CHAPTER IV.

A FIRE IN CAMP.

The game was over by the time that Hugh, after a fruitless search for the bobcat’s kittens, returned to camp, and Division “C,” the attackers, had won the day.

Owing to the fact that each division had been made up of scouts from the four patrols, no single patrol could claim the honor of victory, although individuals in each patrol who had done good work in signaling were complimented by their fellow scouts, as they all were gathered around the camp-fire that evening.

“Alec Sands will surely make the corps,” declared young Osborne. “The Chief said that he——”

“I know, I know,” interrupted Billy, whose loyalty to Hugh made him loath to hear Alec’s praises sung. “You have a good chance, too, Walt.”

“Don’t feel sure at all, myself,” Walter replied, yawning. “Say, Billy, what’s the matter with Hugh this evening? Look at him sitting over there, talking to the Lieutenant! He’s as solemn as a great horned owl. Do you know what he did all afternoon, after we got back?”

“He went to see the Lieutenant first, and showed him the pelt of a big bobcat he’d killed. Gee! it’s a stunner, Walt! Then he spent two hours out on the field, practicing wig-wags with Bud Morgan. You see, to-morrow we are going to change divisions, so everyone will get a fair trial.”

“Bully! We all need a lot of practice. Even Alec is a little rusty.”

“And the same way with the Myer code and the American Morse,” continued Billy. “Each one, in turns.”

“For the next two weeks?” queried a boy who sat beside them.

Billy nodded.

“It’s not a bit too long,” Walter affirmed. “We want to make a good showing as a corps.”

“Hope it will be a nice day to-morrow,” said the boy, looking up at the sky with its glittering host of stars. “I want to take some photos.”

“Guess you’ll be able to, all right,” was Billy’s confident rejoinder. Billy was a born optimist, ever ready to see the doughnut before he beheld the hole; he had the happy faculty of expecting and looking for the best always, in conditions as well as in people.

“Feel the grass,” he suggested a moment later, passing his hand lightly over the sward. “It’s as dry as chips. You know what that means?”

“Dangerous to light fires,” said the other promptly.

“Pretty good, for a tenderfoot!” quoth Billy, with a grin. “But I was thinking of a little rhyme which I’ll repeat for your benefit, if sufficiently urged.”

“Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“‘When nights are cold and days are warm, A circle round the moon means storm.’”

“Thanks for the information!” laughed the tenderfoot. “You can see the moon’s rim clearly now. Plenty of sunshine to-morrow? I doubt it!”

“‘When the grass is dry at night, Look for rain before the light.’”

“Oh, well, we can’t do anything but wait and see,” commented Billy.

With which sage remark he rose, stretched himself sleepily, and crossed over to where the Scout Master and Hugh were seated upon a fallen log.

As he approached Hugh, who was gazing into the fire with his hands clasped over his knees, Billy noticed a group of boys of the Otter patrol gathered around Alec Sands, and heard Alec say to them:

“We’re going to have stalking games to-morrow afternoon, after signal practice in the morning. Don’t let those Wolves give us all the go-by in stalking, fellows! If we do, it will give every one of them a chance to score a lot of points. I hope it will rain; then we’ll have to do something else, or perhaps everyone can do just what he likes best.”

There were murmurs of approval, indistinguishable to Billy, who passed on and took a place by Hugh’s side. Presently the whole troop was listening attentively to Lieutenant Denmead’s clear and concise explanation of wireless telegraphy. It was his custom to give informal talks on various subjects during these meetings at the evening council-fire, and to outline a program for the ensuing day.

When the council was adjourned, at a quarter of nine, the scouts retired to their cabins. Alec and two other boys, being still on police duty, extinguished the fire, scattered and trod upon the few remaining embers, and then sought their bunks. Half an hour later, the profound silence of the forest was broken only by the eerie hoot of an owl and the nocturnal chorus of frogs in a distant marsh.

