The Banner Boy Scouts Snowbound

“How about the broken window, Jud?” demanded Bobolink, triumphantly.

“Yes! did you smash that pane of glass when you threw your match away, Jud,” asked another boy, with a laugh.

“He was caught in the act, fellows,” asserted Frank Savage, “and the next question with us is what ought we to do to punish a sneak and a spy?”

“I said it before—ride him on a rail around town so people can see how scouts stand up for their own rights!” came a voice from the group of excited boys.

“Oh! that would be letting him off too easy,” Tom Betts affirmed. “’Twould serve him just about right if we ducked him a few times in the river.”

“All we need is an axe to cut a hole through the ice,” another lad went on to say, showing that the suggestion rather caught his fancy as the appropriate thing to do—making the punishment fit the crime, as it were.

“Keep it goin’,” sneered the defiant Jud, not showing any signs of quailing under this bombardment. “Try and think up a few more pleasant things to do to me. If you reckon you c’n make me show the white feather you’ve got another guess comin’, I want you to know. I’m true grit, I am!”

“You may be singing out of the other side of your mouth, Jud Mabley, before we’re through with you,” threatened Curly Baxter.

“Mebbe now you might think to get a hemp rope and try hangin’ me,” laughed the prisoner in an offensive manner. “That’s what they do to spies, you know, in the army. Yes, and I know of a beauty of a limb that stands straight out from the body of the tree ’bout ten feet from the ground. Shall I tell you where it lies?”

This sort of defiant talk was causing more of the scouts to become angry. It seemed to them like adding insult to injury. Here this fellow had spied upon their meeting, possibly learned all about the plans they were forming for the midwinter holidays, and then finally had the misfortune to fall and smash one of the window panes, which would, of course, have to be made good by the scouts, as they were under heavy obligations to the trustees of the church for favors received.

“A mean fellow like you, Jud Mabley,” asserted Joe Clausin, “deserves the worst sort of punishment that could be managed. Why, it would about serve you right if you got a lovely coat of tar and feathers to-night.”

Jud seemed to shrink a little at hearing that.

“You wouldn’t dare try such a game as that,” he told them, with a faint note of fear in his voice. “Every one of you’d have to pay for it before the law. Some things might pass, but that’s goin’ it too strong. My dad’d have you locked up in the town cooler if I came home lookin’ like a bird, sure he would.”

Jud’s father was something of a local power in politics, so that the boy’s boast was not without more or less force. Some of the scouts may have considered this; at any rate, one of them now broke out with:

“A ducking ought to be a good enough punishment for this chap, I should say; so, fellows, let’s start in to give it to him.”

“I know where I can lay hands on an axe all right, to chop a hole through the ice,” asserted Bobolink, eagerly.

“Then we appoint you a committee of one to supply the necessary tools for the joyous occasion,” Red Collins cried out, gleefully falling in with the scheme.

“Hold on, boys, don’t you think it would be enough if Jud made an apology to us, and promised not to breathe a word of what he chanced to hear?”

It was Horace Poole who said this, for he often proved to be the possessor of a tender heart and a forgiving spirit. His mild proposition was laughed down on the spot.

“Much he’d care what he promised us, if only we let him go scot free,” jeered one scout. “I’ve known him to give his solemn word before now, and break it when he felt like it. I wouldn’t trust him out of my sight. Promises count for nothing with one of Jud Mabley’s stamp.”

“How about that, Jud?” demanded another boy. “Would you agree to keep your lips buttoned up, and not tell a word of what you have heard?”

“I ain’t promisin’ nothin’, I want you to know,” replied the prisoner, boldly; “so go on with your funny business. You won’t ketch me squealing worth a cent. Honest to goodness now I half b’lieve it’s all a big bluff. Let’s see you do your worst.”

“Drag him along to the river bank, fellows, and I’ll join you there with the axe,” roared Bobolink, now fully aroused by the obstinate manner of the captive.

“Wait a bit, fellows.”

It was Jack Stormways who said this, and even the impetuous Bobolink came to a halt.

“Go on Jack. What’s your plan?” demanded one of the group.

“I was only going to remind you that in the absence of Mr. Gordon, Paul is acting as scout-master, and before you do anything that may reflect upon the good name of Stanhope Troop you’d better listen to what he’s got to say on the subject.”

CHAPTER VII

PAUL TAKES A CHANCE

These sensible words spoken by Jack Stormways had an immediate effect upon the angry scouts, some of whom realized that they had been taking matters too much in their own hands. Paul had remained silent all this while, waiting to see just how far the hotheads would go.

