CHAPTER VI.

THE NIGHT PROWLER.

When the alarmed Bumpus came crawling hastily out of the tent, he trailed after the other three who had been sleeping near him; for of course, not being forced to carry such a weight around with them as fortune decreed the fat scout should possess, Thad, Step Hen and Davy Jones were much more spry in their movements.

Bumpus found a scene of more or less excitement when he reached the open air.

“I tell you I did shoot the thief, Thad, because I heard him kicking and grunting over there in the bushes,” Giraffe was crying, in excited tones; and no doubt he was shivering all over at the very thought of having done such a thing as fire directly at a human being.

“What was he doing at the time?” demanded the scout-master, who did not altogether like the idea of hearing what the sentry declared was the truth; for his little talk with Bumpus told how Thad felt about the matter.

“Just sneaking right into the camp!” declared Giraffe, who seemed to feel that his act might need bolstering up the best he knew how. “Why, from his actions I just made up my mind the ferocious convict was bent on murdering the lot of us in our sleep, and getting away with everything we had. I tell you it served him right, Thad, and you must know it. I tried to hit him in the leg; but the light was that uncertain a fellow couldn’t just make sure. I hope myself I haven’t done any worse than give him a wound, which you can bandage up.”

Already it seemed, Giraffe’s bold heart was failing him.

“We ought to see about it,” said Allan, who, when there was any unpleasant duty to be performed, never allowed himself to shirk.

“Giraffe, show us where you think he keeled over,” demanded Thad.

“Why, over there where you see them bushes waving in the night wind, whenever the fire picks up. I’ll foller after you, as soon as I can; I’m afraid I sorter sprained my ankle turning so sudden-like after I shot, and it hurts like anything, let me tell you. Go ahead, Thad, and take a light along. If you haven’t got that handy little electric torch, why, just snatch up a stick from the fire. And look out everybody, that he ain’t playing possum, and meaning to shoot when you come close up.”

Of course Thad understood. It was not that Giraffe was growing timid, for he had always been accounted the boldest of the boys in the Silver Fox Patrol; but a sudden sickening realization that by his incautious shot he may have taken a human life, however worthless, made him feel weak about the knees; that talk of a possible sprain of his ankle was a pure fabrication to cover his hesitation about, looking on his work.

Thad, however, would not hold back on that account. If there was a wretched human outcast lying there in pain, the quicker they found this out the better, because, as scouts they had a plain duty to perform.

So Thad sprang over to the smouldering fire. As Giraffe had said, the flames occasionally leaped up as they found new places to eat into the brands; and quickly selecting a promising torch he waved it several times around his head until he had coaxed it to flame forth, when he led the way in the quarter mentioned by Giraffe.

The latter came limping after, no doubt all of a quiver as to what he would hear said in another minute.

“There he is now, lying over yonder!” suddenly gasped Step Hen, pointing; and Bumpus gripped his gun nervously as he tried to crane his fat neck in order to see.

“Yes, there is something lying there!” announced Allan; “and I saw it move just a little then, so I reckon that it’s pretty nearly gone!”

“Oh, that would be tough on the poor critter!” said Bumpus, sympathizingly.

“Yes, and on our chum Giraffe!” echoed Davy, with something about his voice as though he meant to imply that he would not envy the one who had been so hasty about firing at an intruder.

Thad kept right on advancing, and suddenly he was heard to give a queer little hysterical laugh of relief; which proved that the scout-master must have also been laboring under quite a strain.

“Cheer up, Giraffe!” he called out.

“Ain’t he dead, then?” cried the tall scout, forgetting to limp any longer as he started to hurry toward the spot.

“Oh! I guess he’s a goner, as far as that goes,” Thad went on to say; “but it isn’t a man after all, only a runt of a razorback pig!”

“Well, what d’ye think about that, now?” remarked Smithy, as they gathered about the dun-colored victim of Giraffe’s deadly shot; and which had evidently given its last kick, for it was stiffening out even then.

Giraffe was heard to draw several long breaths. He could not say a word at first, emotion so nearly overcame him; but then Thad was glad this had taken place, because he believed it might teach the impulsive one a much needed lesson. Already had Giraffe learned that he had a heart, which was not so callous as he made out. And he would hardly be apt to pull trigger so quickly at another time, when there seemed to be a good chance that it might be a fellow human being at whom his bullet, or load of shot, was to be sent.

“I thought I heard a grunting when I shot,” he finally admitted; “but there were all sorts of sounds breaking out around me. And then you fellows started to yelp like everything, so no wonder I got mixed up some. But see here, Thad, this porker belongs to somebody, don’t he?”