Soon after midnight, Hugh, whose bunk was near the open window of the cabin, was awakened by a faint smell of smoke. A light breeze had sprung up during the night, wafting that pungent, unmistakable odor to his sensitive nostrils. Instantly he sat up and threw aside his blankets.

“Billy,” he whispered hoarsely, “wake up, son!”

There was no response save his assistant’s deep, quiet, peaceful breathing.

Knowing that Billy had a chronic objection to being awakened suddenly, if at all, Hugh was thoughtful enough to respect his friend’s amiable weakness even at this crisis. Leaning over the sleeper, he took Billy’s hand, held it a moment, then pressed it firmly. The result was that Billy stirred comfortably and opened his eyes, without a start or a protest.

“What—what’s the matter?” he drawled sleepily, blinking at Hugh through the darkness.

“I smell smoke,” was the whispered reply. “Billy, do you think a fire has broken out in camp?”

“What! Fire?” Billy sniffed the air. “Say, Hugh, it can’t——”

“S-sh! Not so loud! We don’t want to wake up the whole cabin. Come outside. If anything’s happened, we must act at once, or at least give warning.”

“Wonder where it is coming from? Hope it isn’t a fire in the woods! That would be more than——” Suddenly he remembered his conversation with the tenderfoot about the dryness of the grass, and coupled it with a warning which the Scout Master had given them that very day, concerning the danger of starting forest fires.

“It is criminal to leave a burning fire,” Denmead had said. “Always put out a fire with water or earth. A fire is never out until the last spark is extinguished. Often a log or snag will smoulder unnoticed after the flames have apparently been trodden down, only to break out afresh with a rising wind.”

Had this happened now? Billy wondered, as he followed Hugh to the door. Had the scouts on police duty been guilty of criminal carelessness?

Outside, the two lads instantly discovered the cause of their alarm.

Some of the sparks from the camp-fire must have lodged between the logs of the mess-cabin, and, lying undisturbed and unnoticed there, have slowly eaten their way through the resinous wood until it was ignited. Little tongues of flame were licking one wall, but as the soft breeze was blowing _away_ from Cabin 2 and the Lieutenant’s cabin, no one could have detected the smoke, unless by mere accident. Even Joe, the half-breed guide who, with the cook, occupied a tent not far removed from the mess-cabin, was apparently oblivious of the threatened danger.

Yet even while Hugh and Billy, each snatching a bucket of water that stood outside their cabin (left there for morning ablutions) ran over to the scene of peril, they caught sight of a shadowy form in the moonlight, rushing from Cabin 2, and heard a voice hoarse with anxiety call out:

“What is it? Who’s there?”

Without answering, they dashed the two pailfuls of water upon the flames, and were gratified to hear an immediate sizzling that told them the fire had not bitten deep into the log walls; indeed, it had only grazed the bark and outer rings of wood.

The third fire-fighter had now come up to them, but he hung back a little, as if nervously anxious to avoid recognition.

“Run, Billy! Get another pailful!” directed Hugh, in a low voice, and his comrade sprang away to carry out instructions. “I’ll club it out with this roll of old canvas. It’ll be out in a—oh, is that you, Alec?”

“Yes, yes! Hugh!—Billy! Please don’t make any noise!”

“Why, what are you afraid of, Alec?”

“Of—of—oh, nothing; only I think we can put this little fire out, and—and perhaps no one will be any the wiser, except ourselves. Here, let me help you!” He seized the small roll of canvas with hands that actually trembled, and began to assist Hugh in beating out the flames. “Oh, Hugh, if this is my fault, I——”

“What do you mean? You won’t say anything about it?”

“No!” whispered Alec.

“But it will be seen by daylight to-morrow. The charred logs——”

“I can smooth them off with my knife. Here! Slam it against this one! That’s the way. Again! Softly, no noise! Thank goodness, here comes Billy with the pails!”