“First of all,” he went on to say in that calm tone which always carried conviction with it, “let’s go back to the meeting-room, and take Jud along. I have a reason for wanting you to do that, which you shall hear right away.”

No one offered an objection, although doubtless it was understood that Paul did not like such radical measures as ducking the spy who had fallen into their hands. They were by this time fully accustomed to obeying orders given by a superior officer, which is one of the best things learned by scouts.

Jud, for some reason, did not attempt to hold back when urged to accompany them, though for that matter it would have availed him nothing to have struggled and strained, for at least four sturdy scouts had their grip on his person.

In this manner they retraced their steps. Fortunately the last boy out had been careful enough to close the door after making his hurried exit, so that they found the room still warm and comfortable.

They crowded inside, and a number of them frowned as they glanced toward the broken window, through which a draught was blowing. They hoped Paul would not be too easy with the rascal who had been responsible for that smash.

“First of all,” the scout-master began as they crowded around the spot where he and Jud stood, the latter staring defiantly at the frowning scouts, “I want to remark that it needn’t bother us very much even if Jud tells all he may have heard us saying. We shall always be at least two to one, and can take care of ourselves if attacked. Those fellows understand that, I guess.”

“We’ve proved it to them in the past times without number, for a fact,” observed Jack, diplomatically.

“If they care to spend a week in the snow woods, let them try it,” continued the other. “Good luck to them, say I; and here’s hoping they may learn some lessons there that will make them turn over a new leaf. The forest is plenty big enough for all who want to breathe the fresh air and have a good time. But there’s another thing I had in mind when I asked you to bring Jud back here. Some of you may have noticed that he lets his arm hang down in a queer way. Look closer at his hand and you’ll discover the reason.”

Almost immediately several of the scouts cried out.

“Why, there’s blood dripping from his fingers, as sure as anything!”

“He must have cut his arm pretty bad when he fell through that window!”

“Whew! I’d hate to have that slash. See how the broken glass cut his coat sleeve—just as if you’d taken a sharp knife and gashed it!”

“Take off your coat, Jud, please!” said Paul.

Had Paul used a less kindly voice or omitted that last word in his request, the obstinate and defiant Jud might have flatly declined to oblige him. As it was he looked keenly at Paul, then grinned, and with something of an effort started to doff his coat, Jack assisting him in the effort.

Then the boys saw that his shirt sleeve was stained red. Several of the weaker scouts uttered low exclamations of concern, not being accustomed to such sights; but the stouter hearted veterans had seen too many cuts to wince now.

Paul gently but firmly rolled the shirt sleeve up until the gash made by the broken glass was revealed. It was a bad cut, and still bled quite freely. No wonder Jud had run in such an unwonted fashion. No person wounded as badly as that could be expected to run with his customary zeal, for the shock and the loss of blood was sure to make him feel weak.

Jud stared at his injury now with what was almost an expression of pride. When he saw some of the scouts shrink back his lip curled with disdain.

“Get a tin basin and fill it with warm water back in the other room, Jack!” said Paul, steadily.

“What’re you goin’ to do to me, Paul?” demanded Jud, curiously, for he could not bring himself to believe that any one who was his enemy would stretch out a hand toward him save in anger and violence.

“Oh! I’m only going to wash that cut so as to take out any foreign matter that might poison you if left there, and then bind it up the best way possible,” remarked the young scout-master.

There was some low whispering among the boys. Much as they marveled at such a way of returning evil with good they could not take exception to Paul’s action. Every one of them knew deep down in his inmost heart that scout law always insisted on treating a fallen enemy with consideration, and even forgiving him many times if he professed sorrow for his evil ways.

Jack came back presently. He not only bore the basin of warm water but a towel as well. Jud watched operations curiously. He was seeing what was a strange thing according to his ideas. He could not quite bring himself to believe that there was not some cruel hoax hidden in this act of apparent friendliness, and that accounted for the way he kept his teeth tightly closed. He did not wish to be taken unawares and forced to cry out.

Paul washed gently the ugly, jagged cut. Then, taking out a little zinc box containing some soothing and healing salve, which he always carried with him, he used fully half of it upon the wound.

Afterwards he produced a small inch wide roll of surgical linen, and began winding the tape methodically around the injured arm of Jud Mabley. Jack amused himself by watching the play of emotions upon the hard face of Jud. Evidently, he was beginning to comprehend the meaning of Paul’s actions, though he could not understand why any one should act so.

When the last of the tape had been used and fastened with a small safety pin, Paul drew down the shirt sleeve, buttoned it, and then helped Jud on with his coat.

