CHAPTER V.

REVEILLE.

When Alec stole back to his cabin, noiselessly entered it, and climbed into his bunk, half an hour later, it was not very clear in his mind how he could contrive, even with Joe’s possible assistance, to bring Hugh Hardin into the shadow of blame for the fire. Of course, he could admit that he had caught Hugh and Billy in the act of putting out the flames, and the fact that they had done it secretly, as it were, without arousing the whole camp, would cast some suspicion upon them.

But their words would be worth exactly as much as his, and, moreover, Hugh would have Billy’s testimony in support.

How much credence would be given to the halfbreed’s vague hints? Could Joe be trusted to say anything? Or, might he not even say just the wrong thing at the critical point, the right thing at the wrong moment?

These questions troubled Alec as he crept shivering between his chilly sheets and drew his blanket around him closer.

“Wish I had primed Joe a little more,” he said to himself miserably, “but perhaps I’ll get a chance to speak with him again to-morrow.”

With this comforting reflection he sank into uneasy slumber.

It was strange that a boy trained in the principles and spirit of scout-craft, particularly a boy who had reached Alec’s position among his mates, could be capable of feeling such jealousy as Alec showed in his attitude toward Hugh. But young Sands was an unusual boy, and he had always been over-indulged. Only with difficulty had he ever been able to overcome an instinctive dislike of any rival, and in the case of Hugh he had not tried to do more than comply with the rules of outward courtesy that obtained in camp.

The rules of Pioneer Camp were few and simple, and every boy in the four patrols that formed the troop was put on his honor and trusted to live up to them. Faithfulness to duty, one of the scout virtues, was required by Lieutenant Denmead, and scarcely a boy in the camp cared or dared to shirk.

Reveille was sounded at six o’clock every morning, except Sunday, when it was an hour later. At six-thirty on week-days and seven-thirty on Sundays mess was served to two of the patrols, and half an hour later to the other two, the patrols alternating in the order of service. Noon mess was served from twelve to one o’clock, and evening mess from six to seven-thirty. At nine o’clock came “taps” which meant “camp-fires carefully extinguished, lights out, and every boy in bed.”

Every morning, also, a detail from each cabin was assigned to police the camp; that is, clear up all rubbish, chop fire-wood, draw water from the bubbling spring nearby, wash dishes, and keep the camp in order.

In the two log cabins, the beds were plain box bunks arranged in a double tier down the sides, each containing a tick stuffed with straw. Red blankets, sheets, and a thin pillow filled with aromatic fir balsam completed the equipment. Of course each boy was expected to look after the airing and making of his own bed.

Accordingly, when the bugle sounded before sunrise next morning, all was hustle and activity at the camp, in strange contrast with the quiet lake and the majestic calm of the mountains.

Hardly had the notes of the bugle call died away in impressive silence, when new echoes were aroused to sudden life by the lusty shouts and calls of forty boys, who, being thus musically wakened from the profound sleep of healthy and vigorous youth, sprang from their bunks and bestirred themselves about their morning duties.

It seemed to Alec, however, that he had slept scarcely an hour. He felt tired and out-of-sorts with himself and everybody else, quite devoid of any zest for the events which the day might bring forth. Wearily he rose, partly dressed, and went outside the cabin, where, upon a bench, stood a row of aluminum washbasins, each with a towel, soap, and brush and comb to bear it company. While he and Dick Bellamy performed their ablutions, envying those who were going down to the lake for a swim, Alec “pumped” his comrade with leading questions, in an effort to find out whether Dick knew anything about the fire. To his satisfaction, Dick appeared wholly unaware that any accident to the mess-cabin had occurred.

Dick was jubilant that morning, because it was the last morning of his week of police duty. After this day he would be free to follow his own devices and in various ways build up his record for election to the signal corps.

“Fine day, Alec,” he remarked genially.

“Yes—for ducks!” retorted Alec, glancing up at the sun which now shone ominously red through a veil of low, swiftly-moving clouds. “Looks like rain,” he added, in explanation.

