 Chapter Twenty-Two of P. W. Harris on the Trail. Chapter Twenty-Two. Hark, the conquering hero comes. What the dickens is this anyway, a cemetery?" Said Mr. Swiper, poking the finding light this way and that, as the car of a thousand delights came slowly up toward the bend. It's some rocky road to Dublin, all right. He cast the light along the dark road behind them and looked apprehensively back as far as he could see. Evidently there was no cause for fear there, and he dropped the car of a thousand delights into second gear and picked his way along the narrow, rocky way below the bend. I guess it will be better when we get around here, he said. We have to watch our step in this jungle. Nice place to build a church, huh? He threw the finding light upon the little edifice ahead and brightened the small stained glass window, casting a soft reflection upon deacon Small's slanting marble slab nearby. The small figure in a grey sweater with a rather tough look, cap drawn over his round face, who sat huddled alongside the driver, seemed not partake of the delights which the big car claimed to furnish. He seemed chilled and very much worried. He looked wistfully ahead at the graveyard where the strange, soft reflected light shone. The people around here haven't got any phones, he said. Anyways, what's the use phoning Mr Bartlett, because he'll only be at bed. If we're going straight to Bridgeboro, gee whiz, what's the good of phoning? What's the use waking people up around here? Even if they have got phones? Gee whiz, you're acting awful funny. Why didn't you ask me to phone when we were passing through a village? You're going to get out and phone when I tell you to, see? said our friend, the manual training teacher. And you ain't going to give me no sass neither, understand? I don't let kids tell me my business. You just want to get rid of me, that's what said Peewee. Gee, you might as well say what you mean, I'm not scared. Oh, ain't you? Well, you do as I tell you and you'll be all right. You do as I tell you if you want to get a ride home, see? Mr. Bartlett and me are grown-up men, we are. And we know what's the right way to do. When a kid is told to do something, he's got to do it. You know so much about them scout kids, don't you know that? I'll take care of this here car, Mr. Bartlett. The next house becomes who I'm going to stop and let you out a little way past it. And you're going to show what you can do. You're going to go back and phone to tell Mr. Bartlett we're on our way and I'll wait for you. You wanted me to do that or the house that was empty and where there wasn't any phone. I could tell because there weren't any wires. Do you think scouts can't see things? You just want to get rid of me, that's all. You want to get rid of me whether there aren't any phones or people or anything. Gee, maybe I'm not as strong as you, but anyway, I know what you're up to. That's one sure thing. Are you going to do as I tell you? I'm a scout and I'm not going to get out till you put me out, so there. Slowly the big car moved up the rocky hill and around the bend, and the finding light which had been focused on the church shifted its area of distant brightness until Mr. Swiper turned it off, just as the two big headlights threw their glare along the straight-level road. The small figure in the shabby gray sweater and tough-looking cap was nervous and apprehensive and angry with a righteous anger. But he did not tremble like the poor little lonely figure waiting in the darkness with eyes fixed upon those two dazzling glaring lights. 50792. There it is, Peter. Read it again as the car draws nearer to make sure. Yes, that is a five. 50792. Don't you see the little guilt eagle on the radiator? He trembled. Oh, how he trembled. Looker here, you kid, said the driver to the huddled up figure beside him. I once croaked a boy scout that didn't do what I told him. Do you see? I croaked him. No scout kid can put anything over on me. I won't have any kids interfering with my plans. Oh yes you will, Mr. Swiper. You may have escaped from jail. The authorities of a dozen states may be after you. But just the same, you're going to stop when a little trembling pioneer scout and homespun pantaloon sells you to. Look ahead where that dim light is, Mr. Swiper, with the cropped hair. Do you see something shining there? Held in a little trembling hand? That is a knife, Mr. Swiper. The trembling hand that holds that knife belongs to a soul possessed, Mr. Swiper. He is crazed with a high resolve. See how he shakes? Oh, he's not thinking of you. He is thinking of the car, Mr. Swiper. He is not himself at all, and he is going to slash your tires if you pass that rope, Mr. Swiper. So you see? For it is said that Opportunity knocks once at every one's door, Mr. Swiper. It came to you on the ruins of that old school. And it has come way down here, Mr. Swiper, and knocked on the door of Peter Piper, pioneer scout, of Piper's Crossroads. End of Chapter 22, Recording by John Brandon Chapter 23 of Pee Wee Harris on the Trail This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon Pee Wee Harris on the Trail by Percy Kease Fitzhugh Chapter 23 Peter finds a way What's all this? As Mr. Swiper, as the car came to a stop before the rope, with handshaking and heart-thumping, but born up by a towering result, Peter took his stand beside one of the front wheels. The road is... It's closed. He said, his voice trembling. The hand which held the knife stole below the shiny mudguard and rested on the smooth, unyielding rubber. The road is closed, he repeated. Mr. Swiper climbed down out of the car, muttering an oath. He looked apprehensively back along the road. And being sure of no danger there, he crossed the rope and advanced a few yards along the road to inspect it. Peter was in the grip of terrible fear, fear at his own boldness. His whole form trembled. He did not stop to think. He knew that if he were going to do anything effectual, it must be in those few brief moments. There are many ways to cripple an auto without damaging it, but Peter knew nothing of autos, except that they went by gasoline. In an emergency, he would have slashed a tire even while the machine moved. Now that he had a little time in which to think, he hurried behind the auto and crawling beneath it, turned on the outlet of the gas tank. He knew that the tank was in back, and that there must be a pipe leading from it. He had intended to wrench the thin pipe away, when his groping, trembling fingers stumbled on the outlet cock. This he turned on with as much terror as if he were setting fire to the universe. A gas at his own inspiration and boldness, he stood behind the car, shaking all over, as he heard the precious fuel running away in a steady stream and pattering on the road. Well, he would take the consequences of this decisive act. From the moment he had seen those glaring headlights, and realized that he was participating in a reality, he had been frantic, wondering what to do. Well, now he had gone and done it, and he was terror-stricken at his own act. The mere wasting of so much gasoline was a terrible thing in the homely life of poor Peter. He paused behind the car, listening. He had not the courage to go forward. He listened as the liquid fuel flowed away, and trickled over the spare tire rack, and his beating heart seemed to keep time with it. Ah, you hunk-a-junk touring model with all your thousand delights! You cannot get along without this trickling liquid any better than your lowly brother, the humble Ford. Would all of it flow away before that terrible man came back? Now Peter heard voices in front of the car. The man had returned and was speaking to his confederate, his pal. I won't get out of the car, and I won't desert it. He heard the small stranger, announced sturdily. Didn't you say you were with me? I did, but I—then shut up. The road's all right, there's nothing the matter with it. This is some kind of a frame-up. Did you come along this way when you copped it before? I mean, you and that pair. I don't know, I was under the buffalo robe. They were thieves all right. Peter knew it now, and his assurance at this point gave him courage. The strangers would be no safer to deal with, but at least Peter knew now that he had the right on his side. In a sudden burst of impulsive resolution, he stepped around, and in a spirit of utter recklessness spoke up. His own voice sounded strange to him. I—I know what you are, your thieves, he said. I can—I can tell by the way you talk. And—and you—you can't take the car, even an inch you can't. Because all the gasoline has gone out of it, and I did it, and I don't care. And you—you can kill me if you want to. Only you can't take the car. And—and pretty soon Ham Sanders will be along with the milk cans, and he's not afraid of you. What did you say about Ham? He we shouted down at him. Ham Sanders, Peter called back defiantly. I thought you said Ham Sandwich. He weaved retorted. He can—he's even. He can even handle a bull, shouted Peter, carried away by excitement. All the—the gasoline is gone. It is, because now I can hear it stop dripping. So now—now what are you going to do? So? End of Chapter 23 Recording by John Brandon Chapter 24 P. V. Harris on the Trail This is a LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox Recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon P. V. Harris on the Trail By Percy Kease Fitzhugh Chapter 24 Disserted Mr. Swiper lost no time upon hearing Peter's startling announcement. Rushing to the back of the car, he confirmed the information by frantically hurried inspection, keeping up a running fire of curses the while. For a manual training teacher, he was singularly profane. Nor did he tarry to administer any corporeal rebukes, more than to send poor Peter reeling as he brushed him aside with implications in his flight, since the auto had been so generously handed to him by a kind boy scout. Perhaps the loss of it was not such a shock as it might otherwise have been. There were other autos. Mr. Swiper saved himself, and that was his chief concern. He was not going to take any chances with Ham Sanders. In the last few miles of their inglorious journey, Pee Wee had been trouble enough to him, and how to get rid of that redoubtable youngster had been a question. So Mr. Swiper paused not to make an issue of Peter Piper's audacious act. He withdrew into the shelter of the woods, and in the fullness of time to the more secure shelter of an Illinois penitentiary, where he was entered under the name of Chick Swiper, alias Chick the Speeder, alias Chick the Gent, alias the Car King, alias Jack Skitter, perhaps because he was so slippery. In his official pedigree there was nothing about his being a manual training teacher, though he must have had some knowledge of the use of tools, for he removed the bars from his cell window with praiseworthy skill, and was later caught in Michigan, I think. So there sat Pee Wee glaring down upon Peter, still frightened at himself, for the stir that he had made in the great world. You foiled him, said Pee Wee. Do you know what? He was a thief. He was stealing this auto. Yes, and you're a thief too, said Peter, removing the lantern from the rope and holding it up toward the auto. He was quite brave and collected now, and if you want to run, you better do it before anybody comes. That's what I'll tell you. You're dressed up just like a thief, I can tell. Anyway, you can't take the auto. Do you call me a thief? shouted Pee Wee. That shows how much you know. I'm a boy scout. Do you think scouts steal things? That shows how much you know about