“Now you can go free when you take a notion, Jud,” he told the other.

“Huh! then you ain’t meanin’ to gimme that duckin’ after all?” remarked the other, with a sneering look of triumph at Bobolink.

“You have to thank Paul for getting you off,” asserted one scout, warmly. “Had it been left to the rest of us you’d have been in soak long before this.”

“For my part,” said Paul, “I feel that so far as punishment goes Jud has got all that is coming to him, for that arm will give him a lot of trouble before it fully heals. I hope every time it pains him he’ll remember that scouts as a rule are taught to heap coals of fire on the heads of their enemies when the chance comes, by showing them a favor.”

“But, Paul, you’re forgetting something,” urged Tom Betts.

“That’s a fact, how about the broken window, Paul?” cried Joe Clausin, with more or less indignation. For while it might be very well to forgive Jud his spying tricks some one would have to pay for a new pane of glass in the basement window, and it was hard luck if the burden fell on the innocent parties, while the guilty one escaped scot free.

It was noticed that Jud shut his lips tight together as though making up his mind on the spot to decline absolutely to pay a cent for what had been a sheer accident, and which had already cost him a severe wound.

“I haven’t forgotten that, fellows,” said Paul, quietly. “Of course it’s only fair Jud should pay the dollar it will cost to have a new pane put in there to-morrow. I shall order Mr. Nickerson to attend to it myself. And I shall also insist on paying the bill out of my own pocket, unless Jud here thinks it right and square to send me the money some time to-morrow. That’s all I’ve got to say, Jud. There’s the door, and no one will put out a hand to stop you. I hope you won’t have serious trouble with that arm of yours.”

Jud stared dumbly at the speaker as though almost stunned. Perhaps he might have said something under the spur of such strange emotions as were chasing through his brain, but just then Bobolink chanced to sneer. The sound acted on Jud like magic, for he drew himself up, turned to look boldly into the face of each and every boy present, then thrust his right hand into his buttoned coat and with head thrown back walked out of the room, noisily closing the door after him.

Several of the scouts shook their heads.

“Pretty fine game you played with him, Paul,” remarked George Hurst, “but it strikes me it was like throwing pearls before swine. Jud has a hide as thick as a rhinoceros and nothing can pierce it. Kind words are thrown away with fellows of his stripe, I’m afraid. A kick and a punch are all they can understand.”

“Yes,” added Red Collins, “when you try the soft pedal on them they think you’re only afraid. I’m half sorry now you didn’t let us carry out that ducking scheme. Jud deserved it right well, for a fact.”

“It would have been cruel to drop him into ice water with such a wound freshly made,” remarked Jack. “Wait and see whether Paul’s plan was worth the candle.”

“Mark my words,” commented Tom Betts, “we’ll have lots of trouble with him yet.”

“Shucks! who cares?” laughed Bobolink, “it’s all in the game, you know. There’s Paul getting ready to go home, so let’s forget it till we meet to-morrow.”

CHAPTER VIII

BOBOLINK AND THE STOREKEEPER

According to their agreement, Jack and Bobolink met on a certain corner on the following morning. Their purpose was to purchase the staple articles of food that half a score of hungry lads would require to see them through a couple of weeks’ stay in the snow forest.

“It’s a lucky thing, too,” Bobolink remarked, after the other had displayed the necessary funds taken from his pocket, “that our treasury happens to be fairly able to stand the strain just now.”

“Oh, well! except for that we’d have had to take up subscriptions,” laughed Jack. “I know several people who would willingly help us out. The scouts of Stanhope have made good in the past, and a host of good friends are ready to back them.”

“Yes, and for that matter I guess Mr. Thomas Garrity would have been only too glad to put his hand deep down in his pocket,” suggested Bobolink.

“He’s an old widower, and with plenty of ready cash, too,” commented the other boy. “But, after all, it’s much better for us to stand our own expense as long as we can.”

“Have you got the list that Paul promised to make out with you, Jack? I’d like to take a squint at it, if you don’t mind. There may be a few things we could add to it.”

As Bobolink was looked on as something of an authority in this line, Jack hastened to produce the list, so they could run it over and exchange suggestions.

“Where shall we start in to buy the stuff?” asked Bobolink, presently.

“Oh! I don’t know that it matters very much,” replied his companion. “Mr. Briggs has had some pretty fine hams in lately I heard at the house this morning, and if he treats us half-way decent we might do all our trading with him.”

