  “Don’t be hasty about opening that letter, Blake,” cautioned the scout master, who saw that such a move was indeed contemplated by his chum. Blake held his hand before he had started to tear an end off the sealed envelope. “Why, I thought it would be only right to find out if Felix had said he was sorry, Hugh,” he hastened to explain, looking somewhat disappointed. “Because if things did turn out that way, you see I could get this letter to Uncle Reuben, and then the object of our run up here to camp would be accomplished.” “Yes, I understand all that, Blake,” answered the other, quietly, “but we mustn’t forget that a seal should be considered inviolate, and a letter like this not opened except as a last resort. He hadn’t mailed it, and might reconsider writing the same, no matter what the contents are. Then, again, you can’t be sure that he did repent, and was wanting Uncle Reuben to forgive him.” Blake gave a big sigh. “I suppose you’re right about that, Hugh,” he admitted, reluctantly, “though I’d certainly like to see what’s inside of this the worst kind.” “Better let Hugh keep it in his pocket,” suggested Bud. “Which means that maybe I might yield to a strong temptation and slit the envelope open some time or other,” Blake remarked, quickly. “Well, it might be just as good that I didn’t have the chance, so here, you keep it, Hugh.” Accordingly, the patrol leader took the letter addressed to Mr. Reuben Gregory at Oakvale. “I’ll tell you how we’ll settle this thing,” he proposed, thinking it best to have it decided, and wishing to give poor Blake what measure of comfort he could; “suppose we say we’ll leave the letter unopened until nine tomorrow morning. Then, if nothing comes from our hunt for your cousin tonight, and the mystery of his disappearance is still unexplained, why, I’ll take chances and we’ll see what he wrote.” “All right, Hugh,” agreed Blake, instantly. “That’s about as good a programme as we could arrange. Still, we have all admitted that it looks promising that Felix went to the trouble of writing a letter to Uncle Reuben, Something must have been worrying him—we’ve heard from one of his comrades here that he hasn’t been himself ever since the battery left Oakvale. It was an uneasy conscience, I’m sure; I know Felix pretty well, and I’m certain that if he began to believe he had acted in a mean way he would get no peace of mind until he had done all in his power to rectify his error.” Apparently Blake was in a decidedly “chipper” frame of mind since this last odd happening. He seemed to feel that things were finally working out to serve their ends, and that success must soon perch on their banner. “Well,” remarked the philosophical Bud, “nothing like having two strings to your bow, I’ve always believed. Never put all your eggs in one basket. Now, in case our little excursion along the road to the railway station turns out a complete failure, you see we’ve always got this letter to turn to.” “And, of course,” added Blake, “when the time limit has expired those men won’t bother trying to hold poor Felix any longer. They’ll believe their game is won, and turn him loose. Now, just ten minutes have dragged by since Captain Barclay left us, and he said half an hour, didn’t he?” All this was like so much Greek to young Shafter, and, seeing the look of bewilderment on his face, Hugh took pity on him. Besides, since the story was getting to be in general circulation through devious channels, one guardsman taken into their confidence would not matter. Then, again, the telling might serve to kill a little of the time that promised to hang so heavily on their hands. Accordingly he started in to entertain Burch Shafter with a remarkable story that held his attention closely all the way through. Hugh was not the one to waste words, and so he kept “hewing close to the line” until he had arrived at the point where they were waiting for Captain Barclay to return with permission from Headquarters to take a detail of armed men and ascertain who the inmates of that old house on the roadside were; likewise, whether Private Gregory were detained there against his will. “All I can say,” remarked the deeply interested listener, after the stirring account of their adventures on the road had been brought to a finish, “is that it beats the Dutch how you scouts do have thrilling happenings come your way. Why, there’s a list as long as my arm of fine things you fellows have done. Here you promise to add another laurel to the wreath you’ve won. I take off my hat to Hugh Hardin and the boys of Oakvale Troop. They are trump cards, every one of them, and that’s the truth.” He suddenly remembered he was a soldier, and that his time could not be called his own; so, saying a hasty good-bye, Burch Shafter strode away. His coming, and what he had brought with him, had given them all new reasons for gratitude, and the rainbow of promise was once more shining brilliantly in the heavens above. The time dragged horribly after that, although they talked of many things, so that Blake might not give way to impatience. There was a never-ending source of delight in just glancing around them at all the queer sights by which they found themselves surrounded, with veterans and rookies carrying on a multitude of camp duties. Had it been in the daytime instead of about nine o’clock at night, doubtless the visitors would have witnessed a multitude of intensely interesting things, such as are born of camp life, from comrades being shaved by fresh barbers, to others engaged in taking their first lesson in the art of washing their own clothes under very primitive conditions. Finally, when Blake had sighed for about the hundredth time, and Bud himself took to yawning because of the inaction, Hugh announced that he believed he had seen an officer hurrying in their direction. “Unless I’m greatly mistaken, it’s our friend the captain,” he added. “Sure it is, and no mistake,” chuckled Bud; while Blake drew