logic. You're a thief. You can't fool me, Peter retorted courageously. Look at the way you look. I'm not scared of you either, or him either. How can I look at the way I look, Pee Wee fairly screamed at him. You're crazy. I told him where it was, and I told him. That shows that you're just as bad as he is, Peter insisted. Are you going to stay here till Ham Sanders comes and be arrested? Anyhow, you're arrested now, he ventured. And you have to wait. You tell me I'm arrested? Pee Wee yelled. When I'm taking this car back to its owner? Do you know what a boy scout is? I know what they look like. They're all dressed up in uniforms, poor Peter said. But you can be one without that. Now you see, you said so yourself, Pee Wee began. But they don't get dressed like thieves, Peter retorted. I'm on your side because you stopped him, shouted Harris. I don't want you on my side, said Peter. I'm a scout, and I don't want any robbers on my side. You, said Pee Wee, yes me. I bet you don't even know. I bet you don't even know how many, how many that shows you don't know anything about scouts at all, said Peter. I've got a book that tells all about it. And when a man comes, you're going to get arrested. Me, arrested? Yes, you. You helped him to steal it. And I don't believe anything you say. And you needn't think you can fool me. If you were a scout, you wouldn't be scared to run away in the woods now. I've been, I've been, I, you're crazy, shouted Pee Wee, fairly bursting with indignation. I, I've been lost in the woods more times than you have. Scouts don't get lost, said Peter. They get lost so they can find their way, Pee Wee yelled. That shows how much you know. If scouts didn't get lost, how could scouts rescue them? You have to get lost. The same as you have to get nearly drowned. Do you want me to start a fire without a match? That'll show you, I'm a scout. Only I'd have to have a certain kind of a stone. I can, I can eat a potato from a stick without it going round. That'll prove it. Have you got a roasted potato? No. And I wouldn't give one to a feller that steals automobiles either, said Peter. I got a signal and I stopped you. I know all about signalling and you didn't get one either. Pee Wee shouted in desperation. I know all about everything about scouting. I know, I know, I can prove I can drink out of a spring without the water going up my nose. So that's a test. I had a lot of adventures tonight. I was with thieves and I'll tell you all. I know you were, said Peter. And you needn't tell me about it because I can tell by looking at you. Do you think you can make me think you own this car and get roasted potatoes from me too and run away when I show you where the spring is so you can prove it? The man that owns this car is a friend of mine and he, he gave me a quarter. You're a thief and I don't care what you say, said Peter. His agitation rising with his anger and it's miles and miles to a village and there's nothing but woods. Scouts can eat moss, they can, Pee Wee interrupted. And you can't fool me, Peter continued. I'll go scout pace for you, Pee Wee said with a sudden inspiration. Yes, you'll go scout pacing away. Will you let me speak? Pee Wee fairly screeched. No, I won't. You're a robber. And now you're caught and it serves you right because you didn't find out about the scouts and joined them and have fun that way. And then you wouldn't have to go to jail for stealing. W. Harris, mascot of the Raven Patrol, first bridge borough troop, looked down with withering scorn upon the shabby advocate of scouting and Peter Piper returned to look fearfully yet bravely. After the tremendous thing he had done, he was not got to be fooled by this hoodlum crook who seemed to have haphazard knowledge of those wonderful far off beings in natty khaki and shining things hanging from their belts. He would not even discuss those misty, unknown comrades with this lawbreaker. Anybody might learn a little about the scouts, even a thief. You don't know anything about them, he said, holding up his head, as if proudly claiming brotherhood with those distant heroes in their rich, wonderful attire. I wouldn't talk about them because I know about them, even if they don't know me. They sent me a message. They didn't know, but they did it just the same, so I belong too. You can make believe you have a uniform, you can. You can be miles and miles and miles and miles. He paused and listened. Down the road, in the still night, sounded the gentle melody of clanking milk cans mingled with the pensive strains of loose and squeaking wheels. It was the melodious orchestra which always heralded the approach of Ham Sanders, who was so strong that he could handle a bull. Do you think I'm scared? said Pee-wee. Evidently he was not. End of Chapter 24, recording by John Brandon. Chapter 25 of Pee-wee Harris on the Trail. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by John Brandon. Pee-wee Harris on the Trail, by Percy Keis Fitzhugh. Chapter 25, Badlam. That Pee-wee Harris, the only original Boy Scout, positively guaranteed. Should be pronounced not a Scout? Why, that was like saying that water was not wet, or to use a more fitting comparison, that minced pie was not good. To say that Pee-wee Harris was in the Scouts would not be saying enough. Rather, should it be said that the Scouts were all in Pee-wee Harris? The Scout movement had not swallowed him. He had swallowed it. The same as he swallowed everything else. He had swallowed it whole. He was the Boy Scout just as much as Uncle Sam is the United States. Except that he was much greater and more terrible than Uncle Sam. Oh, much. He was just as much a Boy Scout as the Fourth of July is a noise. Except that he was more of a noise. And he was a shabby, eager-faced boy with pantaloons like stovepipes almost reaching his ankles, and a ticking shirt with a pattern, like a checkerboard, a quaint queer youngster, living a million miles from nowhere, telling him that he was no Scout, that he was a thief. Hey, Mr. Pee-wee shouted to Ham Sanders who drove up. I'm rescuing this automobile from two men that stole it, and it got another one to help me. And he was trying to steal it, and it belongs to a man I know where I live. And I was at the movies with him, and that fella said, he'd take it back, and this fella says I'm a thief, and I'm good and hungry. Ham Sanders gave one look at him and said, Oh, is that so? It's more than so, he we shouted, and I'm going to stick to this automobile. I don't care what. If you say I'm not a Scout, I can prove it. You needn't go far to prove it, said Ham. We can see you're not. Maybe you're pretty wide awake. I'm not. I'm sleepy, Pee-wee shouted. Have you got anything to say around here? Well, I think I have. I'm constable, said Ham. Then why aren't you sure? Pee-wee retorted. Just because I don't know where I am, it doesn't say I don't know what I'm talking about, does it? Well, you help me drive this automobile back. You'll get some money if you do. I had an adventure with a couple of thieves, and I foiled them. They've got 70 pistols. I was watching the bandit of Harrowing Highway. You got into bad company, youngster, said Ham, surveying Pee-wee's rake-ish cap and lawless-looking sweater. You ought to be thankful you got a chance to get rid of that sort of company. You're kind of young, I reckon, aren't you? Gosh, I calculate you ain't more than four feet high. Kind of young to be mixed up in steelens. You're the one that's mixed up, Pee-wee shouted. And anyway, size doesn't count. You can you can steal things if you're, you're only a foot high, if you want to. And how about all this, Peter? asked his friend confidently. I'll tell you, Pee-wee shouted. I had a lot of adventures. I know two men that have, shh, they have dead ones to their credit. I circum, what do you call it, vented them, and that man that just ran away, he was a traitor, but I can. Can you keep still a second? One look at you is enough, said Ham Sanders. I've, I've got three scout suits, Pee-wee began. Like enough you stole them, said Ham. You're one of them runners for crooks. That's what you are. I know the kind. They have you to climb in the windows for them and all that. Now you keep still a minute if you know what's best for you. In a brief and threatened few seconds of silence, Peter told in a whisper, how he had seen the signal and read it and stopped the car. And of the flight of the head thief, as he called him. Between these two excited youngsters, Ham hardly knew what to believe. He certainly did not believe in talking lights appearing over graveyards. Nor did he credit Pee-wee's vehement and choppy account of bandits with seventy pistols. War are these dead ones, he asked, rather confused. Over yonder in the graveyard? How do I know where they are, Pee-wee shouted. Do you know what black jacks are? Dots and dashes. You can do it with lights too, said Peter. They tell the truth. If he says, signals lie, that shows he isn't a scout anyway. And anybody can see he isn't. I stopped them. I did it by myself. That's nothing, he reshouted from the seat. I nearly got suffocated. I'm more of a hero than you are. That man that ran away, he, he duped me. This car, will you listen, this car, it's stolen, I know, said Peter. It was stolen, but it isn't stolen. Pee-wee fairly screamed. Can't a thing be stolen and then not stolen? It's being, being rescued. It's being stolen, the other thief ran away, Peter insisted. He, he admits he was friends with a thief. He's a thief too, he is. Maybe Jim disguised. Kind of as a thief. Pee-wee conceded. He's trying to be disguised as a scout, or Peter said. I was a scout before you or anybody else was born, Pee-wee shouted. He isn't, said Peter. I am, said Pee-wee. Ham Sanders scratched his head, looking from one to the other, then looked appealingly at his familiar milk cans. Perhaps he expected to see them dancing around in this bedlam. I'm going to have both of you youngsters before the peace justice, he finally said. We'll soon find out what's wrong here. Climb down out of that car, you, and come along with me, the both of you. Do you think I'm scared of him? Pee-wee demanded as he climbed down. You will be scared of him. He's got a big book, said Peter. I ain't scared of big books, Pee-wee announced. I know bigger books. Camp registers. I bet it isn't as big as a map book. You'll see, said Peter darkly. End of Chapter 25 Recording by John Brandon Chapter 26 of Pee-wee Harris on the Trail This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon Pee-wee Harris on the Trail by Percy Kease Fitzhugh Chapter 26 The Culpert at the Bar The book could not have been so very big, for justice of the peace fee lived in a very small house. It was almost concealed among trees, fifty yards or so up the road. Justice fee was one of those shrewd, easygoing, stern but good-natured lawyers that one meets away off in the country. He was altogether removed from that obnoxious thing, the small town lawyer. Up in the edge of his gray hair rested a pair of spectacles with octagon-shaped lenses, almost completely camouflaged by his grizzled locks. These spectacles were seldom where they belonged, on his nose. Apparently he wore them to bed. For after several minutes of knocking by the visitors, he appeared with them on, while groping for the sleeve of an old coat he had partly donned. He took the callers into a room with a desk in the middle of it, and sat down at this, facing them, his legs sticking out through the space in the middle. Then he opened the large book, as if making ready to close somebody up in it, as one presses a flower. He contemplated Pee-wee