  “Honest Injun, Hugh, I never wanted to go anywhere half so much as I do right now to drop in at that State camp where the militia has started mobilizing.” “Just so, Bud, and, to tell you the truth, I’m feeling the same way myself. Ever since we scouts waved good-bye to our gallant Battery K some five miles up the road, and watched the last gun, caisson and supply wagon disappear over the crown of Kettledrum Hill, I’ve had that picture in my mind.” “Say, I wager things are just humming over at that same camp, Hugh,” sighed the first boy in faded khaki, “Bud” Morgan by name, and a member of Oakvale’s famous Boy Scout Troop. “They certainly must be,” admitted his comrade, who wore the insignia of rank that marks not only a patrol leader, but an assistant scout master as well. “This morning’s paper says that besides our fellows, there is a full regiment already in camp, not to mention other commands, such as the Engineers’, Signal Corps and Red Cross detachments.” “Don’t forget to count the Aviation Squad, Hugh,” added Bud, eagerly. “You know, I’m head over ears interested in the birdmen and their doings, as well as in signaling, surveying and inventions.” “Yes, it certainly must be a glorious sight,” Hugh said enviously. “To tell you the truth, old fellow, I’m lying awake nights trying to think up some reasonable excuse for paying a flying visit to the concentration camp.” “Anyhow,” remarked Bud, brightening up a little, “we can squeeze some satisfaction out of the fact that the scouts had a heap to do with getting Battery K off to the camp with their roster on a full war footing.” “We’ve undertaken an all-summer job helping to run the Pastor farm for the crippled old man, so his boy, Corporal Tony, could go to the Mexican border with his company. That’s one way scouts can help Uncle Sam when trouble comes along. It’s partly on account of that promise I’m holding back about leaving Oakvale.” “Oh! so far as that goes, Hugh,” said Bud, slyly, after the manner of a tempter, “you’ve got the programme all laid out, and Alec Sands could take your place for a week. The site for the camp we expect to start up there near the Pastor farm has been arranged, so the boys would make the hike, and then be handy in getting the hay crop cut, and have it taken to the barn inside of ten days. If you took a notion, Hugh, don’t you think the two of us might manage to get away? Try hard and think up some good excuse for making the trip. A dozen people here in Oakvale would want to send messages and packages to their boys, you know.” Hugh Hardin laughed at the entreating manner of his companion. They were standing at the time in front of the post office building, where people kept coming and going in squads and singly, for that was one of the busiest places in the mill town of Oakvale. Hugh and Bud both belonged to the Wolf Patrol of the troop, which was in a most flourishing condition, having four full patrols, and another well along. These enterprising lads of Oakvale had been more or less in the limelight for several seasons past. Circumstances had allowed them to engineer quite a number of really successful enterprises that were one and all to their credit. Those readers who may be only making their acquaintance with Hugh and his friends in this story, if at all curious to know what some of those stirring adventures were, should secure previous volumes in this series, and enjoy reading accounts of scout activities as related therein. One thing certain, those same enterprising and ambitious scouts had succeeded in convincing the most skeptical persons that the coming to town of such an organization had been the means of a regeneration among the boys of Oakvale. Many things had been tolerated under the old order, with the familiar excuse that “boys will be boys, and you must expect them to play practical pranks, and do all manner of shocking things in order to work off their extra enthusiasm,” but such outbreaks were quite unknown in these later days. The reason was that a new means for allowing the high-spirited lads to “let off steam” had been found. On the morning the call of the President came summoning the National Guard to mobilize, with a view to being sworn into the service of the Government, so as to proceed forthwith to the Mexican border, and guard the same against aggression, it sent a thrill across the entire country from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Tens of thousands of young fellows flocked to the armories, and the most intense excitement followed, as hurried preparations were started looking toward increasing these various military organizations from a peace to a war footing. Oakvale had a battery of four guns, together with such equipment as was necessary for utilizing these field pieces; but just then it happened, as in many similar organizations, that the roster contained just enough names to prevent the company from being disbanded under the law by the State authorities. Consequently a feverish hunt began to enlist new units, or, what was better yet, former members who had left the ranks to sign again, so as to swell the number to a high level of which the town might be proud. In this little drama it chanced that Hugh and his fellow scouts bore themselves right handsomely, so that it was chiefly owing to their manly efforts that a number of former members came forward again to put their names down. After a very eventful period of preparation, which lasted for several days, Battery K had started for the mobilization camp. As connections on the railroad did not happen to favor them, they concluded to make the trip overland, knowing that it would take less than two full days, and must prove of considerable benefit to both men and horses in the way of practice, which they greatly needed. Once more Oakvale had settled down to the humdrum monotony of customary life. Things resumed their former conditions, but after the feverish outburst of patriotism people found it difficult to attend to business. They missed the faces of those gallant young fellows who had gone to serve their country. So, too, they found things terribly dull after all that exhilarating music which the fine Oakvale brass band had provided while the battery lay encamped on the grass-covered public square. They missed the enlisting officers’ tent, surrounded day and evening by a curious throng, where the