"I dug until supper time," continued Matt. "It was hard work, but I made a pretty good hole though I found nothing. Nobody had been around to bother me. I just stuck up a couple of sticks at supper time and came in. This morning I was late getting to work. Digging alone so hard yesterday had taken off some of my appetite, and I didn't dream of what I was going to find so I didn't hurry much. But I found the ground turned up easier and I had hardly dug twenty minutes before my spade struck something that gave out a metallic ring. I scraped away the dirt until I could see a metal object like the lid of a box about fourteen by eighteen inches. The ground all around it was hard and I could not get it loose. I tried to get my fingers under it but couldn't do it. The dinner call was sounded. I wouldn't have come only I was obliged to have some help anyway, and I thought I'd better tell the scout master all about it and have him see fair play."

"Which the scout master will proceed to do," added Mr. Newton. "We will follow Matt to the scene of his explorations which we hope will turn out to be the treasure, although one box fourteen by eighteen inches would not hold a great deal of bullion. Still there may be other boxes. Who were the boys who wanted to work with you, Matt?"

"Chick-chick and Goosey," replied Matt.

"Very well. You two boys may take a pick and a spade and help Matt get his box out."

The boys did not respond willingly.

"We don't want to," said Chick-chick. "He didn't want us yesterday and he won't want us to-day. Let Brick Mason and Apple do it."

"I don't like that spirit, Henry, but we'll excuse you. Corliss and Glen will do the work."

"You don't seem very much excited over this find," said Glen to Spencer, as he pushed him along in his billy-cart.

"I'd be more excited if they found a gushing spring, my boy. I don't excite easily over buried gold."

"Well, we'll soon see. If I get hold of that pick I'll soon have that box loose."

Matt Burton did not really relish Glen's aid, but he could offer no valid objection. A few rapid and accurate strokes with the pick loosened the hard earth, and Apple and Matt quickly spaded it out. As soon as a grip could be obtained Matt seized the box. It certainly was heavy, especially since he could not yet get a good grip on it. Apple lifted one side and slowly but with great excitement they brought the mysterious box from its hiding place.

A look of disgust swept the features of Matt Burton as he looked at his treasure and read the white letters on the side of the box.

From the edge of the pit came a roar of laughter from Black Bob, the cook, who had been eagerly watching the proceedings.

"Ah ben missin' that yere bread box since yis'day two days gone," he shouted. "Dat ah is mah treasure. Bring her up yere!"

Glen, on his knees, had thrown open the lid of the box. As he saw its contents to be damp earth, tightly tamped, his roar of laughter equaled that of Black Bob.

"Wow!" he shouted. "Look at this. The treasure's name is Mud!"

Matt's look of disgust had changed to fiery anger.

"You're the one who put this trick up on me," he shouted. "You've been rubbing me wrong ever since we let you in here from nowhere. Now I'm going to pay you up!"

He made a wild lunge forward at Glen, and in a second the two were locked in a rough and tumble conflict in the narrow confines of the pit. But the scout master reached down from above and seized each by the collar, and Apple valiantly pushed himself in between their belligerent forms.

"Enough of that, boys," said Mr. Newton. "Climb out of that hole. Glen, what have you to say to this charge."

But Glen was spared from making an answer, for Henry Henry stood forth and spoke.

"He didn't do it, Mr. Newton. It was me," confessed Chick-chick, more convincing than grammatical. "Goosey was in it with me. When Matt turned us down yesterday we thought we'd give him something to dig for. Never dreamed he'd make big blow 'bout it. Just s'posed be little joke all t' himself. We came last night, dug down to hard pan; cut hole s' near exact size o' bread box as we could, made it heavy with dirt and turned it in upside down. Just joke, Mr. Newton."

And as "just a joke" it did not seem so very reprehensible, for a good joke that does no harm is not out of place in a scout camp. Mr. Newton had a private conversation with Henry Henry about his joke, but Chick-chick never told the boys what he said. The scout master also had a private conversation with Matt Burton and this also was kept a secret, but though it may have done Matt good it did not improve his attitude toward "Brick" Mason.