Alec ran forward to meet Billy and to relieve him of his burden, leaving Hugh to wonder why he had spoken so strangely. Why this shrinking on Alec’s part? Had he been in any way responsible for the mishap? In spite of his proficiency in woodcraft, Alec was sometimes thoughtless, impulsive, not thorough in his methods. Carelessness was his besetting sin. But lack of courage to own up to a mistake? Surely he was no coward! If he had done wrong, he would admit it, make a clean breast of it, and “face the music.”

These thoughts passed swiftly through Hugh’s mind while he stood watching Billy and Alec pour a stream of water from the pails upon the fire.

In a few moments the flames were extinguished, but Hugh’s curiosity in regard to Alec’s desire for secrecy was not quenched. He resolved, however, to say nothing more on the subject; it was no concern of his, anyway.

“All out!” announced Billy cheerfully.

“Do you—do you think there’s been much damage?” Alec questioned, still speaking in a low and guarded tone.

“Can’t say. Wait till to-morrow.”

“I guess it is very slight,” said Hugh.

“But it will show, I suppose?”

“Of course it will.”

“I don’t want it to show. I might be blamed for it.”

“You!” said Billy, astonished. “Why, how could you be blamed?”

“Fellows, I’ll tell you,” Alec replied soberly. “It’s this way: When Dick Bellamy and I put out the council-fire this evening, after the Lieutenant had left us, we were so darned tired we didn’t take any extra great pains in doing it. All we did was to sprinkle a little water over the embers, throw dirt on them, and tread them down. Oh, yes, I,—I mean Dick,—did pile a few stones around them, but that was all. I heard Rawson say he thought it was going to rain to-night. Now if anyone can prove that this little blaze started from sparks from the camp-fire,—which will be pretty hard to prove, after all,—there’ll be the dickens to pay, and I’ll lose——” He cut his explanation short with a glance in the direction of the guide’s tent.

“Didn’t you hear footsteps?” he asked nervously.

Mechanically, the three listened. There was, indeed, a muffled tread upon rustling leaves.

“Cook’s asleep, anyway,” remarked Billy, as a stertorious rumbling greeted their ears. “Perhaps Joe’s sneaking out on the war-path!”

His good-natured levity jarred upon Alec.

“Shut up, Billy!” he exclaimed irritably. “I’m going to get my knife and scrape away this charred wood. Will you fellows help me fix it nicely? Just for appearance’s sake, you know.”

“Never mind it. How fussy you are, Alec!” remarked the unsuspecting Billy. “Let it go. I’m too sleepy. Come along, Hugh. Me for my little bunk!”

When the two Wolves went back to their lair, Alec followed them, on a pretense of having abandoned his idea of subterfuge. He saw that Hugh disapproved of it, and he resented that attitude.

Bidding them good-night, he hurried to his locker, got out his favorite claspknife, and returned to the mess-cabin, upon which he at once began to work, whittling off the burnt and half-burnt wood.

In the midst of this occupation, he heard the same stealthy footsteps, and, looking up, saw Joe, the half breed, standing beside him.

The grin that distorted Joe’s features made his splendid white teeth fairly gleam in the moonlight.

“Me know wot you do dere,” he said softly. “Me hear wot you say to Hugh Hardeen. Why you say eet, boy?”

Alec gave an uncomfortable start.

“You won’t tell on me, Joe?” he asked, with a laugh of pure bravado. “You’re a pretty good friend of mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Joe your frien’.”

“I like you, Joe, and I’ll tell my father to be sure and hire you for a guide up in Maine, next October. I—I’ll tell him to give you more pay than the other guides get, too, if—if you’ll say nothing about this accident. Someone else can take the blame, for a change.”

“Yes, some boy he get bad talk. Not you.”

“That’s right!” Alec laughed again, a strained, hollow, mirthless laugh. “Joe, I know you admire my silver-handled knife; want it?”

“You no want it, Joe take it. Tanks.”

“Joe, you—you don’t like Hugh Hardin, do you?”

The halfbreed’s answer was merely an ambiguous grunt.

“Neither do I, just now,” said quick-tempered Alec Sands.

Joe said nothing. Doubtless he understood the hint.