khaki-clad men urged their friends to sign the muster roll so as to bring the local company up to a war footing. Some of the boys had been inconsolable ever since they watched the last of the troop vanish over the hill, as Hugh had described. Being ambitious and patriotic lads, they would have liked nothing better than a chance to accompany those artillerymen to camp, and even to the far distant Southwest border where the followers of the Mexican bandit, Villa, were threatening further bold raids across the international line. Never dreaming of having their ardent wishes suddenly realized, the two boys continued to stand there, chatting of scout affairs in general, and what they expected to do while in camp in particular. Bud, upon turning his head, discovered something which he communicated to Hugh in his breezy fashion: “Unless I miss my guess, Hugh, we’re going to hear some news worth while. There’s our comrade, Blake Merton, heading this way like a schooner with all sails set. He looks considerably worked up, too. I wonder what ails him? Perhaps something’s happened to keep him from joining the bunch when we start on our hike tomorrow for that camp up near the Pastor farm?” Hugh, taking a look, remarked calmly: “We’ll soon know what’s up, for he’s heading our way, and making signals that he wants us to wait for him. I hope it hasn’t anything to do with that case of scarlet fever my folks were talking about this morning, because it happens that the Werner house is close to where Blake lives. If one of his younger sisters came down with the disease they’d have to quarantine the Mertons, and so Blake couldn’t go with us.” “Wee whiz! that would be tough luck—with vacation just starting in!” the sympathetic Bud went on to say. “Hello! Hugh!” remarked the newcomer as he arrived, partly out of breath from hurrying so fast, and looking excited as well, “I’ve been searching for you all over town. They put me on several false scents, but I’m awful glad to find you at last!” “What’s the trouble, Blake?” asked the patrol leader; for, although the Merton boy belonged to the Hawk Patrol, somehow, when he wanted counsel and advice, he turned to the assistant scout master rather than to Walter Osborne, who was the Hawk leader. Blake glanced toward Bud, and then, as though making up his mind, quickly exclaimed: “I guess Bud can be depended on to keep a secret as tight as a drum, and so I’m going to speak up. Fact is, Hugh, I’m in a peck of trouble about my cousin, Felix Platt.” “Oh! I remember that he went away with the battery, being a member of the same,” Hugh observed. “What ails Felix? Has his mother fallen sick, and ought he come home again before being mustered into Uncle Sam’s service?” Blake Merton shook his head. “No, it isn’t that, Hugh, worse than that, even, I should say!” he declared. “Well, you’ve got us worked up, all right, Blake,” exclaimed Bud, feverishly, “so please explain what you mean when you say that. I hope your cousin hasn’t gone and done something wrong?” “He’s made a fool of himself, I’m sorry to say, and stands a good chance of losing all his uncle’s property. You must know that Uncle Reuben is his guardian as well, and has made his will in favor of Felix, so as to cut off that bad son of his who disgraced him several times.” “Yes, we know all about what Luther Gregory has done to worry his father,” admitted Bud, encouragingly. “But Reuben isn’t any blood relation of yours, is he?” “Oh! no, though Felix happens to be my second cousin. You see, they had some warm words the night before the battery left town, and Felix, being a hot-blooded young fellow, said something he shouldn’t, and which has cut Uncle Reuben to the quick. Just this morning the old gentleman had his lawyer, Judge Marshall, to change his will once more, cutting off Felix. The good old judge managed to coax him to wait a bit; and so Uncle Reuben has vowed that if he doesn’t receive an apology from Felix by sundown of tomorrow, nothing will keep him from doing as he threatens, much as he has cared for the boy since his own son failed him. Yes, he threatens to leave every dollar of his big fortune to charity.” “That’s too bad,” mused Hugh, shaking his head, for he had always liked Felix, who was a pretty fine sort of a young chap, as they go in these days. “But how is it you come to know about this matter, Blake?” “Just this way, Hugh,” came the ready reply. “Uncle Reuben made Judge Marshall promise that he wouldn’t communicate with Felix, or send him any direct word; but, having the best interests of all parties at stake, and, believing the old man would secretly applaud his action if ever he knew it, the judge called to me over the wire to drop in right away and see him. Then he told me about it, not suggesting a single thing, mind you, but leaving it up to me to do what I thought best, because he knew how fond of Felix I’ve always been.” “Well, then,” said Hugh, beaming on him, “why don’t you get busy, and write Felix a letter right away, explaining the case, and begging him to send the apology? By now he’s cooled down, and ten chances to one is mighty sorry for speaking as he did.” “Hugh, I thought of that the first thing, but what if the letter didn’t reach him?” objected Blake, frowning as he spoke. “You could register it, or send with a quick delivery stamp,” remarked Bud. “Even then there would always be a lot of uncertainty about it,” continued the other, stubbornly. “Evidently, then, you’ve got some other dandy scheme up your sleeve!” exclaimed Bud, suspiciously. “Let’s hear about it, Blake, if you need any advice.” “Well, I’ve always believed that when you want anything done, the only safe way is to do it yourself. You remember the bird telling her young ones in the nest that so long as the farmer depended on his relatives and friends to help cut the wheat there was no need for worry; but when finally he told his son they’d start in and do the job themselves the mother bird admitted it was time for flitting. Now, Hugh, I’ve got a hunch that if only you’d go along with me to give advice, I’d make a start for the mobilization camp right away, and tell Felix face to face what a fool he has been, as well as fetch back a letter for Uncle Reuben that would heal all the bitter feelings in the old gentleman’s heart. What do you say to that, Hugh?” |
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