CHAPTER V.

A HELPING HAND.

“Look, oh, look there!” Gus was saying, in a thick voice, as he continued to keep his finger pointed at the apparition beyond the window pane.

Hugh, though almost as startled as the rest, managed to keep a firm grip on himself.

“Is that your brother Sam, do you think, Gus?” he demanded, sensibly, the first thing; for the man still continued to stare in at them, as though trying to make out whether they were only boys after all, and not the dreaded State militia come to arrest him.

“No, n-no, it can’t be him!” gasped the other. “Don’t you see he’s a whole lot older than my brother? Why, his beard’s streaked with gray, seems like. Hugh, that must be the other tramp. Then he’s deserted poor Sam in the storm somewhere!”

Hugh did not think the idea at all unlikely. He knew that among such men the old rule of “self-preservation first” usually applied. At the same time he did not mean to let Gus read his thoughts.

“He acts as if he wanted to get in here,” suggested Arthur, whose quick eye had noted that the man looked both frightened and weak. “It may be he’s been hurt by some falling tree and needs medical aid. Hugh, what shall we do?”

Hugh had already made up his mind on that score. No matter who the man was, or what he may have done to cut him off from the society of others, even a wretched dog could not be refused shelter when such a storm was raging without.

So Hugh immediately made signs with his hands such as might be recognized even among savages as tokens of peace and amity. Then he started toward the door, for all of them had jumped to their feet at the time Gus gave the alarm, after making his discovery.

Cautious Billy held back. As a rule, he was the last fellow to suspect any one, but Billy had a regular antipathy for tramps of high and low degree, and would not trust a single one of the species.

He suddenly remembered that they had brought a double-barreled shotgun along with them; not that they expected to do much hunting, but visions of a fat wild turkey had haunted their minds, especially in connection with the Thanksgiving dinner.

Billy now stepped hastily back and took possession of this firearm. He himself had thrust a couple of loaded shells in the chambers late that afternoon, warning the others at the same time not to handle the weapon carelessly. Billy had an idea some wandering wildcat might come prowling around their door in the night, and while not anxious to figure in the rôle of a mighty Nimrod, at the same time he believed it was the duty of a scout to “be always prepared.”

When he once clutched this weapon, Billy breathed easier. Now let that desperate yeggman, if such the fellow turned out to be, look out for himself. Should he try to run things to suit himself he would find that Billy Worth could stand like old Plymouth Rock, or Gibraltar.

Meanwhile Hugh swiftly advanced to the door. As stated previously, a bar had been placed in the twin sockets securing that means of ingress against the rush of the howling gale.

Without hesitating an instant, Hugh started to remove this bar, so that he could throw open the door, and invite the wanderer in. He had noticed that when he started in the direction of the entrance, the face at the window vanished; but Hugh did not believe the man had decamped.

He held on to the door as he cautiously opened it, though all of his strength was needed to successfully combat the fierce swoop of the next squall.

“Come in!” he shouted, upon discovering a bowed figure just without, and his voice could not have been heard ten feet away at that, such was the clamor of the elements.

The fire flared up furiously under the draught that forced itself through the opening. Arthur was compelled to trample upon numerous embers that flew out from the hearth, and threatened to set fire to things, even alighting on their packs.

Perhaps the man must have heard what Hugh called out. At any rate, he had evidently made up his mind that while he might be facing arrest by entering the cabin, the fate that awaited him if he remained outside was surely far worse.

He limped painfully as he pushed past the guardian of the door, showing that as they had already suspected, he must have received some sort of injury.

Hugh immediately threw himself against the door again, and by main strength managed to get it closed. Then he once more applied the friendly bar. After that his part of the work was done, so that he could turn and survey the stranger who had come to their camp for shelter against the wild gale.

The man was apparently “all in,” as Arthur would have said. He staggered like many a drunken fellow the boys had seen upon the streets of their home town in times gone by before the W. T. A. had started their crusade and cleaned things up considerably.

Indeed, before he had taken half a dozen steps the man fell upon his hands and knees, tried to get up, and then rolled over helplessly.

Billy, without a single word, managed to slip away the gun he was holding so tenaciously and belligerently. He acted as though fairly ashamed of his action in anticipating trouble from such a wretched source.

No sooner had Arthur Cameron witnessed the collapse of the victim of the storm than his professional instincts were immediately aroused.

“He’s been badly injured, Hugh, I’m afraid!” he cried, excitedly. “We’ve just _got_ to look after him, that’s all there is about it.”

Another second and Arthur was bending beside the tramp, whom he rolled over on his back. At the same time he called to Gus.

“Fetch one of those pillows we filled with hemlock browse, Gus, and put it under his head. That’s right, only handle him carefully, for I’m afraid he’s badly hurt.”