“I never took much stock in old Levi Briggs,” said Bobolink. “He hates boys for all that’s out. I guess some of them do nag him more or less. I saw that Lawson crowd giving him a peck of trouble a week ago. He threatened to call the police if they didn’t go away.”

“Well, we happen to be close to the Briggs’ store,” observed Jack, “so we might as well drop in and see how he acts toward us.”

“Huh! speaking of the Lawson bunch, there they are right now!” exclaimed Bobolink.

Loud jeering shouts close by told that Hank and his cronies were engaged in their favorite practice of having “fun.” This generally partook of the nature of the old fable concerning boys who were stoning frogs, which was “great fun for the boys, but death to the frogs.”

“It’s a couple of ragged hoboes they’re nagging now,” burst out Bobolink.

“The pair just came out of Briggs’ store,” added Jack, “where I expect they met a cold reception if they hoped to coax a bite to eat from the old man.”

“Still, they couldn’t have done anything to Hank and his crowd, so why should they be pushed off the walk in that way?” Bobolink went on to say.

As a rule the boy had no use for tramps. He looked on the vagrants as a nuisance and a menace to the community. At the same time, no self-respecting scout would think of casting the first stone at a wandering hobo, though, if attacked, he would always defend himself, and strike hard.

“The tramps don’t like the idea of engaging in a fight with a pack of tough boys right here in town,” remarked Jack, “because they know the police would grab them first, no matter if they were only defending themselves. That’s why they don’t hit back, but only dodge the stones the boys are flinging.”

“Oh! that’s a mean sort of game!” cried Bobolink, as he saw the two tramps start to run wildly away. “There! that shorter chap was hit in the head with one of the rocks thrown after them. I bet you it raised a fine lump. What a lot of cowards those Lawsons are, to be sure.”

“Well, the row is all over now,” observed Jack. “And as the tramps have disappeared around the corner we don’t want to break into the game, so come along to the store, and let’s see what we can do there.”

Bobolink continued to shake his head pugnaciously as he walked along the pavement. Hank and his followers were laughing at a great rate as they exchanged humorous remarks concerning the recent “fight” which had been all one-sided.

“Believe me!” muttered Bobolink, “if a couple more scouts had been along just now I’d have taken a savage delight in pitching in and giving that crowd the licking they deserved. Course a tramp isn’t worth much, but then he’s human, and I hate to see anybody bullied.”

“It wasn’t Hank’s business to chase the hoboes out of town,” said Jack. “We have the police force to manage such things. Fact is, I reckon Hank’s bunch has done more to hurt the good name of Stanhope than all the hoboes we ever had come around here.”

“If I had my way, Jack, there’d be a public woodpile, and every tramp caught coming to town would have to work his passage. I bet there’d be a sign on every cross-roads warning the brotherhood to beware of Stanhope as they might of the smallpox. But here’s Briggs’ store.”

As they entered the place they could see that the proprietor was alone, his clerk being off on the delivery wagon.

“Whew! he certainly looks pretty huffy this morning,” muttered the observing Bobolink. “Those tramps must have bothered him more or less before he could get them to move on.”

“It might be he had some trouble with Hank before we came up,” Jack suggested; but further talk was prevented by the coming up of the storekeeper.

Mr. Briggs was a small man with white hair, and keen, rat-like eyes. He possessed good business abilities, and had managed to accumulate a small fortune in the many years he purveyed to the people of Stanhope.

Latterly, however, the little, old man had been growing very nervous and irritable, perhaps with the coming of age and its infirmities. He detested boys, and since that feeling soon becomes mutual there was open war between Mr. Briggs and many of the juveniles of Stanhope.

Suspicious by nature, he always watched when boys came into his store as though he weighed them all in the same balance with Hank Lawson, and considered that none of Stanhope’s rising generation could be trusted out of sight.

Long ago he had taken to covering every apple and sugar barrel with wire screens to prevent pilfering. Neither Jack nor Bobolink had ever had hot words with the storekeeper, but for all that they felt that his manner was openly aggressive at the time they entered the door.

“If you want to buy anything, boys,” said Mr. Briggs curtly, “I’ll wait on you; but if you’ve only come in here to stand around my store and get warm I’ll have to ask you to move on. My time is too valuable to waste just now.”

Jack laughed on hearing that.

“Oh! we mean business this morning, Mr. Briggs,” he remarked pleasantly, while Bobolink scowled, and muttered something under his breath. “The fact is a party of us scouts are planning to spend a couple of weeks up in the snow woods,” continued Jack. “We have a list here of some things we want to take along, and will pay cash for them. We want them delivered to-day at our meeting room under the church.”

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