d lose the chance for camping on this spot here that I picked out, and we might go a long way without running across as good a one. And if it was a black outlaw, one of those desperate escaped convicts from the turpentine camps, if they have them in Louisiana, even should we manage to overtake him he might happen to have a gun of some kind. You could hardly blame him for showing fight, Giraffe.”

“Not when you remember that we’re wearing uniforms pretty much like the National Guard, and chances are he believed we were real soldiers, not tin ones,” was the contribution of Step Hen, easily convinced, after he had given the subject a little reflection.

“Besides,” added Bumpus, as a clincher that he knew would catch the lanky scout; “it’s nearly time we’re thinking of having supper; and sure, it would be too bad if we had to postpone trying that delicious home-cured ham we fetched along.”

The frown left the forehead of Giraffe like magic, and in its place came a most heavenly smile.

“I surrender, boys!” he announced. “I throw up my hands, and give in. Seems like everybody’s against me, and seven to one is big odds. Must be I’m mistaken. If it was a genuine coon after all, why, sure we’d a been silly to waste our precious muscle achasing after him. Besides, looks like the shadows are acreeping out along there, and we’d as like as not get lost somehow. Oh! you’re right, as usual, Mr. Scout-master. I’m always letting my ambition run away with my horse sense. Seems like I never open my mouth but I put my foot in it, somehow.”

“Then why don’t you get a button, and keep it shut?” asked Bumpus, promptly.

“I would, if it was the size of some I’ve known,” responded Giraffe.

“I hope now, you ain’t making wicked comparisons?” the fat scout demanded.

“Why, you don’t think I’d be guilty of such unbrotherly kindness, do you?” was Giraffe’s perplexing rejoinder; and knowing that he could not get the better of the tall scout Bumpus gave a grunt, and stopped short.

They were soon busily engaged in making preparations for camping. Having come all the way from home with the idea of spending some time in the Southern swamp, looking for those whom Thad so earnestly wished to meet face to face, the lads had of course made ample preparations for having at least a fair degree of comfort.

None of them had ever been in the Far South, so all they knew about the country, its animals, and the habits of its people, must come through reading, and observation as they went along.

But they did know the comfort of a tight waterproof canvas tent in case of a heavy rain storm; and consequently a good part of the luggage they carried in the three trunks had been a couple of such coverings, besides the usual camp outfit about which many happy associations of the past were clinging.

These trunks had of course been left in the small town where they had obtained the roughly made canoes, to be picked up on their return later.

Long experience had made every one of them clever hands at tent-raising; and from the way Smithy and Davy undertook to get one up in advance of Step Hen and Bob White, it was plain to see that the old-time spirit of rivalry still held good.

Giraffe as usual took it upon himself to start the cooking fire. He was what the other boys called a “crank” at fire-building, and had long ago demonstrated his ability to start a blaze without a single match, by any one of several ancient methods, such as using a little bow that twirled a sharp-pointed stick so rapidly in a wooden socket that a spark was generated, which in turn quickly communicated to a minute amount of inflammable material, and was then coaxed along until a fire resulted.

Bumpus always stood ready to assist in the cooking operations; because there were so many other things coming along that required dexterity and agility, and from which his size and clumsiness debarred him, that he just felt as though he must be doing something in order to shoulder his share of the work.

As the twilight quickly deepened into night—for in the South there is not a very long interval between the going down of the sun, and the pinning of the curtains of darkness—the scene became quite an animated one, with eight lively lads moving around, each fulfilling some self-imposed duty that would add to the comfort and happiness of the patrol in camp.

And when that “delicious home-cured ham” that Bumpus had spoken of, and which had really come from his own house, so that he knew what he was saying when thus describing it, began to turn a rich brown in the pair of generous frying-pans, giving out a most appetizing odor; together with the coffee that Bumpus himself had kept charge of, well, the healthy boy who could keep from counting the minutes until summoned to that glorious feast would have been a strange combination.

Bumpus was trying a new way with his coffee. Heretofore he had simply placed it in the cold water, and brought this to a boil, keeping it going for five minutes or more. Now he had the water boiling, and just poured in the coffee, previously wetted, and with an egg broken into the same; after which he gave it about a minute to boil, then let it steep alongside the fire for the rest of the time.

“Better than anything we ever had, isn’t it, fellows?” he demanded, after he had tested the contents of his big tin cup, and nearly scalded his mouth in his eagerness. “Ketch me going back to the old way again. Coffee boiled is coffee spoiled, I read in our cook book at home.”

It was good, but all the same Giraffe, as well as several others, declared they preferred the old way, because it was such fun to see if the cook was caught napping, and allowed the pot to boil over; besides, the aroma as it sent out clouds of steam was worth a whole lot to hungry lads.

“Bumpus, I’ve got a favor to ask you,” said Davy, as they started to settle down around the fire, each in a picked position.

“Go ahead, Davy, you know I’m the most accommodating fellow in the bunch. Tell me what I can do for you,” replied the fat scout, immediately; and every word he spoke was actual truth, too, as his comrades would have willingly testified if put on the witness stand.

“I wish you’d let me sit over there, and you take my seat, which, I reckon is much more comfortable than yours; and besides, you complained of a pain in your back, and I’m afraid of the chilly night wind taking you there. You’ll face it here instead.”

“Don’t you budge, Bumpus!” exclaimed Giraffe; “he’s only giving you a little taffy, don’t you see? Thinks he’ll have a better chance to enjoy his grub if the wind don’t blow _from_ you, to him. I wouldn’t stand for it, Bumpus; you just stay where you are. Reckon you look comfortable enough, and what’s the use dodging all around?”

“Huh! guess you’re thinking of your own comfort now, Giraffe,” grunted Davy in disgust.

Bumpus eyed them both in distrust.

“I remember we learned in school that it was best policy to keep an eye on the Greeks that come bearing gifts,” he wheezed; “and so I’ll just stay where I am. If you don’t like it, Davy, why, there’s plenty of space all around. As if I’m to blame because this old swamp isn’t the sweetest place agoing.”

The conversation soon became animated and general, so that the three disputants forgot the cause of their trouble. Bumpus was the bugler of the troop, and always insisted on carrying the silver-tongued emblem of his office along with him; he had it by his side now; but Thad had given peremptory orders that he should not make any use of the instrument except by special order; or under conditions that might arise, whereby they would need to be called together, like a scattered covey of “pa’tridges,” as quail are universally designated in the South.

“We must remember,” Thad went on to say, “that this isn’t just an ordinary jaunt, or an outing for fun. It means a whole lot to me that I manage to find the man and the little girl. Either it will turn out to be Felix Jasper and my lost sister; or else we’ll prove that the gentleman was terribly mistaken. And you can understand, fellows, what a load I’m laboring under all the time that puzzle remains unsolved. But I want you to remember that we ought to keep as quiet as we can. Bumpus, you understand the situation, and why we don’t ask you to amuse us with some of your fine songs?”

Bumpus had a very good voice, and often did entertain his chums while in camp by singing certain songs they were particularly fond of. He was a sensible fellow, and did not take offense easily. Moreover, even though he might feel huffed over some action on the part of his mates, he never “let the sun go down on his wrath,” but was quick to extend the olive branch of peace.

“Sure I understand, Thad!” he declared; “and I’m going to bottle up my voice on this occasion, so’s to have it in fine trim, to let loose in a hallelujah when we find that it _is_ your little sister Pauline—”

Bumpus said no more, and for a very good reason; because, just at that particular moment there arose the strangest sort of sound from some point close by, such as none of the scouts could ever remember hearing before.