CHAPTER I.

THE NUT GATHERERS.

“It’s turned out to be a nutting trip worth while, fellows!”

“Three sacks full of black walnuts and shellbark hickories, with a peck of big chestnuts! Well, for one I’m glad Hugh asked me to go along.”

“And say, think of those poor little kids over at the orphan asylum—what a high old time they’re going to have this winter cracking all these nuts, when the snow that’s kept off so long comes to Oakvale!”

“Hugh, it seems to me you’re always doing something to make those orphans think a heap of Hugh Hardin, our assistant scout master, eh, Billy?”

“That’s right, Arthur,” responded the boy addressed by the name of Billy. “Why, only a short time ago didn’t I see him put through a neat job that I reckon saved the lives of several of those kids?”

“You must mean, Billy, when Hugh threw that runaway stone-car from the track, after it was headed for a stalled wagon full of children at the foot of the steep incline. I’ve always felt sorry I didn’t see that splendid feat myself.”[1]

“Oh, come, change the subject, please! It is getting to be a regular chestnut with me,” laughingly remarked the manly-looking boy in a suit of faded khaki, that had apparently seen considerable wear, and who answered to the name of Hugh.

There were three of them perched upon the broad seat of a wagon drawn by a single stout horse. All were apparently members of the Oakvale Troop of Boy Scouts, if their khaki suits that had seen more or less rough service, campaign hats, and various medals and badges told the story truly.

The driver was a fat, chunky lad named Billy Worth. Billy was noted for his unfailing good-nature, his immense appetite, a certain amount of skill in picture writing after the old Indian style, and last but not least his hero worship of Hugh Hardin as a chum, as well as a scout leader.

Besides these two there was Arthur Cameron, a rather slender boy, but capable of displaying considerable agility and strength on occasion. Arthur was interested in a good many things, such as wireless, and photography. His greatest claim to efficiency, however, lay in his undoubted ability as an amateur surgeon. Indeed, on more than a few occasions the boy had amazed experienced doctors by his astonishing skill at caring for serious wounds and handling cases in a wonderful manner.

Arthur would certainly miss his calling if he later on decided to follow any other profession as a life career.

As for Hugh himself, he was an all-round scout, good at almost everything that goes to make a proficient member of a patrol. In woodcraft he had few equals, and certainly no superior, as many of the boys were ready to attest from having been in his company when tests came.

Oakvale Troop was thriving these autumn days. Time was when many people were wont to look sneeringly down at the struggling organization. Some wise parents, mistaking the true objects of the scout movement, absolutely refused to allow their sons to join, despite much pleading and bitter feelings.

Those days, though, were now pretty much in the past. It must be a bold man who would dare to argue along such lines, after all the manly things Hugh and his comrades of the khaki had successfully carried out.

These scout activities consisted of so many varieties of deeds that time and space would not allow me to repeat them here. If the reader has not already enjoyed the earlier numbers of this series and feels a desire to know what the Oakvale scouts had succeeded in accomplishing since the time of their organization as a troop, he could not do better than to secure some of the preceding volumes and peruse them in their regular sequence.

At a meeting of the troop in a cozy room under one of the Oakvale churches, allotted to their use by the men who firmly believed in scout work, Billy had only the preceding evening been elected secretary. He was consequently inclined to be full of the subject, and from time to time would burst out in some speech regarding the books he had been poring over.

So now, as he softly touched the lazy horse with his whip, to coax him to increase his pace, as they were drawing near the outskirts of the town, Billy once again allowed his rather slow mind to recur to the subject of his perusal of the organization books.

“D’ye know, Hugh,” he remarked, “I’ve been making out a list of present members, as well as the patrols to which they belong. It shows that we’ve struck the thirty-three number, with two patrols chock full, and three lacking seven to be complete.”

“How’s that come, Billy?” demanded Arthur, who was seated on his left. “Seems to me we ought to have four full patrols out of that number.”

“Oh! well, you forget that we lost several fellows when their folks moved away from town,” replied the important secretary, “and that some new members joined the latest patrol by choice, which was the Owl, you know.”

“I’d like to know just how the troop stands right now, Billy,” ventured Hugh, who possibly could read the fat boy as he might a printed page, and hence knew that the secretary was fairly itching to give the details of the scout membership and divisions.

“Huh! that’s as easily done as falling off a log,” said Billy instantly, taking the bait like a hungry wolf. “Here, Arthur, help me out, won’t you? Hold the lines, and be sure not to let old Peter run away while I fish in my coat pockets and find a certain paper I made out from the books.”

After considerable hunting, for Billy was a bit inclined to be careless when he put a thing away, so that he really forgot where its hiding place might be, in the end he produced the document, smiling humorously as though he had achieved a wonderful victory.