with a rather curious frown, as he listened to what Ham and then Peter greatly agitated had to say. Our young hero indeed presented anything but a credible picture. The old gray sweater used by the man who took care of the furnace in Pee-wee's home. The cap which he held, and his grimy face, made him look like a terrible example of hoodlumism. A trolley car hoodlum, an apple-stealing and stone-throwing and hooky-playing hoodlum, a hole in the ball-field fence hoodlum. Nor did the terrible scowl, with which he now challenged fate and the world, helped to make him look like the boy on the cover of the scout manual, the boy that Peter knew and worshipped. Well now, strolled peace-justice fee, casting a tolerant side-glance at Pee-wee. You tell me this whole business and you tell me the plain truth, see? Sure, I will, Pee-wee said. I'll tell you all my adventures. Never mind about your adventures and watch out because the first lie you tell, the justice held up a warning finger. Now answer me this, never mind anything else. We'll drop a plum-line right down to the bottom of this thing and have no beating round the bush. I beat lots of bushes for rabbits, Pee-wee vociferated. Well, don't beat any here now. The justice spoke slowly and emphatically, shaking a long finger with each word. Who owns that car? Careful now. Mr. Bartlett, where I live in Bridgeborough. Sure of that? Sure, I'm sure. Didn't I? Never mind what you did. Now what's this Mr. Bartlett's full name? Now, now, he added warningly. Just you answer the question, I ask you, and leave the rest to me. If you tell the truth, you won't get in any trouble. Pee-wee somewhat awed at last subsided. Mr. James Bartlett, he said, without another word, Mr. Fee drew in his long legs. A rose went over to where a book was hanging, looked in it, then took the receiver from the old-fashioned box telephone on the wall. The party waited greatly awed by this show of calm efficiency and ability to get right at the heart of the matter. Pee-wee was particularly elated, for presently his identity and whereabouts would be established and explained. He listened with growing interest as the justice, unperturbed by delays and mistakes, finally succeeded in securing the desired number. This two-four-eight bridge borough? Pee-wee heard. Sorry to get you up at this hour. You, Mr. James Bartlett, yes? This is the peace justice at—what? I say this is the peace justice. Peace. Yes, this is the peace justice. Justice of the peace at Piper's Crossroads, New York State. What? Yes, New York State. Pipes? No, Pipers—Piper's Crossroads. Was your automobile stolen? Your automobile? What? I say, was your auto— Sure, it was stolen, Pee-wee said. You just mentioned. Keep still, I say. Was your automobile stolen? Stolen. Well, it's for your sake. What's that? All right. There followed a pause. Justice Fee waited, but did not address the company. A dead silence reigned. They could hear the ticking of the big grandfather's clock at the corner. Heater thought the signaling was better than this. Ham thought how wonderful it was for a man to have so much book learning that he could go right to the heart of a matter like this. Pee-wee thought how, in about ten seconds, he would be able to denounce these strangers and appear as the real hero that he was. He would ignore Peter Piper entirely and give Justice Fee an edifying lecture on scouting. In about ten seconds, they would all see. What's that? Said the Justice, busy at the phone. Your car is in your garage? I say. I say. What's that? Oh, you looked. Sure about that, eh? Yes. Yes. Yes. You haven't got two cars. Six cars? Oh, six cylinders. No, no. It's all safe in your garage, you say? Yes. Well, sorry to trouble you. No, not at all. Yes, all right. Good-bye. Peter Piper looked at Pee-wee with a kind of awe. He had seen the other thief escape in the darkness. Everything had been exciting and confused, but now in the lamp-light, and within the safety of those four walls, he beheld a real crook caught cornered at bay. Justice Fee had simplified the whole thing, talking little, depending on hard-cold facts. He had hit the vital spot of the whole mysterious business. He had caught this little hoodlum satellite of thieves in an ugly lie. Yet Peter Piper, who had in him the makings of a real scout, was not happy. He had thought that he would be happy, but now he was not. If-if you'll-maybe-if I could take him to my house, he began twitching his fingers nervously as he gazed wistfully at the justice who embodied the relentless law. If you'd let me do that, he couldn't run away. It's so far, and he said he was hungry, and-and anyway, there isn't anything to steal at my house. That was better than reading the signal. And Peter Piper, pioneer scout of Piper's Crossroads, was a better scout than he knew. End of Chapter 26 Recording by John Brandon There was one place where the searchlight message was translated with a readier skill than at Piper's Crossroads, and where it created quite his great consternation. That was at the camp on fryingpan island. It was like ABC to have a dozen of those practice scouts, and to others not so well practiced, but the skill of the sender had made the reading easy. In less than a minute, the camp was the scene of hurried talk and lightning preparation. What do you know about that? asked Sparrow Blake. He was in the Monmouth Patrol, made up of the smaller scouts in Safety First's troop. I don't know anything about it, said Scoutmaster Ned, reaching for his plated khaki jacket. I don't know any more about it than you do. Nobody could get in that place, so I don't see how any one could get out. Come ahead, Bill, he asked hastily, addressing the other Scoutmaster. This was followed by a vociferous chorus. Can I go? I'm with you. I'll row. No, you won't, I will. You mean me? Get from under and go back to bed. Says Scoutmaster Ned excitedly. What do you fellows think this is, a regatta? Aren't we going to chase them? You're going to chase yourselves. You think we've got a battleship? We've only got one of the boats here. Chuck me that leather case. Your pistol? Never you mind what's in it. Come ahead, Bill, and you, Norris, and look out, you don't step in the soup bucket. Is there a light over on the shore? Sure, they've got a lantern. Trust Nick not to forget anything. I'm going so as to carry the lantern. Yes, you're not. Says Scoutmaster Ned. Never mind your coat, Bill. Come ahead. I hope they had sense enough to get hold of a machine somewhere. They could get Barney's fliver. Shall we signal over to them? Called a dozen excited voices. No, there isn't time. Come on now, hustle, and the rest of you go to sleep. While you're chasing thieves? Do you hear what he said? Go to sleep. Can you beat that from a Scoutmaster? And him always telling us to be wide awake. Get out of the way, all of you, said Scoutmaster Bill, alias safety first. You're like a lot of mosquitoes. The whole camp followed the two Scoutmasters and Norris to the shore, where there seemed likely to be a stampede for the one small boat. If you're going to take Norris, Norris can drive the other car back, if I get mine, interrupted Scoutmaster Ned. He has a license. Now are you all satisfied? They saw that under his persistent good nature, he was worried and preoccupied. And like the good Scouts they were, they said no more about going. They knew the pride he took in his hunk of junk auto. They knew that his one thought was of that now. Yet Scoutmaster Ned Garrison's sense of humor was ever ready, even in anxiety or disappointment. It was that which endeared him to his troop, whom he was forever denouncing and contemplating, with a kind of mock despair. He called them an infernal rabble and they loved him for it. He was a new kind of a Scoutmaster, and I honestly believe that when Scoutmaster Ned thrust that leather case containing his revolver down into his pocket, if he could only have known that it was for the purpose of shooting Peewee Harris, he would have laughed so hard that he would have capsized the robot. End of Chapter 27, Recording by John Brandon Chapter 28 of Peewee Harris on the Trail This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon Peewee Harris on the Trail by Percy Kease Fitzhugh Chapter 28 On the Trail The boat glided swiftly through the dark water Nick, will you get the silver cup for that stunt, Sid Norris? He'll get a punch of the eye if he doesn't have a car for us, said Scoutmaster Ned. I wonder how he did. Town Hall, said Scoutmaster Ned. That kid thinks quick. If he'd only learned to tie a knot, he'd be a Scout. Vernon's a pretty good kid, though. He's better than Mount Vernon, anyway. Pull a little on your left, Bill. What's the matter? Got the sleeping sickness? Pull straight for that light. If it wasn't a stunt, what is, said Norris? You are, says Scoutmaster Ned. We're not handing out silver cups tonight. Maybe I'll do a stunt tonight and win it. You? Yes, me. Hold on your left some more. What do you think this is, Bill, a miracle round? Now go straight. Maybe Phyton Norton found their prince, said Norris. He's a bear at that. He's clumsier than a bear, like all safety first troop. How about that safety? Come on, quick, row. Coming? Called a voice from the shore. That's what? Answered Scoutmaster Ned. Your car's gone. So I read in the sky. Somebody break in? The small door's locked. The big one was open, but nothing broken. Get out. What'll you see? Who's there? Safety first and Norris and me. You didn't think to get a car, did you? Do you know which way they went? Jim Burton is here with his packard. Hello, Jim. Hello, Ned. They followed the main road past the east road. We tracked the tires past Opie's Mill. They're not likely to turn out anywhere else till they get past Piper's anyway. You'll be a scout yet, Phyton, called Scoutmaster Ned. What did they do, wake you up? Said Safety first as they pulled the boat up on shore. I should think they did, said Jim Burton. They rang the bell a hundred times and went out into the garage and tutored the horn. Why didn't you teach your scouts manners? Can't be did, Jim. Let's take a pike at the place. Hello, Fido, that you? You're sure about them going as far as the mill? Yup. Yup, hey? Well, that's not so bad. You'll get a second helping of dessert someday. Come on, who's going? Pile in. Mighty good of you, Jim. A brief moment's inspection of the shed and they were off. Jim Burton drove the car and by him sat Scoutmaster Ned. The others, Safety first, Nick Vernon, Fido Norton, and Charlie Norris sat in back. Too many? asked Scoutmaster Ned. She rides better with a load, said Jim Burton. I don't suppose there's much chance, had Ned. You notified the cops, didn't you, Nick? Good. The battery is low and there isn't any crank on my bus. And my only hope is that you lay down on them. So could too hurt, Jim. Do you want to stop and look at the tire tracks yourself? Asked Norton. It was that new good year that I was tracking, the one that's all crisscross. You tracked it past the east road? So they didn't turn down here. Sure. Yup. That's enough. Let's see her step, Jim. Jim soaked it to her and she stepped. Not a bit of fuss did she make over it. Just stepped. A silent fleet step. Like the step of a deer. And the spectral trees on either side seemed to glide the other way. An east road seemed like a piece of string across their path. And Opie's mill was but a transient speck, and Valesborough was brushed aside like a particle of dust. The car of a thousand delights could not do that. End of Chapter Twenty-Eight, recording by John Brandon. Chapter Twenty-Nine of Pee Wee Harris on the Trail. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon. Pee Wee Harris on the Trail, by Percy Keyes Fitzhugh. Chapter Twenty-Nine, Voices. Pee Wee, the irrepressible, was subdued at last. Engaping amazementy watched the justice cross from the phone to the table, sit down, and begin to write. The demeanor of the justice was anything but dramatic. He was calm, matter of fact, as if this were no more than he had expected. What do you mean? It's in his garage. Pee Wee stammered. He was not at all defiant now. Are you—were you talking—are you sure it was him? There was a note of sincerity, of honest surprise in his voice, which the justice did not miss. And as for Peter Piper, his heart went out to this poor, shabby, little misguided fellow, whoever and whatever he was. He was so much out of disadvantage now that Peter felt sorry for him. Now, Sonny, said Justice Fee, breaking the tense silence, I'm going to hold you till we get to the bottom of this. Mr. Sanders, who's constable, is going to look after you. Pee Wee gulped and fingered his cap nervously, till we can overhaul that pal of yours. You're more to be pity than blamed, I reckon. There's altogether too much of this using small boys and criminal enterprises. I know, he added, holding up a warning finger. He told you just what to say if you were caught, and you needn't say it, because you see, I can't believe you. Pee Wee was visibly sobbing now. He knew what being taken care of meant. He was afraid, yes, and bewildered at being caught in this cruel web of circumstance. But most of all he was incensed and shamed by this indignity. He could not trust himself to speak. He would break down. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong. Fate was against him. He could not grapple with the situation. If he spoke, he would say too much and lose his temper in that solemn hall of justice. And what would happen to him then? His hands played nervously with his old cap. He bit his lips and tried to repress the torrent that was surging in him. The outlandish, old-gray sweater with its rolling color bulging up around his small jerking throat did not seem comical now. It made him the picture of pathos. He did not dare try to explain. That wonderful old man would only catch him in another trap and perhaps sent him to state prison. His breath came quick and fast. He could no more speak than he could escape. He wished that Roy Blakely were there, and Tom Slade, who knew how to talk to grown-up men and, Yes, and I'll pin the merit badge over your mouth if you don't keep still, he heard a hearty voice say. Sure, wintergreen is good to eat. Go and eat some poison ivy for all I care. Do you think I'm going to be passing out merit badges for helping me to find my own car? I wonder where they went. I should worry where they went. I'm thankful we found the car. Maybe they've gone to join the bandit of harrowing highway. He'll have pistols enough to go around, anyway. Seventy, was it? And a couple of blackjacks. Well, we've got him beaten for a romance of the road. Let's go in this house and see if we can scare up some gasoline. Jim, you and I ought to go into the movies. We'd have a six-wheeler, call the kids of Kidder Lake, or Fido, a frying pan island. How's that strike you? Most of those kids don't need any pistols. They can kill time without them. We've got some dead ones over there, Jim. Only they haven't got sense enough to lie down. What do you bet we don't get some gas in this house? Well, here goes for a knock on the door by Ned the Nabber, one pistol. Pee we held his breath listening. What could this mean? Seventy pistols, blackjacks, his old friend, the bandit of harrowing highway. Dead ones? Was he indeed in the spell of some horrible nightmare? What on earth could this mean? In a kind of trance he heard a knocking on the door and a lot of hearty, clamoring, bantering voices. They did not seem at all like robbers and cutthroats. They were not stealthy, a couple of million miles from it. Pee we rubbed his glistening eyes with that old cap that he held and blinked to make sure he was awake. Chapter 30 of Pee Wee Harris on the Trail This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by ZoinkMeisterPatrick YouTube.com slash ZoinkMeister Pee Wee Harris on the Trail By Percy Keese Fitzhugh Face to face Still in a daze, Pee Wee saw the old man step to the door. He heard a hearty, good, humored voice asking about gasoline. If you could just put us on the trail of some, the voice said, we're good at tracking. Tracking? Pee Wee's eyes opened. Tracking? Well, could we use your phone then? He heard. The next thing Pee Wee knew, half a dozen boys and young men spilled into the room. All but one of them, and that was Jim Burton, weren't scout attire. Pee Wee stood gaping at them as if they had dropped from the clouds. Whatever their wee hour call meant, they seemed to all be in high good humor and amused at their own adventure. One of them, a scout master as Pee Wee knew, was particularly offhand and jovial and seemed to fill the room with his breezy talk. Peter Piper stared like one transfixed. They were scouts, the kind he had read about, the kind that were on the cover of the handbook. He backed into a corner so as not to get in their way. Yes sir, we've had some night of it, said the young scout master, falling with mock wariness into a chair, throwing one knee over the other and tossing his hat very neatly onto one foot. My car is stalled up the road in front of the next house. Lucky they ran out of gas. There's a sign up there says road closed, but I can't see anything that matter with it. Anyway, they ran out of gas and then ran out of the machine as I make out. They deserted it when the supply gave out, I suppose. All's well that ends well, only we need gas. I bet, I bet we've covered 150 miles of territory tonight. What'd you say, Bill? Didn't pause long enough to give Bill or the justice either a chance to speak. We saw the light in your window and just came in to see if you had a gallon or so of gas. We've got another car up yonder. Yes, sir, we've got the bandit of heroin highway looking like a tang canary for adventurers. Hey, Scout Nick? Nick's our signal shark. Peter Piper looked at Nick with humble reverence and backed further into the corner. He could not take his eyes from him. Justice Fee was about to say, here's one of the culprits, but he did not get the chance. Scout Master Ned had the floor, also the walls and the ceiling. He seemed not to care anything about the culprits. All he seemed to care about was getting his hunk of junk car back and recounting their adventures. Perhaps he was even a little grateful to the culprits for affording them such opportunity for adventure. At all events, he kicked his hat around on the end of his foot and filled the room with his quick, breezy talk. Yes, sir, we rode to Bridgeboro, New Jersey. Got a prize cup for my kindergarten class trifor. Looked in at a show, saw a guy with a lot of pistols. Got home at about, oh, I don't know, rode over to the island where we're camping and these two kids rode back to get the cup out of the car and found the car gone and sent a signal that nobody saw and what came along in this fellow's packard. Well, we've got the old hunk of junk back anyway, haven't we kids? I'll say we have. These kids told the world only the world was asleep or something. Well, we've had pretty good luck at that, I'll say. We've found the car, the school burned down. Suddenly, like a burst of thunder rose the recovered voice of Pee Wee Harris. While in frantic accompaniment, his feet beat the floor and his small arms swung in wild excitement. With his deadly vocal artillery, he silenced the breezy talk of scout master Ned and set the company aghast with his triumphant clamor. I've got an insulation, I mean, an inspiration. Listen, keep still, everybody. I'm the one that fixed it so you could have all those adventures. I'm the one. I got into the wrong car in Bridgeboro. I saw that show and I thought you were the ones that had pistols and now I know you're not murderers because I was half asleep and I came out because I hate education films but I like bandits but I don't like real ones. He likes real ones. Suggested safety first. And I met a thief and he was disguised as a manual training teacher and now he's foiled because I asked him to help me take Mr. Bartlett's car back and it's already back because this is a different car and I was under, I was disguised under the buffalo rope and I wrote a letter under there and pinned it to a piece of sandwich with a safety pin that I was being kidnapped. You can ask anybody so that shows I'm not abandoned. I can prove I'm a scout. I don't care what anybody says because you can hang an apple on a string and I can bite it without touching it with my hands and I'm the only one of my patrol that can do that and I'm not an enemy to you because if that school burned down I'm glad too and I've got seven Mary badges and the bronze cross and if you find that letter I wrote you can see how the pieces of sandwich fit my mouth where I bit it and that's better than fingerprints and I can prove it. I don't care what anybody says. I got into the wrong car and even the smartest man in the world. Even, even, even George Washington could do that. I got seven Mary badges. He concluded breathlessly as a climax to his outburst. With an air of profound solemnity, Scoutmaster Ned arose and made the full scout salute to the mascot of the Raven Patrol, F-B-T-B-S-A. Can I ask the name of the hero who disguised as my buffalo robe? He asked. Pee-wee Harris, only size don't count. Said the scream of Bridgeborough's crack troop. Quite so, said Scoutmaster Ned. George Washington might have been small once himself. Am I right, Nick? Positively, said Nick. And the manual training bandit? May I ask about him? He's foiled, said Pee-wee. I met him when I escaped from your garage. He gave me a lead pencil and he said he'd help me take the car back to Mr. Bartlett that took me to the show in his car. Gee whiz, you get sleepy sometimes, don't ya? Very, but I don't get a chance to sleep much with bronze cross scouts and manual training teachers to keep me on the move. Gee whiz, I'm sorry I woke you up. Not at all, the pleasure's mine. Said Scoutmaster Ned. I live in a den of wild Indians. I seldom sleep. And our friend escaped? It don't speak very well for teachers, does it? School? Gee whiz! I'll help anybody to foil a school. Good. Come over here, Pee-wee Harris, and let us get out the details of this adventure. I have a hunch that you and I are going to be friends. You are a, what shall I say, a bandit after my own heart. So you have seven merit badges on the bronze cross, eh? Do you think you could steal? Excuse me. Win a silver cup? Can you drink out of it? Pee-wee demanded. Positively. Lemonade, grape juice, root beer, molten milk also, and a sandwich goes with it. I think that cup was made for a bronze cross scout. Come over here, minute. Pee-wee went over and stood between the knees of Scoutmaster Ned. He's mine, Bill, said Ned to his fellow Scoutmaster. I saw him first. Meanwhile, you should have seen the face of Justice of the Peace Fee. He sat at his desk with his long legs projecting through the middle. A cigar screwed away over into the corner of his mouth, contemplating Pee-wee with a shrewd, mused twinkle. Not a word did he say as Scoutmaster Ned asked questions of the Ravens mascot while the others listened and laughed. End of Chapter 30, recording by ZwenkmeisterPatrick, youtube.com slash Zwenkmeister. Chapter 31 of Pee-wee Harris on the Trail. