CHAPTER II.

FORMING THE SIGNAL CORPS.

A cheer, heartier and more informal than military, rose from forty throats, as Lieutenant Denmead and Assistant Scout Master Rawson came forth from their quarters to break the news to the assembled boys.

“Scouts of Pioneer Camp,” began the lieutenant, smiling, when silence had been restored, “I have called this meeting in order to lay before you a plan which I think will merit your approval.

“Most of you have heard that in two weeks there are to be National Guard maneuvers over in Oakvale and the adjoining meadows, not far from here?”

A murmur of assent greeted this question, and the Scout Master continued:

“Part of these maneuvers will be the work of a carefully trained and efficient signal corps, and you boys will undoubtedly be interested in seeing that, among the other events. To understand it thoroughly, you should have some practical knowledge of the system of signaling; that is, the semaphore signal code, the wig-wag or Myer code, and the sound codes. You should know how to send and receive messages by each and all of these three methods. Such knowledge may be of great use and benefit to you or to others, at any time.

“In your woodcraft games, in trailing and stalking, in hunting, you have learned the various signals used in Indian warfare, the signs and blazes along a forest trail. Some of you are familiar with the Morse telegraph alphabet, and every tenderfoot who does not know it must learn it, in order to qualify as a second class scout.

“Now, what I propose to do is this: Let us form a signal corps made up of scouts from our four patrols, who can show by superior skill that they can qualify. Proficiency in any branch of scout-craft, in any of our games or pursuits (but particularly in the art of signaling) counts in determining who shall join the corps.

“The number of points or ‘honors’ won by each scout makes his record. From each patrol two boys who have made the best records will be chosen, and the leader of the corps will be the scout who has scored the greatest number of points.”

Lieutenant Denmead paused, and his clear gray eyes roved searchingly over the group.

“Have I made all this clear?” he added. “Any questions?”

There was a moment’s silence, while the boys exchanged eager glances among themselves.

“How does the plan appeal to you?” asked Lieutenant Denmead.

Another cheer greeted this question, showing the degree of interest felt by the majority. Many of the boys were enthusiastic; a few, whose interests lay in less serious sport, such as water games, canoeing, fishing, photography, field-day events, etc., rejoiced in it chiefly because their prowess in such activities would be counted toward election for the corps; two or three remained silent, considering it from their individual standpoints.

Among these reflective ones was Alec Sands. Sitting on the ground beside Don Miller, he had listened attentively to the Scout Master’s proposition, and he had seen in it only an opportunity for additional rivalry between the two cabins,—which meant between Hugh Hardin and himself. For, by tacit consent, Hugh and Alec were regarded as the two principal leaders among the scouts.

To Alec,—who had gained his leadership of the Otter patrol by unquestioned ability in scout-craft rather than by virtue of the true scout spirit of kindness and equality,—rivalry meant a certain degree of hostility to “the other fellow.” Being the spoiled son and heir of a railroad magnate, Alec was inclined to consider himself a little above his companions. To compete with them was an act of condescension.

On the other hand, Hugh Hardin, though but slightly less favored by fortune, was by no means a snob. His patrol was made up largely of boys who had not come from homes of wealth, yet among them there was not one who would ever have suspected, from Hugh’s bearing, that he had been born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. Reserved and self-reliant as he was, he possessed an apparently inexhaustible fund of good-humor, energy, and ready sympathy with others.

The Scout Master’s plan struck a responsive chord in Hugh, to whom Alec’s personal view of it would hardly have occurred.

“Great idea! Don’t you think so, Billy?” he whispered.

“All to the good, chief.”

“Walt knows a lot about ordinary telegraphy, you know. That ought to come in handy and count several points for him.”

“‘Bud’ Morgan, in our patrol, worked with a surveying crew last summer. He learned most of the sig——”

“Cut it! The big chief has something more to say.”

After a brief pause, Lieutenant Denmead continued:

“Since most of you are scouts of the second class, and have some knowledge of elementary signaling, we can start our try-outs for the corps by playing the Signalers’ Game this morning. I would like to see what you can do in work with the semaphore codes. It is going to be a perfect day, clear and sunny, and we ought to take advantage of it.

“The game is one for good signalers; nevertheless, those of you who are not so expert can take part in it and learn the first principles. How many of you know how to play it?”

About eleven hands were raised confidently, then two others went up almost timidly, as if the owners were uncertain of their knowledge. The Scout Master counted them, then turned smilingly to his assistant.

“Rawson, there will be quite enough for the first try-out,” he said. “I will take charge of the smallest division, you of the largest. In that way we shall work to the best advantage. I observe that most of those who seem confident of their ability as signalers are Otters. I shall need a few of them, and you may distribute the others as you think best.