in a long breath that spelled relief because his “watchful waiting” period was over. As the officer approached they took new hope upon seeing the look spread upon his face. Surely he would not smile so broadly if he were bringing them bad news. “It’s all right, boys, all right,” he told them, immediately. “Then the general has given permission for us to carry out the scheme, has he, sir?” asked Hugh, greatly pleased. “He told me to take charge of it personally, and leave no stone unturned to ascertain how Private Gregory could be taken out of the camp undetected; also to bring before him those guilty of the outrage, if they could be caught. That house, it seems, comes within the boundaries of the camp, and hence any one living there, or occupying the premises, is amenable to military discipline and rules.” “Then if by good luck we trap that schemer and good-for-nothing Luther Gregory,” exclaimed Blake, rubbing his hands in joy, “it’s going to be hard for him because he’s interfered with the liberty of one of Uncle Sam’s recruits? Well, I guess on the whole he’ll get only what he deserves, and I’ll be glad of it.” “Are you going with us, Captain?” asked Bud. “Yes, and I shall take a detail of men, so as to make doubly sure,” explained the officer, as though he had mapped out his plan of campaign, like a wise soldier, as he came along. “The moon will soon be rising, and we may get some benefit of her light, though that does not matter much.” He was told about the letter, and seemed to feel a good deal like Hugh in that it had better not be opened, save as a last resort. If other things failed them, and no signs of the missing Felix could be found, then it would be time enough to think of breaking the seal. “You know,” he went on to say, particularly directing the words toward Blake, whom he guessed had been the one desirous of reading the letter, “there’s always a mean feeling comes on any one when you open a sealed envelope surreptitiously. It’s like a thief breaking into a house in the night; you think you’re doing something you ought to be ashamed of, no matter how good your motives really are. So better let that rest until all other hope has been abandoned.” “Yes,” added Bud, “and even at noon tomorrow we could telegraph to Uncle Reuben we were on the road with a letter of apology, and he’d be only too willing to wait for us to arrive before changing his will. I reckon the old gentleman would be only too glad of a chance to meet a compromise halfway, if he thinks as much of Felix as Blake Merton here tells us he does.” “I want you to come with me over to the camp of the aviation boys,” said Captain Barclay. “I have authority to enlist anyone I please in the squad we shall take with us for duty, and that being the case it might be just as well to have that party along who told you about Luther Gregory.” “Johnston was his name, Captain,” explained Bud, “and I reckon he’s some punkins of an aeroplane pilot, too, because he’s been giving daring exhibitions in lots of county fairs down South last winter. From what he said, I reckon Johnston will be glad to be in the bunch, because things are getting kind of stale for him here, with so little material to work with.” The captain left them for a short time. When he came back, three men carrying guns followed at his heels. Blake surveyed their armament with considerable interest, as though convinced by this time that the clouds were gathering around the devoted heads of the two schemers who must soon find themselves in the toils. “There’s the moon just peeping above the horizon, you see, boys,” the captain remarked, as he joined the waiting trio of scouts. “It isn’t more than ten o’clock, either, and we needn’t be in any hurry. Let’s head across to where the aviation squad have their quarters, so as to pick up Johnston, the air pilot.” As they were proceeding along, the clear notes of a bugle ascended from some point close by, and never would Hugh and his chums forget the peculiar effect produced upon them when, for the first time, they heard “taps” sounded in a military camp while the grim shadow of impending war was hovering over the land. It seemed to thrill them through and through with its significance, for they could not help remembering how it is this same sweet sad call that is invariably given over the grave of a soldier when his comrades bury him with full military honors. When they finally arrived at the border of the camp, where lay the field that was to be devoted to such aviation work as could be carried on with the poor material on hand, Captain Barclay immediately sought the officer in command of the squad, whom he chanced to already know. He found no trouble in securing permission to have the air pilot Johnston join them, though, doubtless, the other wondered much what it all meant, for there was no time to enter into full explanations. Captain Barclay did promise to see him on the next day, and tell him an interesting story connected with the visit of these three scouts from his home town. Johnston recognized Bud, and readily agreed to lead the little expedition to the house where he had seen his old associate in aeronautics, Luther Gregory. As he had, it may be remembered, heard pretty much the whole story of the adventure from Bud Morgan’s lips, at the time the other was coaxing him to tell the location of the house where he claimed to have seen Luther, the aviator did not express any surprise, only satisfaction that his services had been thought worth while securing. There being nothing else to detain them now, the captain gave the order for marching, and the little company started forth. A sentry on the border of the great camp challenged, and demanded the password, which Captain Barclay whispered in his ear; and so with the last obstacle to their progress removed they began to follow the road that led to the railway station, possibly four miles away. |
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