Hugh joined the others, ready to lend a helping hand. In like cases Hugh almost invariably deferred to the judgment of Arthur, because he recognized a superior along the line of “first aid to the injured.” Arthur, as has been said before, had always shown wonderful ability as an amateur surgeon, and his services were in frequent demand whenever the scouts went on a hike. Indeed, it was no unusual thing for the boys to address him by the title of “Doc,” which Arthur must have considered as high a compliment as any one could give him.

To watch him making an examination of the man’s limbs first of all one could easily imagine the boy had been in close touch with some practical surgeon. Had his patient been a king instead of a wretched tramp, possibly a fugitive from justice as well, Arthur could not have been more painstaking and gentle in his work.

“No limbs broken at any rate!” he announced, which gave Hugh more or less satisfaction, because he had feared that the examination might disclose some serious injury along those lines.

The man had not fainted, after all, it appeared, for he now gave signs of having heard Arthur’s announcement.

“Hurt all over—got caught under tree—just bruised, I reckon, but played out. It’s a terrible night, gents, that’s what!”

He used much more vigorous language than given above when expressing his opinion. Hugh would not stand for such a thing a minute.

“Here, no more of that kind of talk while you’re under this roof, Mister Tramp,” he told the man, sternly. “We’re willing to treat you white, and look after you in the way scouts are taught to do, but we’ll have no swearing around our cabin.”

Arthur continued his examination. He opened the man’s coat, and presently announced he believed he had summed up all his injuries.

“He’s got dozens of bruises and scratches that are going to make him sore enough for a week or more!” he declared. “I’m afraid one of his ribs has been fractured, but it’s a whole lot less serious than I thought at first. If he keeps quiet, and behaves himself, we’ll have him fit to go back to town with us—that is, if he cares to keep us company.”

He added that last when he saw the man squirm uneasily, and look alarmed. It was evident that he did not anticipate being taken to town with any degree of pleasure, and they could easily guess why.

Gus had all this time said never a word. He did whatever any one asked of him, and kept staring at the bearded tramp strangely. Hugh could give a guess what must be in the other’s mind. Gus naturally felt a deep interest in the injured hobo, for the man must know about poor Sam, since the other had lately been in his company.

Where was Sam now? This was the dreadful question that undoubtedly obtruded itself upon the mind of Gus constantly as he continued to stare at the tramp they had rescued from the storm.

Hugh knew what was meant by that mute appeal he could see in the eyes of Gus when their gaze met. The poor fellow was hungry to know the worst, though he did not have the courage to put his desire into words. As usually seemed to be the case when any scout found himself in trouble, Gus turned to Hugh to help him out; nor did he look for aid from this source in vain.

Bending over the man who now lay there on the floor, though they expected to fix up one of numerous bunks for him near the fire, the scout master caught his eye and then went on to say:

“I suppose you’ve got a name, and as you may be with us for some little time we’d like to know it.”

“Call me Casey, then,” came the muttered reply, though for that matter Hugh took it that any other name would have answered just as well, because he did not believe Casey was what the man had been known by in days gone by, before he took to the road.

“Well, Casey, you were not up here _alone_,” said Hugh, steadily. “We know from the signs you had a pal along with you, and that he’s been a pretty sick man lately, though he must be on the mend if he could go away from here in a hurry, and with only a cane to help him along.”

The man looked surprised to hear Hugh say all this. Like many other people, possibly, Casey may have entertained a contempt for the ability of boys, who dressed in khaki and called themselves scouts, to read signs, and figure out things accurately without once seeing those whom they were following.

“Sure, that’s so!” he exclaimed, in wonderment; “though I don’t know how ye guessed it.”

“Your companion’s name was Sam, wasn’t it?” asked Hugh immediately.

“Just what it was,” came the reply, while the increased look of astonishment on the man’s face caused several wrinkles to cross his forehead.

Possibly his guilty conscience was giving him cause for alarm. If this boy could tell so many things that were supposed to be secret, how was a fellow to know about keeping his own private affairs hidden?

“Well,” continued Hugh, “we have come up here on purpose to find Sam, I don’t mind telling you. He used to live not forty miles away from here before he took to the life of a hobo. Perhaps you knew this, and then again it may be he never whispered a word of it to you. But this boy here is his younger brother, Gus, and your pal’s real name is Sam Merrivale.”

Casey seemed to be impressed with the sincerity in Hugh’s tone. He looked again at the eager Gus, now hanging over him with an expression that could not be mistaken on his drawn face.

“Is that so?” he finally asked, as though convinced that Hugh spoke the truth. “Then I’m sorry we didn’t get on to it before we flew the coop here. If we’d just made up our minds to face the music and stick it out, I’d be feelin’ a heap easier in my body right now, and pore Sam wouldn’t ’a’ been a goner!”

At hearing the tramp say these dismal words Gus gave a low groan, and put his hand up across his eyes as though he feared the worst.