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by ZwenkmeisterPatrick, youtube.com slash Zwenkmeister. Pee-wee Harris on the Trail by Percy Keith Fitzhugh. Alone. But there was one there who smiled almost fearfully as if doubting his privilege of mirth in that gay strange company. He smiled, not as one of them, but in silent awe, and did not dare to laugh aloud. He hoped that they would not notice him and tell him to go home. He had dreamed of some day seeing such wondrous boys as these, and here they were before him, all about him in their natty khaki, self-possessed, unabashed, merry, free. Was not that enough for Peter Piper of Piper's Crossroads? Yes, that was enough. More than he had ever expected. It was like the scene he had pretended out in the little barn when he had presented himself with a fancy to signaling badge. Stealthily, his hand moved to his ticking shirt and removed the campaign button. For there before him was a boy with a real, a real signaling badge. His eyes were riveted upon that badge. He could not take them from it. Suppose someone should ask him about the button, why he was wearing it, now that Harding and Coolidge were in office. He would blush, he could not tell them. He hoped that they would not notice him, for he knew he could not talk to them, that his voice would shake and that he would go to pieces. Now that he saw them, joyous, uproarious, bantering, wearing badges on their sleeves, he realized that what he had done was nothing at all. He heard Scoutmaster Ned humorously belittling the exploits of his own heroes. No, Peter Piper would not step rashly into that bantering throng with that one exploit of his own. So he stood in the bay window, half concealed by the old-fashioned melodian and watched them, just gazed at them. And when they all crowded out, he lingered behind and whispered to the music master the milk cans. Don't tell him, Ham. Please don't tell him anything about me. And so the party made their way along the dark road, and Peter followed and heard the flattering comments and fraternal plans involving the little hero from Bridgeboro. Evidently, they were going to keep Scout Harris with them and have him patented from what Peter overheard. When they came to Peter's little home, Scoutmaster Ned discovered and spoke to him while Peewee was making an enthusiastic pronouncement about Jim Burton's Packard car. You live here, Sonny? Yes, sir. Stammered Peter, quite taking it back. Well, now I'll tell you what we're going to do. We're going to roll this stalled car a little way into your yard to get it off the road, all right? Yes, sir. Then we're going on to where the little fellow lives. I have to see his folks and he has to get some scoutduds and junk and stuff, and then we're coming back. We ought to be here early in the morning. Yes, sir. You just keep your eye out for that car, will ya? It has a way of disappearing. Yes, sir. I don't mean to watch it all the time, but just sort of have an eye out. I'm taking this little jigger out of the distributor so no one can run the old bus anyway. But you just have an eye out, will ya? Yes, sir, said Peter anxiously. That's the boy, and some fine day you'll have a couple of autos of your own to worry about. Peter smiled, passionately, happily. That was a wonderful joke, and a real Scoutmaster, just like the pictures, had said it to him. He thought that, with the exception of Theodore Roosevelt, Scoutmaster Nen was the most wonderful scout that ever lived. He wondered how it would seem to know him all the time. Peter had no idea what a distributor was, but he knew now that his method of crippling an automobile was very crude. He was glad they did not know so they could not laugh at him. After the Packard car with its noisy load had started for the fairy region where they had movie shows and things and where Scout Harris lived, Peter was beset by an awful problem. He was not sleepy. He would not be sleepy for at least a year after what he had seen, and he intended to watch the car as it should be watched. The question that puzzled him was whether he dared get into it, or whether he had better sit on the old carriage step. He finally compromised by sitting on the running board, and there he sat till the owl stopped shrieking, and the first pale herald of the dawn appeared in the sky. And when the sun peeked over the top of Graveyard Hill and painted the tombstones below with its fresh new light, and showed the gray frost of the autumn morning spread over the lonesome bleak fields, and finally cast its cheery light upon the tiny isolated home. It found Peter Piper, pioneer scout of Piper's Crossroads, seated there upon the running board of Scoutmaster Ned's car, waiting for one more glimpse of those heroes. Peewee Harris on the Trail This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by ZoinkmeisterPatrick, youtube.com slash Zoinkmeister. Peewee Harris on the Trail By Percy Keese Fitzhugh On to Bridgeborough Scoutmaster Ned Garrison had a middle name, Handle and Parents. That was his middle name. He was a bear at that. He could make them eat out of his hand. Had he not engineered the camping enterprise pending the preparation of a makeshift school? Parents did not trouble him. He ate them alive. You leave them to me. He said to Peewee as they advanced to get his poor, defenseless Bridgeborough. They'll either consent or will shoot up the town. Hey, safety first. We're on the rampage tonight. Somebody's been fined us meat. It was not Peewee's custom to leave a thing to somebody else. He attended to everything. Meals, awards, hikes, ice cream cones, camping localities, duffelists, parents, everything. He was the world's champion fixer. You could see for yourself what a triumph he made of not rescuing the wrong car. That was merely a detail. If the car had been the right one and no one had stopped him from rescuing it, he would have rescued it. Since everything worked out all right, he was triumphant. And he was better than glue for fixing things. I'll handle them, he said. Well, we'll both handle them, said Scout Master Ned. A little farther along the road, safety first said. I don't see why the road was closed off. Seems to me to be all right. Peewee was now sufficiently subdued to think and speak calmly. And he said, That fellow with the shirt put it there. He said he read the signal. I guess he's crazy, hey? Oh, the fellow with the shirt. Quirried Fido Norton humorously. I seem to remember a shirt, said Nick. That was it, Peewee said. He was just a little roub, said Charlie Norris. He's the one that said I was a thief, said Peewee. I told him I could prove I was a scout by eating a potato a certain way. And he didn't take you up, said Scout Master Ned. He didn't have a potato, Peewee said. It's best always to carry potatoes with you, said Scout Master Safety First. After this, I'm always gonna carry five or six, said Peewee. The proof of the potatoes is in the eating, said Nick. I know nine different ways to cook them, said Peewee. And I can eat them raw, so that makes 10. I can eat potato skins too, so that makes 11. If you could eat potato bugs, that would make 12, said Charlie Norris. If you eat lightning bugs, that would make you bright, said Peewee. That's what Roy Blakely says. He's in my troupe. He's crazy, and he says he's glad of it. We've got three patrols in my troupe, and I'm a member of the Ravens, but I'm kind of in all of them. I know all about camping and everything. In the fall, you're supposed to camp east of the hill. Do you know why? No, break it to us gently, said Nick. When you say break it, that reminds me that I can break an apple into halves with one hand. Do tell, said Charlie. What do you do with the other half? What other half? The other one. If they're both the same, how can there be another one? I eat them. Really? I eat mushrooms too, only if they're toadstools, they kill you. Why don't you eat a couple? I will not, because you bet I'm going to stay alive. I'll show you how you can tell the difference when we get to that island. I'll show you a lot of things. Do you know how to pump water with a newspaper? Rolled up? Gee, that's easy. I learned that when I was a tenderfoot. What do you know, a secondhand scout? I'm a first class scout, and I'm a first aid scout, and do you know how to make things out of peanut shells? Will you show us that too? Sure, but anyway, I never use chalk for scout signs. I use charred wood. Do you know why? Because chalk reminds you of school, because it's got too much civilization in it. Do they put that in it? No, but it's there. Gee whiz, I've got no use for civilization. I don't care what kind it is. Well, what about that codger? Ask out Master Ned. He said he read the signal? Sure, and he was the one that stopped us when the fellow ran away. Gee whiz, I didn't see any signal, but I didn't look behind. Maybe he's just disguised as a rube, hey? Anyway, he stopped us. That's one sure thing, because we stopped and that proves it, doesn't it? There's nothing the matter with a road. Safety first repeated. That's what has me guessing, said Scout Master Ned. He couldn't have read the message to that little codger. He's just a poor little country kid. I'd give a donut to know how he happened to put that rope across the road. He never, never read that message. You can bet on that. I know, I know. Phosphorated peewee. He had a inspiration. Give me the donut. Chapter 33 of Peewee Harris on the Trail This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Bill Mosley, Lano County, Texas, USA. Peewee Harris On the Trail By Percy Keesey Fitzhugh Chapter 33 Hark! The Conquering Hero Comes Back We need not linger in Ridgeboro, the native haunt of Scout Harris, and of Roy Blakely and his silver-plated Fox Patrol, and the other celebrities of Peewee's troop. For the adventures of these world heroes may be found recorded by Roy's own hand. It will be sufficient to say that the delegation from Kitter Lake descended upon the peaceful home of Peewee Harris, peaceful during his absence at all events, and carried it by storm. The anxiety of Mr. and Mrs. Harris over the whereabouts of their son being set at rest by his dramatic appearance at the head of his martial following. There was nothing for them to do but surrender to Scout Master Ned while the party partook of breakfast in the fallen fortress. He will eat you out of house and home, warned Mrs. Harris. I only want to warn you beforehand. We are prepared for the worst, says Scout Master Ned, as he contemplated his discovery wrestling with a saucer of breakfast food across the table. In return for our poor hospitality, he is going to show us how the world should be run, and we are to be his pupils. Now that we have stumbled upon him, we couldn't close our season without him. I'll show you how to close it, said Peewee. The one obstacle which might have stood in the way of these delectable plans, school, was removed by the fact that Scout Harris was to enter a private school, pity the poor private school, which did not open until after Columbus Day. We shall see him wished on to this institution in a subsequent volume. The outlandish sweater and rakeish cap in which Peewee had masqueraded through that eventful night were now discarded by order of his mother, and on the journey to Kitterlake he appeared a vision of sartorial splendor in his full scout regalia, including all appurtenances and sundries. As a tribute perhaps to the island of which he was to be the Imperial Head, he flotted his aluminum frying pan, its handle stuck in his belt, ready to fry an egg at a second's notice in case of emergency, that he might never be at