“Now, boys,” he added, “this is how the game is played: The troop must be split up, temporarily, into three divisions. Division A, numbering eight scouts, will go with me to some position on high-ground,—like those bare ridges on old Stormberg yonder,—where we can command a good view of the stretch of country between here and the mountain. We will take with us our semaphore flags, to-day, although any other signaling apparatus will serve equally well in the game. Division B, numbering twelve scouts, will then go out and keep under cover in this stretch of country which we, the signalers, or defenders, overlook. This division, keeping under cover, will try to dodge or trick the signalers by appearing in different places and disappearing, and will finally take up a concealed position. After Division B has been out fifteen minutes, the rest, Division C, under command of Mr. Rawson, will leave camp.

“Then Division A will signal down to Division C, or attackers, the position of the hostile Division B, and other details that will help the attackers to advance unseen and surprise the enemy. Of course, Division B, the enemy, is watching the signals all the while. To win, the attackers must capture the scouts of Division B by surrounding their hiding-places. If Division C passes by more scouts than they capture, it counts a win for Division B.

“We’ll put a time limit of, say, two hours upon the game.”

Following this explanation, came a series of questions about minor details of the game, which were answered by Rawson, while Lieutenant Denmead undertook the arrangement of the troop into three divisions, so that in each division there should be a certain number of scouts who were familiar with the code.

It so happened that Alec Sands, Don Miller, Walter Osborne, and a lad named Arthur Cameron, who belonged to Hugh’s patrol and was just finishing his first month’s service as a tenderfoot, together with Bud Morgan and three others, were chosen to form Division A, much to their delight. Hugh was assigned to Division B, the so-called invaders or enemies, while Billy Worth became Assistant Scout Master Rawson’s right-hand man in charge of Division C.

Taking their semaphore flags, the first division, led by the Scout Master, sallied forth from camp. They followed a faintly defined trail which ran close to the shore of the lake and thence up the nearer slopes of old Stormberg, climbed up and up, scrambling over rocky patches of ground, plunging through thickets of white birch, ash, and maple, until they reached an elevation whereon grew only a few somber spruces and pines, but which commanded a magnificent view of the surrounding territory.

As these eight signalers proceeded on their way, they eagerly discussed ways and means by which their other activities could be correlated with working for the signal corps.

“Any exceptional feat of woodcraft scores twenty points in the record of the scout who performs it,” announced Lieutenant Denmead. “For instance, the scout who positively identifies the largest number of birds, animals, or trees may count twenty points to his credit; he who obtains the best six photographs of living wild animals may count fifteen points each; the same for him who makes the best collection of botanical specimens, insects, or minerals. And the prime requirement for the corps will be to send or receive a message by semaphore, American Morse, or Myer alphabet, sixteen letters per minute.”

Don gave a low whistle.

“You think that is pretty stiff?” inquired Denmead, turning to him with an encouraging smile. “Just you wait! I expect you fellows will be even more expert than that before these two weeks are over. Look out there, Arthur! That ledge you are standing on is rather slippery, my boy. Now then, Osborne, you and Sands go forward along that bare rib of rock, out to its edge, where you see a blasted pine-tree. Brace yourselves against the trunk and the lower branches, if they’re not rotten, and keep a look-out over the backwoods trail from camp. I suspect Division B will take that trail first. Have they left camp yet?”

“Can’t tell, sir,” called back Walter, when he and Alec had crawled to the end of the ledge. “I think they must have left, though, because——”

“Yes, they have, they have!” interrupted Don, pointing down to a clump of willows that grew in marshy ground near the easternmost arm of the lake. “See those blackbirds flying out in circles down there? That shows they are scared by something passing through the willow grove.”

The next moment, while they were taking their places and preparing to use the flags according to the alphabet-diagrams they had studied, there came to their ears, faint and far away, the low, weird, mournful howl of a wolf.

“That is Hugh Hardin calling his own patrol,” declared Billy. “Sounds like——”

“A trick!” muttered Alec, under his breath. “He wants to make us look for him in some place where he is least likely to appear.”

As if in answer to the wolf call came the subdued yet shrill “_Kree-kree-eee_” of a bird of prey, and, by an odd coincidence, a hawk was seen soaring rapidly above the tree-tops in another direction.

“Some of your Hawks are over there, Walt,” observed Alec. “The real bird is making no noise that I can hear. There he goes now! Watch him swoop down into that open glade! Wonder what he saw? A rabbit, most likely. Well, it must be nearly time for Division B to go into hiding, and I——”

“Attention, boys!” Lieutenant Denmead’s voice sounded close beside them, and he blew one long blast on his whistle, meaning “Silence,” or “On guard! Look out for my next signal.”

“Attention!” he repeated. “Get your flags ready. Watch for signs of the enemy. What is that over in that patch of scrub-oak yonder? Hello! Three of them! And running for cover, like mad! Signal it! Signal it, Alec! There! Now Division C has started from camp. They’re advancing to the attack.”