“He certainly must have, when he was alive,” answered the other, with a smile; “and if we can ever learn who his owner was, we’ll be only too glad to settle the bill with him. That may prove to be a dear snap shot you took, Giraffe; because of course the cracker will put a high valuation on his property. They always do when a train kills a cow on the track.”

“Well, it would be a shame to waste such juicy meat, wouldn’t it?” pursued the lanky scout, insinuatingly, as he made his jaws move in a way that carried out the idea of feasting.

“Don’t worry, it isn’t going to be wasted,” said Thad. “If we get the name we’re bound to have the game, too. So hang up your victim by the hind legs, Giraffe, and in the morning we’ll see that we get two fresh hams, some shoulders, and spare ribs in the bargain.”

“Yum! yum! how’s that for high? Nut-fed pork for me every time, fellows. Haven’t I read heaps about the same being so fine down in Old Virginia. Here, give me a hand, will you, Bumpus—no, never mind, one of the others will do as well. Smithy, you take hold, because you’re nearly as tall as I am; and we’ll tie the pig’s hind legs together, so he can hang nicely.”

This was soon accomplished, and all of the scouts felt that the adventure, though giving them something of a shock at first, was not fated to be without its compensating features.

Once more those whose privilege it was to be occupying the twin tents while their comrades remained on guard without, again sought their blankets, and the soft couches fashioned from the yielding gray Spanish moss.

Giraffe, had, however, so far yielded to the dictates of his better nature to say to Thad before the scout-master crept out of sight:

“I want to tell you that I’m awful glad that was only a shoat of a razorback instead of a poor black coon,” which was as good as admitting that he had learned his lesson, and would be much more careful after that how he pulled trigger when he did not exactly know what species of intruder had invaded the camp.

Thad was more than satisfied with the result. He believed that he would not mind being given a frequent shock, if by its means the rest of the boys under his charge might see their way clear to better things.

At the proper time Giraffe came and woke up Step Hen and Davy, who were to take a turn outside. The latter was heard to express himself the very first thing he crawled beyond the flap of the tent that “the night air was quite cool, and likewise very sweet.”

Morning came at last, and there had been no further alarm; but for all that the boys were glad when Thad called them forth, and said it was high time they got breakfast started, as they had a long day’s work before them.

Giraffe begged that Allan cut up the dead pig; and as the Maine boy had had considerable experience along that line, he consented to act as butcher for the occasion. Nothing would do the lanky scout but that they must have some of the razorback in the pan for breakfast, in the shape of chops, for he could not wait until another whole day had passed before tasting, to see if “nut-fed” pork was so very fine after all.

Some of them said they thought it was “peculiar,” others did not fancy it very much; but as for Giraffe, he fairly raved over it; although Davy hinted that he was just “making believe,” so that he could come back three more times for the portions of those who shook their heads, and said it was a little too “piggy” for them.

Bumpus was strangely quiet this morning. He could be seen frowning occasionally, as though his thoughts might not be very pleasant; but then they knew what a great fellow he was to worry over small things; and they took it for granted that he must be again trying to puzzle out the answer to that mystery concerning the little package of medicine—whether he had really delivered it to his mother, or left it at some house on the way home.

No doubt he even pictured that mother as suffering all sorts of agonies just because he had been so careless; for he often declared it was going to be a terrible lesson to him, and break him of some of his bad habits.

But then he also eyed Giraffe and Davy suspiciously whenever they came near him, as though he rather expected to hear them once more make disparaging remarks about the odors they claimed came from the old and greasy suit he insisted on wearing while in the swamp, instead of soiling his brand new one; but they failed to do anything to stir him up, from one reason or another.

“There’s Thad beckoning to us to all come over,” said Step Hen.

“He’s found something or other, I warrant you,” Davy remarked; “because I could see him nosing around. Tracks, chances are ten to one, you mark what I say.”

For once Davy proved a true prophet, for as they came up to where the young scout-master was standing, Thad pointed to the ground, and then went on to remark:

“When you fired that shot, and knocked over the shoat, Giraffe, you builded better than you knew. Look right here, and you’ll see where a man was crawling along on his hands and knees, bent on entering our camp. He must have thought you’d taken a shot at him, for here’s where he whirled around behind this tree, and then made off in a stooping posture as fast as he could move, always trying to keep a clump of bushes between himself and the camp. And the man your shot scared off, Giraffe, was a barefooted escaped convict too, as the signs seem to prove!”