CHAPTER VI.

THE CHOSEN FEW.

Up to that day the records were fairly equal, the honors well distributed. The Otters had scored heavily by Alec’s winning the trail-finding contest and the stalking event, and Sam the long-distance swim. The relay-race had been won by two Foxes; the high and broad jumps, the pole-vault, and the fifty-yard dash by the Hawks; while Billy Worth, for the Wolves, had captured the rope-climb, and he and Hugh together had distinguished themselves in the two-mile cross-country hike without compass or trail.

Even more important than these athletic events were the various ways in which the winners as well as the losers had made good individual records. For example, one lad had completed a really remarkable set of flashlight photographs taken in the heart of the woods at night; another had “rigged up” a wireless instrument and built an aerial; a third had carried out some signal-tests with a heliograph; and Arthur Cameron had established a camp weather bureau, running up a set of flag signals each day in communication with the nearest United States Weather Bureau, which, upon request, sent daily bulletins to Pioneer Camp. Arthur, in charge of this weather bureau, found it full of personal interest as well as an opportunity to render the camp a real service. He made a weather vane of an old arrow which Joe gave him, posted a daily bulletin, kept a record of temperature, and measured the rainfall and the velocity of wind. For this achievement he received so many points that his election to the corps, like that of Walter and Hugh, was a foregone conclusion.

Again and again, in the various signal practice games, Walter, Alec, and Hugh had proved their ability to send and receive messages, in all codes, at the prescribed rate of sixteen letters per minute; so they were sure of making the corps.

At last, after much deliberation, the Scout Master and his assistant decided upon the following scouts for the corps:

From the Wolf patrol, Hugh Hardin and Arthur Cameron (no longer a tenderfoot).

From the Hawk patrol, Walter Osborne and a lad named Blake Merton, who, toward the end of the trials, showed unexpected skill as a signaler.

From the Otter patrol, Alec Sands and Sam Winter.

From the Fox patrol, Cooper Fennimore and his chum “Spike” Welling.

Strangely enough, neither Don Miller nor Billy Worth qualified for the corps; the former, because his chief energies had gradually been drawn into another channel of interest; the latter, because he was absorbed in the study of forestry. Billy hoped to obtain a merit badge for forestry, so his disappointment was but slight in comparison with his zeal.

On this account, however, and because he wanted to become thoroughly familiar with the surrounding country, he was given permission to accompany the members of the corps, guided by Joe, on a ten-mile cross-country hike, which was planned as a final test to see who the leader should be. Of course, the Scout Master joined the hikers. A day and a night were allowed for the expedition.

So on the same day the corps was formed it set forth from camp, bound for Oakvale, where the National Guard maneuvers were soon to take place.

“There will be two divisions of the Guard,” explained Denmead, “the Red Army and the Blue Army. Within a day or two I expect a visit in camp from my old friend Major Brookfield, of the National Guard, who will give us further details.”

“How many miles are we supposed to cover to-day?” inquired Blake Merton, as the corps were descending the further slopes of Stormberg, and threading their way through a ravine or gulch that presented only a broken path between jagged rocks and moss-grown boulders, along the dried bed of a stream.

“About three miles in one group,” was the Scout Master’s reply. “When we come out at the end of this ravine, we’ll separate; Joe will lead some of you northward as far as Rainbow Lake, and the rest will follow me in an easterly direction until we meet at the lower end of the valley, near the town of Oakvale. That will be about the middle of to-morrow morning. Then, by pretty steady ‘hiking,’ we ought to be in camp again by to-morrow night, as we’ll return by a shorter route.”

Emerging presently from the shadows of the narrow gulch, the corps halted to rest and to draw lots for a division of their number. Half an hour later they were again on their way, separately; and, at twilight, Joe’s party came in sight of a small lake set like an emerald in the darker green of the hills.

“Rainbow Lake, hurrah!” cried Hugh.

“Hurro!” shouted Billy, the odd number.

“Don’t be too sure it is,” Alec advised scornfully; then, turning to the guide: “Is that Rainbow Lake, Joe?”

“Sure, him Rainbow,” grunted the halfbreed.

“I thought there could be no doubt,” said Hugh, politely. “The route which brought us to this spot was clearly marked on my map, and it opened up as we proceeded. For the last hour or more, in spite of Alec’s opinion, I’ve felt sure we were following the right course. Joe knows this country, trust him for that!”

“You bet he does!” put in Billy.

Hugh’s compliment was not without effect on the guide, who was already growing weary of Alec’s continued rudeness to the Wolf leader.

They were some three or four hundred feet above the lake, and behind them lay the notch amid the mountains through which they had come. Although the descent to the lake was steep in places, they would have very little trouble in getting down.

“It’s great up here,” remarked Spike Welling. “I say, Hugh, what’s that little white mist blowing away from us down there above those trees? It looks like an Indian smoke signal, but if someone were lost in the woods there’d be two of them.”

“Joe, what do you make of that?” asked Hugh.

The guide was leaning against a projecting point of rock, gazing down at the lake without the least sign of emotion. Suddenly he straightened himself and sniffed the air.

“Hunters down there, make fire, cook bacon,” he announced solemnly.

“You mean to say you can smell frying bacon, at this distance?” queried Blake. “Joe, that nose of yours is sure a wonder!”

Joe grunted and grinned. “Hungry,” he explained. “Nose good; better when hungry.”

“Come on, let’s have some grub, ourselves,” suggested Billy. “Then we——”

“No. Wait till we get down little way. Then make camp for night; then eat.”

