PEE-WEE, SCOUT

Before the morning was very old the family secret of the Skimpers was out. Mrs. Skimper told one of the boarders, and presently it was all about like wild-fire. Many years before, Mr. Skimper’s brother had stolen money from him (the affair was connected with their joint ownership of a store) and had disappeared.

At the time there had been some suspicion that in desperation caused by the fear of quick capture, he had secreted the money somewhere on the farm. But that suspicion had died away as the whole unhappy episode had passed into history and become a distant memory. It was known that the brother had lately died in a western prison with many a subsequent crime upon his head. Who, then, was this stranger digging in the dead of night?

“It’s very simple,” said Fuller; “he was told where the money was buried, that’s all. He was a fellow convict. He has done us a good turn. All we have to do is to dig.”

“But where?” asked Ray.

“All we know is that he was digging under a tree that had an old rusty nail in the trunk,” said Fuller, “and that it isn’t the right tree. There is nothing else around there that makes that tree any different from any other tree. Our best guess is to go through the grove and look for another tree with a big nail hammered into it. Somebody may have hammered a nail in this tree for some other reason, or for no reason.”

It cannot be said that Mr. and Mrs. Skimper were greatly excited over this enterprise. They seemed sorry that the facts had come to light at all. They were interested, of course, but did not seem inclined to talk more than to answer questions. They said, in answer to a question, that seven or eight years had elapsed since the episode.

And then Pee-wee Harris, scout, had an inspiration. “If that brother hammered a nail in a tree seven or eight years ago to mark the spot, the nail wouldn’t show now. The tree would be all grown out around it. There would just be a kind of a dent in the bark; it would be all kind of bent in, like, around a little hole. Because up at Temple Camp a feller hammered a nail in a tree three or four years ago for a stalking sign and now there’s nothing but a kind of a little puckered spot there where it just sort of swallowed the nail up. Gee whiz, I know one of those little puckered spots when I see it.”

“Scout,” said Ray, “you’re the only original Daniel Boone. You’ve got the woods eating out of your hands. If a nail is the clue, we’ll go to it and hunt for a little puckered spot; we’ll inspect every tree in the grove.”

That seemed an endless task but Fuller was a true treasure hunter and equal to any occasion. His procedure, in the work of treasure hunting, was novel, and came rather as a shock to Pee-wee. He announced his plan at breakfast.

“Pard,” said he, addressing Mrs. Alison, his aged partner of the night before, “did you ever go hunting for buried treasure?”

“No, I never did,” said the sweet old lady.

“Then you’ve lived in vain; but it isn’t too late to start in. Miss Hope Stillmore is with us and where there’s hope there’s something doing.”

How about that, Miss Hope? You and your mother going to hunt for a little puckered spot in the grove? We want every person in this room to hunt for the Scout Harris puckered spot on all the trees in the grove. How about you, Mrs. Marston? Good! The puckered spot as described by Scout Harris is caused by the insertion of a nail which has been consumed as the tree grew in dimensions. That right, Scout Harris?

“It looks something like the dent in a cruller, according to Scout Harris. There is a jar of crullers in the kitchen and anyone may inspect them. All hands are requested to lay down books and knitting and post card shooting to-day and search for the location of buried treasure in the grove. Anyone finding a small ingrowing spot on the trunk of a tree will report to the treasure hunting committee. Any suspicious nails should also be reported.”

“Crullers should not be taken from the jar,” Pee-wee spoke up, “because they’re going to be used for dinner.”