a loss to know where he was at, his scout compass dangled by a cord tied in a double sheepshank knot to harmonize with the knot of his scarf, which could only be removed by lifting it over his head. Thus, though he might be lost to his comrades, he could never be lost to his scarf. Twisted onto the cord of his scout hat was an arrow pointing forward, which gave him an exceedingly marshal appearance, and was useful too in pointing out the way he should go, and safeguarding him from the danger of going backward. But if, by an accident, he should go backward, or sideways, he had the empty funnel of an old auto horn with which to magnify his voice and make the forest ring with his sonorous cries for help. And if the help did not come, he had still one cylinder of an old opera glass, with the lens of which he could ignite a dried leaf by day, or observe the guiding stars by night. And if there were no dried leaves, he had his crumpled piece of tissue paper, and if the stars did not shine, he had a rag for extracting confidential information from the wind. And if there was no wind, he should worry he had gumdrops mobilized in every pocket. Every safety device known to scout science, and many of quite original conception, were upon the marshal form of Scout Harris, so that he could not possibly go wrong or starve. So it was without any fear that he set forth for the untrodden wilds of frying pan island, notwithstanding that it was a quarter of a mile wide and nearly a third of a mile long. End of Chapter 33 Chapter 34 of Pee Wee Harris on the Trail This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org recording by Bill Moseley, Lano County, Texas, USA. Pee Wee Harris on the Trail by Percy Keesey Fitzhugh Chapter 34 Pee Wee holds forth It was a delightful ride to Kitter Lake in the daytime. There is no time like the autumn except the spring, and the spring is only good because it is the beginning of the summer. Just the same as the winter is best because the spring comes after it. As Roy Blakley would have said, you can do that by algebra. But there is nothing either before or after to make algebra good. As Jim Burtensbig packered car sped along the country looked bleak and the fields won with their yellow corn stalks. Even the little shacks where fresh fruit and vegetables had been displayed to motorists were now boarded up. Their cheerless, deserted look contributed quite as much as the changing foliage to the scene of coldness, desolation. The sad look which nature assumes when school opens. The wind blew and the leaves fell and the West Ketchum Scouts fell too for Scout Harris, who was also blowing. That's what you call a pro-incidence. How I don't have to go to school yet. The same as you don't on account of yours burning down. Gee whiz, I like campfires, but I like school fires better. And you'll show us how to make a campfire? Sure I will. I'll show you how they do at Temple Camp. Is there anybody living on that island? No one but us. And we'll have to be going home soon, said Charlie Norris. I like Desert Island's best, peewee said. They remind you of dessert. Sometimes I spell it that way. Don't you care? You have a month yet. Did you ever eat Floating Island? It has gobs of icing floating around in it. We have that Sunday nights at Temple Camp. When I said dessert, it made me think of it. Sometimes islands disappear. I bet the ones in that dessert do, all right, laughed Nick Vernon. You said it, peewee vociferated with great emphasis. I'll show you how to make tracking cakes, too. Only you can't eat them. No. No, therefore chipmunks and burrs do step on so you can save their footprints. Gee whiz, did you think you could eat them? We didn't know, said Fido Norris. Gee, there are lots of things I don't know, too. Said peewee generously. But anyway, I fixed it so a scout could stay at Temple Camp an extra week. Bully for you, a good turn? You said it. I gave him a whole pail of berries I picked, and he got sick and couldn't go home. Some fixer. I fix things a lot. Maybe you can give us all berries the day before our temporary school opens, said Fido Norton. Don't you worry, said peewee reassuringly. Maybe the men who are getting it ready will go on a strike. Maybe there'll be measles or hooping cough or something. I've had those. You're not missing much, eh? You said it. I've been lost in the woods, too. Roy Blakely says I get lost at sea when I sing. He's crazy that feller is. He started the Silver Foxes. There's a feller in that patrol could move his ears without touching them. I shouldn't worry as long as I can move my mouth. I'll show you how to flop a fried egg in the pan, only you have to look it doesn't come down on your head. You can scramble eggs, but you can't unscramble them. Once one came down on my head. I took a beeline hike, too. With a fried egg on your head? No. I'll show you how to make a thing to get olives out of the bottom of a bottle, too. It's better than a hat pin. But a hat pin is good to catch polywogs with. There's a polywog patrol that comes to Temple Camp. Gee, I never knew that Silver Cup was in the car with me all the time. Well, we expect you to walk away with that, said Scout Master Ned. You rode away with it once, so now we expect you to walk away with it. It's one already, said Charlie Norris. Nick's the one. Gee whiz, I wish I had seen that signal, said Pee Wee. But anyway, I have to admit it was a stunt sending it. Gee, I guess you'll get the cup all right. It was characteristic of Pee Wee that his thoughts did not recur to his lonely adversary at Piper's Crossroads. His thoughts were always of the moment and aroused by the present company. He was just as ready to shout for others as he was to shout for himself, and that is saying a great deal. It was immaterial to him who he shouted for as long as he could shout. Nick Vernon was the nearest and likeliest, so he was all for Nick's stunt, and he was not in the least curious about the things said by that lonely boy with wide eyes who had stopped the car. He was thinking of other things now. The End of Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Of Pee Wee Harris On The Trail This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Bill Mosley, Lano County, Texas, USA. Pee Wee Harris On The Trail by Percy Keesey Fitzhugh Chapter 35 Scoutmaster Ned Doesn't See But Scoutmaster Ned was curious, and when they reached the little cottage, he jumped out and, taking the can of gasoline he had brought, he bade the others go on their way, saying that he would follow when he got his car started. Well, sir, you haven't been sitting here all this time, I hope, he said to Peter. Nice brisk morning, hey? Kind of weather to give you an appetite. Wouldn't they wait for you, Peter asked? I'm glad to get rid of them, since Scoutmaster Ned, in a way of friendly confidence, they make a noise like an earthquake. That little fellow is the worst of the lot. He ought to have a muffler. Is he a real scout, Peter ventured? Oh, he's two or three scouts. What do you think of them? Crazy bunch, hey? They're all real scouts, are they, Peter asked hesitantly? They think they are. Now look here, he added, sitting down on the running board in a companionable way beside Peter. I want you to tell me, what made you say that road was closed? There was a light in the sky, you saw that big, tall light? That, that fellow named Nick, he made it. Yes, and what made you close the road? Somebody tell you the light meant something? There wasn't anybody around here, said Peter, growing more at ease, as everyone did with Scoutmaster Ned. Except Aunt Sura Wicket, and she's crazy. There's nobody in this house but my mother. How about Mr. Fee? No, well then, who told you to close the road? Come now, you and I are pals, and you have to tell me. A Scoutmaster? A real-life Scoutmaster, a pal of his? Why, that was more wonderful than reading a signal. Peter's hands rubbed together nervously, and he hedged, as a scout should never do. I, I want that scout to get that cup, the one that sent the message. Could, maybe, could I see that cup, if it's in this car? In the excitement of the night, Scoutmaster Ned had forgotten all about the stunt cup, as they had come to call it. He now brought it forth from under the rear seat, and unwound the flannel rag that was around it, and polished it a little as he held it up. It shone in the bright morning sunlight, and Peter saw his face in it. That was strange that Peter Piper, of Piper's Crossroads, should see his own face looking at him from the radiant surface of a scout prize cup. He had never even seen such a good mirror before. He just gazed at it, and continued to gaze, and Scoutmaster Ned held it up, awarded for the, it shone so, he could hardly make out the words, for the best all scout stunt of the season. It cost a lot of money, didn't it? Oh, something less than a couple of thousand dollars. Look nice, standing on a scout's table, huh? Scoutmaster Ned gave it another little rub, and contemplated it admiringly. We had enough of a fuss getting it, that's sure. See that Maltese Cross on it? That's our by-troop sign. We have two troops always hang together, a troops one bunch in scouting. That kid thought the Maltese Cross meant that the cup was to drink malted milk out of it. He's a three-ring circus, that kid. It was a stunt to send that to make that light, wasn't it, Peter asked. Well, I'll say it was, said Scoutmaster Ned, giving the cup another admiring rub. That settled it for Peter. He could not match his poor little exploit against such miraculous performances. The sight of those uniforms and the broad daylight had cowed him. The sight of Nick Vernon's signaling badge had brought him to his sober senses. He felt ashamed even of his dreams and his pretending. The brief glimpse he had had of Scout Harris, in all his flaunting array, going forth to new conquests surrounded by infatuated disciples, these things settled it for poor Peter. He thought himself lucky not to have drawn attention, and been made a fool by those heroes. Maybe they would not all have been as considerate as Scoutmaster Ned. The safest thing, as well as the thing nearest to his heart, was to stand for Nick Vernon. He could stand for him even if he was afraid of him. After all, a pioneer Scout was not really and truly a Scout. I don't know why I put the rope up, he said nervously. I just did. There is a bad place in the road if you're going fast. I'll just as soon show it to you, if you don't believe me. I thought maybe the light, but anyway, I wasn't sure, and I'll show you that bad place. I guess he'll sure win the cup, won't he? The Scout that made the light? Shouldn't wonder, since Scoutmaster Ned a little puzzled, but apparently satisfied. Didn't you say something about a signal to that little codger? Or was he dreaming? Or am I dreaming? He scrutinized Peter very curiously, but seeing no sign of the Scout about him, he dismissed the receiving end of this business with Peter's rather awkward explanation, and let it go at that. As for what Pee-Wee had said, that did not worry Scoutmaster Ned. Pee-Wee's dream and experiences seemed to be all mixed together, like the things in a hunter's stew. Scoutmaster Ned went by the signs, which Scouts do, and the signs were a funny ticking shirt and a pair of pantaloons like stovepipes. No hint of scouting there. For you see the Scout was inside of Peter Piper of Piper's Crossroads. That was why he was for Nick Vernon. It was inside him, and disguised. As Pee-Wee would have said, as a checkerboard shirt. And that was why Scoutmaster Ned couldn't see it. End of Chapter 35 Recording by Bill