“Here she is, right-side up with care,” he announced grandly, flourishing the paper. “I just knew I had it somewhere on my person, but a fellow has so many pockets that it isn’t any wonder he once in a long time gets things mixed a little. Now, listen you fellows, while I read the roster of Oakvale Troop.”

In a sonorous voice, as though standing on the rostrum and addressing an audience that filled every corner of the town hall, Billy started in. As there may be some readers who have not yet made the acquaintance of other members of the enterprising Oakvale Scouts, perhaps it would be just as well to let Billy introduce his comrades now.

“First there’s the original Wolf Patrol,” he started in to say, “consisting of charter members for the most part. These are eight in number, and constitute a full patrol—Hugh Hardin, leader; Billy Worth, ‘Bud’ Morgan, Arthur Cameron, Ned Twyford, Jack Durham, Harold Tremaine, and Ralph Kenyon.

“Then comes the Hawk Patrol, with one vacancy, owing to a fellow leaving town. It now consists of Walter Osborne, leader; Blake Merton, ‘Gus’ Merrivale, Anthony Huggins, Mark Trowbridge, Frank Green, and ‘Chatz’ Marsters.

“Next we have the Otter Patrol, full to the brim. There’s Alec Sands, leader; ‘Buck’ Winter, Chester Brownell, Dick Bellamy, Tom Sherwood, Dale Evans, Sam Winter, and Albert Barnes.

“Then there’s the Fox Patrol, with two vacancies, owing to the same cause, families moving away from Oakvale. No scout thus far on our membership list has died. Don Miller is the leader, with ‘Shorty’ McNeil, Cooper Fennimore, ‘Spike’ Welling, ‘Monkey’ Stallings and Addison Prentice making up the rest.

“Last of all is the Owl Patrol, with only four on the roll. Lige Corbley is acting as leader the best he knows how, and the other fellows are ‘Whistling’ Smith, Andy Wallis and Pete Craig. So you see how matters stand. Strikes me, Hugh, we ought to fill up the vacancies in the Hawk and Fox Patrols before trying to complete the new chapter, though maybe the suggestion oughtn’t to come from so humble an individual as the greenhorn secretary, William Worth, at your service!”

He put away the paper and once more took the reins, whereat the intelligent horse, as though knowing who handled the lines now, once more fell back into his indolent gait, as though time did not matter—like master, like horse, Arthur told himself, noting this immediate change of pace.

“On the contrary,” said Hugh, immediately, “I’m glad you mentioned it, and in fact I consider it a very good suggestion. We’ll thresh it out at the next meeting, when we hope to have several applications for membership.”

“Gad-up, Peter, what ails you?” exclaimed Billy, flushing with pleasure, for he would rather receive a compliment from Hugh than any one he knew of. “Here we are on the border of town, with your oats waiting for you in the stable, and yet you loaf like that. You must be pretty much of a lazybones, I reckon.”

“Don’t forget that Peter has traveled quite some few miles, uphill and down,” remarked Hugh chidingly. “The load he’s pulling now, what with the bags of nuts and three boys, isn’t to be sneezed at. We’re going to get home in plenty of time for supper, for the sun’s just beginning to set now behind the bare ridges of old Stormberg Mountain over there in the west.”

“And to-night you promised to drop over to my house, remember, fellows,” remarked Billy. “With the Thanksgiving holidays nearly on us, we’ve got to think up some sort of outing to give us a breathing spell between studies.”

“We’ll be on hand, never fear, Billy,” chuckled Arthur. “I’ve got a few ideas on that subject myself, that I’d like to have talked over, though they may not strike either of you as just the thing.”

“The fact of the matter is,” said Billy seriously, “our bunch has already gone through so many experiences that it’s next to impossible to hatch up anything new or novel these days. I’ve almost cracked my poor brain trying to concoct a scheme that would take you all by storm, but I tell you it can’t be done. And Arthur, I’ll be tickled half to death if you can invent some fine plan or other.”

“Well, here we strike town,” said Hugh. “I’ll try to offer some idea to-night, but I own up I’m in something of the same fix as Billy here, and afraid we’ll, after all, have to duplicate some of our past trips.”

“There’s some fellow waving to us!” exclaimed Arthur just then.

“I ought to know him all right,” muttered Billy. “Yes, it’s Gus Merrivale, and he wants us to pull up. Guess he heard we went after a last load of nuts up at the Hatch grove, and wants to see what luck we had.”

Hugh, however, believed differently, for with the observing eye that had helped to make him the smart scout he was he noticed that Gus looked greatly excited. Therefore Hugh was not so much surprised as his comrades when the member of the Hawk Patrol burst out explosively as soon as he reached the side of the wagon:

“Hugh, I’ve been looking all over town for you, yes, and Billy and Arthur as well. I’ve just got to go up to dad’s old logging camp, not being used this season you know, and it struck me the three of you might like to go along and spend the Thanksgiving holidays up there. We could have a _glorious_ time of it, believe me!”