“For fish, too,” said Bellamy. “You know they always bite better a morning like this. I hope to get some big ones to-day.”

“Speaking of fish,” began Alec, “we’re going to have some broiled trout for breakfast this morning, some that you and Don caught yesterday.”

“Broiled——! Oh, Alec, what time is it now?”

“Quarter past six.”

“Will those lucky chaps never come up from the lake? I’m almost starved! Where, oh, where has my tummie gone?” warbled Dick, as he resumed his dressing leisurely. “I’m ’most starved and I can’t pull my belt in another hole. ’Cause why? There isn’t any.”

“Patience, Dickie, patience. Take courage, don’t worry.”

Dick Bellamy breathed a sigh.

“Worry!” he echoed. “It’s not worry that is troubling me, it’s want of food. I’m ravenous! My insides are in such a state of emptiness that they resound like a drum. I could eat every scrap of a five-pound sirloin steak this very minute.”

“No, you couldn’t,” said Sam Winter, overhearing the remark as he passed by, dripping water from his limbs and hair. “No, you couldn’t,” he repeated, “not with me around! I’d defy you to get your lunch-hooks on it!”

Dick cocked an eye in Alec’s direction.

“Think of it, fellows,” he urged maliciously. “Think of a nice juicy steak an inch thick, cooked to a turn, and all covered with delicious crisp fried onions! Doesn’t that make your mouths water?”

The swimmer moaned and clapped both hands over his stomach.

“Don’t,” he begged, “don’t speak of it! I can’t stand it! It makes me feel faint!”

So saying, he went on into the cabin, followed shortly by his brother.

After Buck came a whirlwind of glistening white forms racing up the path from the lake to the cabin door, piling through it, and scattering in all directions to dry and dress themselves.

“Wonder where Spike and Shorty are going this morning?” said a lad.

“Oh, they’ll show up before lunch,” replied one of the Fox patrol carelessly. “I heard them say they were going up-stream in a canoe, with Joe.”

Alec pricked up his ears. So he would not have a chance to speak privately with Joe that morning! The halfbreed would be away from camp, perhaps taking Spike to some sylvan glade in the forest among the hills, where he could take photographs of living wild animals, and where “Shorty” McNeil could collect specimens of rare plants. Why had he, Alec, not asked permission to enlist Joe’s instructive services on some expedition yesterday, while waiting with the scouts on the summit of old Stormberg?

“Evidently we’re not going to have signal practice to-day?” he said wonderingly.

“Oh, yes,—if it doesn’t rain. If it does, I’ll vote for water-polo, instead.”

“I’ll second that motion,” returned Alec. “Hurry up, now! It’s nearly mess-time.”

Half an hour later, when the boys were seated at the long table in the dining cabin, they heard the sudden patter of raindrops on the roof of the building, at first soft and stealthy, then louder and faster, as the drifting clouds relinquished their burden. There would be no games that morning, it was feared; yet there was a hope that the heavy shower would be over within a couple of hours. Meanwhile, there was always plenty to do, and the small but well-selected library in Lieutenant Denmead’s cabin was available at all times. Thither some went immediately after breakfast, while others, donning bathing-suits, disported themselves in the lake or on it in canoes.

Among the latter, those whose energies were not even dampened by the rain, were Hugh Hardin and Don Miller, and they forthwith rounded up a few followers from their respective patrols and proposed a game of canoe-tag, at which Rawson consented to be umpire.

Hearing of the plan, Walter Osborne and Alec Sands summoned their patrols, each with the appropriate patrol-call, and inquired who would take part in the game.

“We can make it a game between the two cabins, with any number of canoes,” said Walter. “The game is for one canoe to tag another by throwing a cotton bag filled with corks _into_ it. It’s great sport, and it gives you a chance to show what you can do with a paddle; you’ve got to be so quick about dodging, turning, and chasing around! The rules are just like those of ordinary cross-tag.”

“Instead of playing tag, merely, why don’t you get up a tilting-match?” suggested the Scout Master, standing in the doorway of his cabin and listening with interest. “Play it with the two larger canoes each manned by four of you, four of a patrol from each cabin in one canoe tilting with four of another.”