Mosley, Lano County, Texas, USA Chapter 36 of Pee-Wee Harris on the Trail This is a LibriVox recording. While LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Pee-Wee Harris on the Trail by Percy Keyes fits you. Chapter 36 War Handling And so Peter Piper of Piper's Crossroads proved too much for Scoutmaster Ned. He kept his secret. But he had a very narrow escape from being a hero. Scoutmaster Ned had his way too. So you think you'd like to have a pike at the camp, eh? He said. Scoutmaster Ned's theory about camping was to keep open house. If he lacked discipline, which it is to be feared he did. He made up in pep. And the surprises that he was forever spring on the camp were a perpetual joy. I suspect that he was not well versed in his Scoutmaster's handbook. It was a sort of human North wind. He adopted the pose of being driven to distraction by those kids. And he denounced them around me and said there were too many of them. And that he was going to pick out one and drown the rest. Then he would show up with a new one. It was a sort of freelance Scoutmaster. And I wonder how he ever drifted into the movement. Probably he didn't drift in, but blew in. Scoutmaster safety first. Bill was his balance wheel. Where is she? I'll talk to her, he said to Peter. So he talked with Mrs. Piper while Peter stood by. He sat down in the kitchen and drank a glass of milk and ate a piece of pie and told her that it was the first real piece of pie he had ever eaten in his life. Would he have another? Well, he said he wouldn't. Mrs. Piper thought he was about the finest young gent she had ever seen. He told her all about his adventures of the night, as if she were a pal. And when she said she had slept through all the rumpus outside, he said, well, you've got West Ketchum, where I come from, beaten 20 ways. Could I just have one little sliver? No, not as much as that. Well, all right. That town, while he couldn't wake it up, Mrs. Piper, not with an earthquake. It would just fall down through the crack in the earth and go right on sleeping. No, I couldn't eat another speck. We must be off. We? Oh yes, Pete's going with me. He's going to make us a little visit for a week or two. We have lessons and everything, study nature and all that, and all he wants to eat. I'll bring him back. He wants to see the real scouts in captivity. No accounting for taste, eh, Mrs. Piper? You'd better bring along a coat, Pete, but don't change your clothes. You're not going to church. Come just as you are. So I'll be able to tell you from the rest in case I should decide to kill them all. That lets you out, see? Come ahead before your mother changes her mind. Poor Mrs. Piper had not yet made up her mind, so she could not very well change it. Scout Master Ned had made up her mind for her. I'll have to get Sally Flint to come over and visit with me, said Mrs. Piper doubtfully. Just the one, said Scout Master Ned. She'll keep you company, and you'll have a little peace with this youngster gone. Mrs. Piper, if I had my way, I'd chloroform every boy in creation. I wonder you look so young with a wild Indian like that around. Oh, I ain't looking so young, she smiled, greatly pleased. Before she realized it, she would shake your hands with Scout Master Ned while her other arm was around Peter. I'm going to come here and stay a month, the young man said. I'm going to churn butter and eat pie if I can escape from that outfit. Well, goodbye, we're off. I hope the old bus runs. It looks real smart with all the blue paint, said Mrs. Piper. Handsome as his handsome does, said Scout Master Ned. Come in, Pete. What are you scared of? It won't eat you. Anybody think you were stalking, stepping so carefully? Know what stalking is? They'll show you. Mrs. Piper stood holding her gingham apron to her eyes as they rode off. It was of exactly the same pattern as Peter's shirt. It looked funny sitting rather fearfully on the front seat. She had never dreamed of seeing him and thrown him in such sumptuousness. Perhaps some day he would go away and come back rich, a hero, her Peter. And the stranger liked him. She was weeping because she had never heard her boy called Pete since his father died. She liked to hear him called Pete. He was so friendly and recalled the past so vividly. As if Scout Master Ned would have called him anything else than Pete. End of Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Of Pee Wee Harris on the Trail This is a LibriVox recording. While LibriVox recordings are in the public domain, for more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Pee Wee Harris on the Trail by Percy Keyes fits you. Chapter 37 Hints They showed him, as Scout Master Ned had told him they would do. They showed him. And Peter Piper was in Dreamland. It was all too good to be true. They showed him how to track and stalk and how to signal. Nick showed him how to make a smudge fire. Peter was doubly sure then that Nick would win the cup. In the nights he dreamed of the winning of that cup, of Nick winning it. Yes, they showed him. Fado Norton showed him how to track a rabbit. And a small sized pocket edition of a Scout in the Elephant Patrol showed him. Very difficult. How to Trail a Hop Toad. Charlie Norris showed him how to use a deadly Kodak, which Peter had never seen before. He liked it because it pulled open the way a turtle's neck comes out and then went in again. Oh yes, they all showed him. And meanwhile Peter Piper kept his secret and no one knew of his little exploit, for which the handbook really deserved all the credit. The adventure of the stolen car was now forgotten in a hundred new activities and with it the rope across the road and the lantern and all that. Sometimes when they spoke of that Peter was troubled, but they did not often speak of it, and he did not even tell them that he was a pioneer scout. Harding and Coolidge he now kept in his pocket of his stovepipe pantaloons. For Peter Piper was approaching Scout Hood through the Tenderfoot class. Yes, they were all busy showing him. Scout Harris showed him. Oh yes, he showed him, but Scout Harris was too busy showing all the rest of them to do any exclusive showing for the pioneer scout. And besides, Peter, who was too new and too bashful and too awed by his companions and surroundings to be a good general mixer, was mostly occupied with his hero, Nick Vernon. Pee-wee, who was a mixer as well as a fixer, went on mixing and fixing, and soon he performed his greatest of all fixing feats, probably the greatest fixing feed in Scout history, perhaps the greatest fixing stunt in the history of the world. But Peter was satisfied to laugh at Pee-wee with the rest of them, with that bashful, hesitating laugh which endeared him to them all. It was natural that he should follow Nick Vernon about the island, for everyone liked Nick, who was quiet, humorous, modest, and with all very resourceful and skillful. He had a kind of contained error, as if he know more than he gave out, in contrast to Scout Harris, who gave out more than he knew. A bantering off-hand way he had, as if all the things he did, and he could do many, were done just to kill time. Skillful though he was, he did not take himself too seriously. Everything he did he seemed to do incidentally. He would wander aimlessly in some triumph, going tracking they would say, guess so he would answer. He never made a fuss. The general impression that he gave was that scouting was a good enough way to wail away a summer. Peter Piper worshiped at the shrine when he scouted personality. He hoped that his mother would allow him to stay for the finish, so that he could see Nick receive the cup. He watched jealously, anxiously, the stunts of the other scouts, but none of them could be mentioned along with Nick's signaling. One morning Nick sauntered down to the shore, Peter with him. Going to wigwag they asked him. Maybe if there's anyone to wigwag to, no use talking if there isn't anyone in town to listen. Scout Harris talks whether there's anyone to listen or not, one said. Shall I bring the card to wigwag with? Peter asked. No, don't bother. Got some matches? Never mind if you haven't. Peter ran back and got some. If you're signaling, tell them not to hurry with the school we can wait. Scout Harris is giving us an education. He's going to move the lake tomorrow. He's queer ducked one of the parties sprawling around the tent set, as the two made their way down toward the shore. Who, Pete? No, Nick. Jiminy, it always seems as if... I don't know, as if he has something up his sleeve. It's his arm, commented, a joker. Maybe he knows about a mystery. Peewee said, maybe there's treasure buried on this island. There'll be some scouts buried on this island if we all die laughing at you, another scout observed. Come on, let's dig some bait. Nick did not decide what he was going to do till he reached the shore. That was just like him. Peter was all excitement. Are you going to signal, he asked? Nick often signaled over to town and sometimes he got an answer, for there were other scouts over there. He did it just for past time. Usually it was the wigwag that he used, but on this morning, noticing the dried leaves all about, he said, we'll try a smudge. That's pretty good sport. Morse code, you know. He looked about half-interestedly and began kicking leaves into a pile. Peter doing the same. If Nick had any particular purpose in this business, at least you would not have supposed so. He seemed as aimless as a butterfly. Are you going to ask about school? No, laughed Nick, dragging some leaves with his foot. There's no school for a month. We know that. If you know a thing, you know it. Isn't that so? I don't know many things. No? Well, get some water in your hat. Here, take mine. These blind scout hats are made to hold water. Peter brought some water, which Nick poured over the leaves. Now haul that old raft up here and we'll hold it up. We'll just say hello to be sociable. Show the town we're not stuck up. They held the old raft of about the area of a door, slanting sideways over the leaves. And Nick showed Peter how to manipulate it so as to control the column of black smoke arising from the damp leaves. Peter was greatly interested, even excited, over this new kind of signaling. He was not quite as careful as he had been in talking with Scout Master Ned. Make one long one first, call their attention, he said, quite aroused by the novel Enterprise. Yes, said Nick, half-interestedly, apparently. Who told you that? I just knew it. I know now. Let me do it. It's easy. Only, they have to be careful over there. That's the hard part. I hope they have one of those books over there. Then maybe I hope they keep it open at page 284. Let me try it. Ned gave you one of those books? No. I saw one. Hmm. Well, let's get busy with a message, Pete. Nick Vernon did not seem greatly interested in where or when or how Peter had seen the handbook, nor how he happened to remember page 284. But one thing Nick Vernon knew was a reflection on Scout Master Ned, and just exactly like him. And that there was not a single copy of the Scout handbook on Prime Pan Island. CHAPTER 38 THE FIXER All right, you can do as you choose, said Peewee. Oh, I'm just telling you, there's always better fishing on the east side of an island because that's what Uncle Jeb up at Temple Camp said, and he knows. He knows. He knows all the fish personally, said Charlie Norris. You think you're smart, don't you, Thunder Peewee. There's a better spring over there than there is here, and then besides, the rain will drain out better on the count of the ground being higher because I know all about camping. You