As they could plainly see, the shores of the lake were deeply indented by many inlets and coves. Even from this height, it was impossible to survey the entire surface of the lake. Afar to the eastward there seemed to be a portion of it hidden amid some hills.

“Gee! it certainly is pretty!” said Billy, noting the great variety of trees, shrubs, and plants that clothed the hills with verdure. “Where do you intend to pitch camp, Joe?”

“Where you say, Alec?” was Joe’s question.

“On that little plateau we’re coming to,” said Alec confidently.

“Where you say, Hugh?”

“I marked a spot on my map where I thought would be a good place for a one-night camp,” said Hugh. “It’s right here where we can be in signal communication with Uncle Sam’s weather bureau, and thence with camp,—in case anything happens,” he added, with a glance at Joe.

For a few minutes they trudged on in silence. Then:

“Good!” grunted the halfbreed, as they reached the spot Hugh had pointed out. “We camp here.”

The greater part of the next two hours was consumed in gathering branches suitable for a lean-to shelter, building a fire-place of flat stones and cooking the evening meal. Finally, when the lean-to was constructed, and a goodly fire was blazing cheerfully in front of it, they chatted and laughed as they ate supper.

After supper, Blake Merton, who had a very agreeable voice, entertained them by singing a number of Irish melodies. The others, with the exception of Joe,—who strolled to and fro, sniffing the breeze,—joined in the choruses. But soon Hugh lapsed into silence, listening to the plaintive airs, feeling a strange, indescribable thrill.

“I wonder what’s worrying Joe?” he remarked, during a pause in the singing.

Alec looked up quickly.

“He told me he didn’t like the way those hunters left that fire over there,” said he, then added in a louder tone: “You can’t be too careful of fires, you know, Hugh!”

If this observation was intended to reach the ears of Blake and Spike, it failed utterly, and only Billy heard it—with a start of surprise. The next moment Blake’s youthful tenor warbled out, “I’ve been workin’ on th’ railroad, all th’ livelong day.”

Now, lounging somewhat apart from the others, Joe betrayed amazing interest in Blake’s singing. He listened with his thick lips parted and a surprising expression of animation upon his usually stolid and immobile features. Once when the others clapped their hands vigorously in applause, he actually clapped his also.

“Gee!” exclaimed Billy, nudging Hugh with his elbow. “That Injun has an ear for music. Just look at him! I never saw him perk up this way before.”

“Yes,” murmured Hugh, “all his people love music. They have their own wild, sad songs. Perhaps Joe might sing. I’ll ask him, in a moment. Joe,” he added, “won’t you sing for us? We’d like to hear——”

“Sing? No!”

At first Joe refused, shaking his head almost sullenly, and regarding Hugh with suspicion. But when, after a little, he seemed somewhat satisfied that he was not being made sport of and that Hugh really wished him to sing, he reluctantly consented.

That song was one which none who heard it ever forgot. It was wild and weird and full of unspeakable pathos. It was more of a chant than a song, more wailing than tuneful, and to Hugh it seemed that Joe was lamenting the lost power and greatness of his people. This, however, Hugh knew could not be possible, for he had often talked with the halfbreed and had found that Joe knew no more of Indian history than a child might learn at school.

The singing of the guide seemed to bring a spell upon them, for thereafter, that night, they talked little and laughed less. Yet this was undoubtedly because they were tired and sleepy and more than ready to seek their beds of piled leaves.

All were astir early the following morning. Immediately after breakfast they continued the descent to the lake, and, following the shore, encountered many obstacles, being compelled more than once to enter the water in order to avoid climbing over precipitous rocks. And as they went along, each one made careful notes of things seen and done; for it had been decided that the scout who showed the most knowledge of woodcraft and who wrote the best—that is, the clearest, fullest, yet most concise—report of the hike should be appointed leader of the signal corps.

In the course of the morning, as they were almost upon level ground again, not very far from Oakvale meadows and the town itself, Joe suddenly disappeared into the woods.

This was strange conduct, indeed, and they marveled at it no less than at his uncanny ability to slip from sight like an animal of the forest. They called and sought for him in vain, and Hugh and Spike were growing decidedly uneasy, when Joe was seen running toward them through the underbrush, apparently in great excitement.

“See um, see um?” he gasped, pointing through the trees and across the narrow valley, where, on the brow of a hill, Lieutenant Denmead’s party could be seen, with the aid of Alec’s field-glasses, making their way down.

“Yes, yes, we see. They got here before us, Joe.”

“Good t’ing! Good t’ing we get out of de woods. Woods a-fire! See!” He pointed up the hill they had just descended, and they saw a column of dark smoke rising against the sky. “Wind blow fire dis way. Comin’ soon, quick!”

“Je-ru-salem!” exclaimed “Spike” Welling.

“That’s so, that’s true!” Billy added excitedly. “What are we going to do now?”

“Hugh!” cried Alec, grabbing his rival’s arm. “See that old farmhouse over there?”

“Yes, I see it. What of——?”

“It’s right in the path of the fire that’s sweeping down this hill!”

Hugh sprang forward.

“Boys, it’s up to us!” he shouted. “Thank fortune, we’ve got our signal flags and heliograph with us! When the other half of our party starts for the town on the run, we’ve got to signal to them, telling them just where the fire is; then they can tell the firemen in Oakvale what to do.”

“Save that farmhouse!” yelled Alec. “Come on, boys! Out here on this high rock with me! Now, get out your flags!”

The crack of Joe’s rifle burst upon the warm morning air.

“That’ll attract their attention to us!” Hugh called out. “Ready now! Come on, begin the messages. Work those flags as we’ve never worked them before!”