“Great!” exclaimed Alec.

“That will be even more fun,” Walter agreed warmly, “I’ll run ahead down to the lake, and put the plan up to Hugh and Don. Come on, fellows.”

He sped down the path, followed by several of his Hawks who were eager to take part in the tilt.

“We’ll have to draw lots to see who shall man the canoe,” he said, as he ran on. “There are more of us than can play at one time, but we will all have a chance. Where’s Alec? Why isn’t he coming?”

“He stayed behind to collect his ablest Otters,” said Arthur Cameron, in reply, “and I saw him talking with the Chief, just before we ran ahead.”

“Oh, well, I guess he’ll be with us in a few minutes. Hugh! Don! Come here! I’ve got something to say to you.”

In a few words, he repeated the lieutenant’s suggestion, which the others welcomed readily. Alec soon joined them, having satisfied himself that no one as yet had noticed the carefully concealed damage to the mess-cabin, and presently the four young patrol leaders were drawing lots, while their followers were dragging the two “war canoes” out of the boat house, making them ready to launch.

For each canoe four men were required: a spearman, who was also the captain, a pilot, and two oarsmen. It fell to Hugh’s lot to be spearman of the first canoe, of which Bud Morgan was one oarsman, Cooper Fennimore the other, and Arthur Cameron the pilot. In the other canoe, manned by the Otters, Alec was pilot, Dick Bellamy spearman, Sam Winter and a tenderfoot being oarsmen.

Armed each with a light ash pole eight feet long with a soft pad on one end, the spearmen took their places on a little quarter-deck or raised seat in the bow of the canoe. On the other end of each spear was a hook made of a forked branch about a foot long, one limb being lashed to the pole, the other projecting out and slightly backward. Both ends of the pole were wrapped in waterproof, to keep it from getting wet and heavy. The padded end of the pole was intended for pushing the enemy from his stand upon the deck of the canoe, while the hook could be slipped behind his neck, if a quick change from pushing to pulling should be required.

“To push your opponent back into the canoe on one foot counts you five; both feet, ten,” said Denmead. “If he loses his spear, except when he may be pushed overboard, you count five. If you put him down on one knee on the fighting deck, you count five; two knees, ten. If you put him overboard, it counts twenty-five. One hundred points is a round, a battle, we’ll say, is two rounds.”

A cheer broke out, as the two canoes dipped lightly into the water and skimmed over its placid surface.

By this time, as luck would have it, the rain had ceased, and the lake shone like polished steel under a gray sky. The figures in the canoes were silhouetted sharply against it, as the light craft darted to and fro over the waters. Sam was a better paddler than Bud, but Bud’s slight clumsiness with the paddle was offset by Hugh’s superior deftness as a spearman; indeed, at the first encounter of the canoes, Hugh almost succeeded in pushing Dick Bellamy down on his knees, and was prevented from doing so only by Alec’s quick turns and returns.

Alec would fain have had Dick’s place and felt the grim satisfaction of contending with Hugh; but that was not to be, this time. Failing that, he did his level best to “put it all over poor old Bud,” as he expressed it to himself; and once he tried the trick of pretending to run his canoe accidentally against the Wolves’ when Dick had succeeded in hooking Hugh, thus making Hugh lose his balance and drop back into his canoe.

But Rawson, the keen-eyed umpire, declared this move a “foul,” and so the Otters did not win those ten points.

The battle lasted almost half an hour, at the end of which time the Otters won, owing to Alec’s skill as a steersman and Sam’s strong, even stroke which he so skillfully adapted to the tenderfoot’s. The next battle, between the Hawks and the Foxes, was not so long; it ended with Don’s laughable plunge into the bosom of the lake, a victory for the Hawks.

Amid cheers and shouts of encouragement, the canoe warriors returned to their cabins; and that afternoon the signaling games and practice were resumed. And thus, with alternate recreation and instruction, the days passed swiftly, bringing in their round the one eventful day when the members of the signal corps were to be chosen.