can ask my Scout Master. It won't be so cold over there at night either, you see. You move the tents over there. Gee whiz. Arabs move their tents every day, and look at gypsies. They keep moving all the time. It will be a Scout movement, said Scout Master Safety First, rather impressed with Peewee's arguments. I'm game for anything, said Scout Master Ned. Variety is the spice of life. The housing situation. I know all about the housing situation, said Peewee. My father owns a house in the waterscomber on the east side of an island because I can prove it by the Pacific Ocean. The Pacific Ocean is west of here, said Scout Master Ned. At least it was when I went to school. I daresay it's there yet. Put another log on the far, Nick. How about it, Pete? Where's the Pacific Ocean? I'll leave it to Pete. It's in the school geography, Peewee, shot it from the other side of the campfire, and it's on the coast of China. You have to know where you're at before you can tell where it is. And there's better fishing in China than there is here, because in Japan they catch sardines. Temple camp is on the east side of Black Lake. And anyway, there's a dandy place over there for tents, and there are a lot of birds nests, and there's a better spring, and you don't have to carry water so far. And you always spill a lot of it, and there are a couple of pine trees, and the leaves don't fall off them, because there aren't any leaves, and leaves keep the rain and wind off, but not if there aren't any. And these trees are getting bare. Enough, enough, said Scout Master Ned, rising and sticking his fingers in his ears. We ask for an arm assist. All we ask for is three hours' time in which to move. I'll fix it, vociferate it, Peewee. We surrender to the world's greatest fixer, said Scout Master Ned, the high authority from Temple Camp. He isn't so high. Size don't count, roared Peewee. Shall be followed, said Scout Master Ned. Tomorrow morning we'll move to the east side of the island, in view of the thriving metropolis of East Ketchum. Its four lights will cheer us at night. This spilling of water must be stopped. Pretty soon the island will be under water, and then where will we be? Worse off than in school, call the voice. I am for the pine trees, said Scout Master Ned. I am for the high land and the fishing, and the birds nests, and the shelter. In short, I am for Scout Harris. I am for the view of East Ketchum, as long as I don't have to go there, said fight O'Norton. It was the silly tail end of the season. They were ready to do most anything except go to school. They were going to have the last minute of the last day of this delightful little supplementary season, this autumnal climax of their camping life. But aside from this resolution they cared not what they did. Peewee, instead of getting on their nerves, had gotten into their spirits. The change of location wouldn't be half bad. And Peewee was right too, much that he had said. They realized this, and he admitted it. Sure, I'm right, he said. You leave it to me. I'll fix it. We'll move over there tomorrow, and if you're sorry now you'll be glad of it, because oh, it will be a day of rejoicing, said Scout Master Ned. Anything goes, said Charlie Norris. Leedon will follow Scout Harris, chime fight O'Norton. One place is as good as another, if not better, shout at another scout. All in favor of moving, say aye. Aye, shouted Peewee in a voice of thunder. End of Chapter 38 Chapter 39 of Peewee Harris on the trail. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Peewee Harris on the trail by Percy Keyes Fitzhugh. Chapter 39 Betrayed The next morning they folded their tents like the Arabs and moved to a spot which Peewee recommended, on the opposite side of the island. Why he liked it, I do not know, for it was a quiet spot. Perhaps he liked it because it was retiring and modest and kept in the background, as one might say. It seemed to breathe peacefulness, which was Peewee's middle name. It afforded a fine view of East Ketchum, the thriving community on the east shore of Kitter Lake, and the crystal spring and stalking facilities and better shelter of the stately solemn pines seemed in accordance with scout requirements. Well, we're here because we're here, said Scout Master Ned, sitting down on two loaded grocery boxes after his last trip. If the spring water doesn't come to us, we come to the spring water. Not have bad at that, he added, looking about. Indeed, they had not been familiar with the eastern shore of the island and now they contemplated the discovery of Christopher Columbus Peewee, not without surprise and satisfaction. When I go to a place, I always leave it. Lucky for the place, interrupted Nick in his dry, drawing way. I always go on expeditions, Peewee explained. I even discovered islands and things. I discovered a mountain once up at Temple Camp, only somebody discovered it before I did. I discovered this place day before yesterday when I was tracking a mud turtle. Once I found a peninsula, only it wasn't there the next day. Who took it? The tide came up and it was under water. Do you want me to show you how to make drain ditches around tents? They put up the tents and dug drain ditches around them and cleared a place for the campfire and brought wood for it. The chap supports for their mess board and drove them into the pine carpet at earth and laid the long boards upon them. To do Peewee justice, the place was an ideal camping spot and what was one day's work of moving against almost an entire month of camping in that sequestered glen among fragrant pines. You've got the right idea, Scout Harris, said Scout Master Ned. It was a inspiration, said Peewee. Do you have those often, Nick asked? Oh boy, I have them all the time. But how about a landing place, the Scout asked. Who wants to go to East Ketchum anyway, said Norris. We should bother our heads about a landing place. Leave it to me, I'll fix it, Peewee said. In the late afternoon they sprawled about and found the velvet coverlet of pine needles restful to their weary bodies. Well, it's all over but the shouting, said Scout Master Ned. All we need is I'll do it, shout it, Peewee. What, the shouting, as Nick? Here comes a boat, said another Scout. Maybe somebody's going to discover the island, said Peewee. There are two men in it, said another. They were rowing straight for us. Maybe this is their camping spot, said Fidel Norton. I knew this place was too good to be missed all this time. If it's their place, leave it to me, I'll fix it, Peewee announced vociferously. That relieves us, said Scout Master Ned, lying back on the ground after sitting up to inspect the approaching boat. We are safe in the hands of Scout Harris. Let them come. We should worry our young lives. The boat made straight for the new camp and it appeared to contain two men. One who was rowing wore a large straw hat and his suspenders were visible. Their Scout Masters, Peewee shouted. This seemed as good a guess as any. The two men landed, drew the boat up very methodically and approached the camp. Good afternoon, said Scout Master Ned, dragging himself to his feet and seating himself upon a grocery box. Beautiful fall weather we're having, just a little crisp out on the water, eh? I want you to sit down. You can find something to sit on. Whether the weather was crisp or not, the man who spoke first was very crisp indeed. You in charge of these lads, he asked? Well, we're all sort of in charge of each other, said Scout Master Ned. I guess I'm the goat. He's all right, Peewee said. You take it from me. Well, said the man in a drawing but ominously conclusive tone. My name is Rodney, Birchell Rodney, and this is Mr. Wise, Mr. Barnabas Wise, who he came from east Ketchum. I don't blame you, said Scout Master Ned. I'm happy to meet you, gentlemen. This is a sort of table-de-hoit Scout outfit that you see here. Two troops and a couple of sundries. Will you stay and have supper with us? We ain't for interfering in no boy's pleasures, said Mr. Barnabas Wise, but it's our duty to tell you that we're the school committee of the village of east Ketchum. And so long as these youngsters have moved into the town limits of east Ketchum, they have to report to school at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. The town line between east Ketchum and west Ketchum runs right through the middle of this island. The gaping silence followed this horrible pronouncement. We are just camping here. Pending began Scout Master Ned. It ain't no question of pending, said Mr. Birchell Rodney. The ordinance of the village of east Ketchum says that every minor were not minors, where scouts pee we shouted. The ordinance of the village of east Ketchum, Mr. Rodney, proceeded, ignoring the boisterous interruption, says that every minor, which is spelled with an O, between the ages of eight years and fifteen years, resident or visiting, or otherwise domiciled, you can't say I'm domiciled, pee we began, or otherwise domiciled, the terrible man continued, must attend school and said, village, except upon cause of illness. I'm sick a lot, pee we yelled. I expect to have a cold very shortly, said Nick, in his funny way. Determined and certified by a physician in good standing, them's the very words of the village law, and we come to tell you that all these youngsters will have to report for school at nine a.m. tomorrow morning in said village of east Ketchum. Foyle, said Nick, falling back on the ground. Horrors and confusions, said Fidel Norton, that we should live to hear this, moaned Charlie Norris. Oh, what have we stepped into, another groan, holding his forehead in a way of despair. You mean what have we been drawn into, said another. Oh, that it should come to this. What have we done? What have we done, sighed still another. As for Scout Mastranetti gave one terrific groan, perhaps it was a roar of abandoned mirth, and fell backward off the grocery box. Only the fixer remained silent. His eyes stared, his mouth gaped. But not a word said he. It was Napoleon at Waterloo. Scout Harris had no words, or else he had so many that they got jumbled up in his throat and would not come out. And as he stood there, bearing up under that mortal blow, the conquering legion, consisting of two members of the east Ketchum schoolboard, withdrew with an air of great conclusiveness and dignified solemnity to the shore. Then and only then did Scout Mastranetti sit up and rub his eyes, holding his splitting sides, the while he gazed after that official delegation constituting the entire schoolboard. He gave one look at the fixer, and the fixer's face was worth looking at, and at the gaping countenances all about him. Then he fell back again and shook as if he had a fit and rolled over and buried his face in his folded arm, and roared and roared and roared. Retreat. Retreat across the line. A disorderly retreat. This is our only hope. Who will lead a disorderly retreat? The desperate cry was not unanswered. I will, said Fido Norton. Get the stuff together. Every Scout for himself. Our freedom hangs on a disorderly retreat. Vaccination, I mean evacuation, is our only hope. Our freedom is more dear than our lives. Give me vacation or give me death. We've been foiled by a school principal disguised as a boy scout. Remember his pal, the manual training teacher? Spies. Traitors. We fell into their clutches. Follow me. We will foil the schools yet. Every Scout grab his own stuff, or anybody else's in retreat as disorderly as possible. Our liberty is at stake. I love the West Shore so much, Lee, now that I wouldn't even knock the West Shore Railroad. End of Chapter 39.