In most things Glen found the succeeding days marked by such happiness as he had never before enjoyed. He was a boy among boys. No one asked about his past. Scouts are taught to live in the present. It is not what they have been, but what they are and are aiming to be that carries weight. He found his word accepted as truth and so he made strong efforts to make it true. He did not spend his days in perfect harmony. The old disposition to have everything his own way still existed and many an angry word flared up and many times he was near the fighting line, but this had been so much a part of his every day living for so many years that it troubled him but little. Even with Matt Burton he had not come to blows, though Matt continued to assign to him disagreeable tasks, so markedly indeed, that Mr. Newton announced that he would make all assignments himself, henceforth. The treasure hunt proceeded with more or less zest but neither real nor fancied treasure was discovered. Nevertheless it supplied a new interest each day, and Glen enthusiastically did his share in keeping the interest alive. Every part of every day was in vivid contrast to the dull monotonous life he had been living. And yet he was not satisfied, there remained an eager longing for something, he knew not what; a great unsatisfied craving.

Glen was always a sound sleeper. He dreamed of the camp one night. The tussle with Matt Burton had really come, at last. He seemed to do very well at first but Matt had seized a pickax (the very one used in unearthing the bread box) and was beating him about the head with it. Fortunately he awoke before he was badly damaged. Spencer was reaching over from his cot and tapping his face with his cane.

"Get up, Brick! Get up! Brick is a good name for you, my hard-baked friend. Get up! This tent will be in the next county in five minutes. Get up! You would sleep on, and come to no harm if we were carried twenty miles, but being slightly crippled, I'd be sure to struggle and get hurt. Get up!"

The wind was blowing furiously and the tent almost capsized. Glen was out of bed in a flash, wide awake. He knew where to get a heavy hammer and made short work of driving home the stakes and securing the flapping canvas.

"Not very clever of you to plant your tent stakes so the first strong wind would blow them out of the ground," said Spencer.

"The wind didn't blow them out, and the strain of the ropes didn't pull them out. I fixed those stakes just before I went to bed. Who do you suppose yanked them up?"

"I never was good at riddles," replied Spencer. "Maybe it was Mr. Newton."

"Yes," said Glen, "or Apple! Just like 'em. Try another guess."

"No, I'm afraid I would say something that might excite you. Go to sleep. Every one has troubles, but it's no good weeping about 'em. 'Laugh and the world laughs with you.'"

"I haven't any troubles and I can afford to laugh," said Glen. "The day's beginning to break but I think I'll take a Sunday morning snooze."

And over in the county into which Will Spencer had predicted they would be blown a man was just awaking from his snooze. He had slept all night in an automobile, as he frequently did. The automobile was no ordinary car. It had a driver's seat in front and a closed car behind. Bright colored letters announced to the world that J. Jervice supplied the public with a full line of novelties, including rugs, curtains, rare laces and Jervice's Live Stock Condition Powders.

Mr. J. Jervice yawned and stretched, and rubbed his eyes.

"I think I'll get on to Buffalo Center to-day," he soliloquized. "The boss didn't say to come until to-morrow an' the rest o' the gang won't be there until night, anyway. That'll give me a chance to do a nice little business at that Boy Scout Camp I hear they've got there. It's Sunday but I reckon I can sell a few things. Ought to get rid of some flags and knives and a little tinware."

It was nice that Glen could feel that he had no troubles, but perhaps he did not know of the intentions of Mr. Jervice.



CHAPTER IX

GLEN ENLISTS

Sunday morning in camp. The fierce wind of the night had been succeeded by a restful quiet; the sun shone bright in an atmosphere cooled and freshened by the storm. Glen Mason both felt and saw a difference throughout all the camp on this quiet morning; no one expected noise or bustle; no one projected expeditions or sports; the peaceful rest of a holy day marked the camp in its earliest hours.

Black Bob had cooked his eggs and bacon according to a special formula which he announced as "extra for Sunday," and thereby did he make his contribution to the hallowing of the day. After breakfast was the regular time for announcement of the "order of the day" by the scoutmaster, and for any special remarks, any complaints, any petitions or suggestions.

"We are going to have a good day to-day, boys," said Mr. Newton. "We have had a mighty fine week with our swimming and fishing and hikes, and some of us, too, have found some 'treasure,' if not exactly what we were searching for. This morning, after camp duties, every boy will find a quiet spot apart from any disturbance and write a letter home. Tell the folks how you feel, what you eat, what you do, how you sleep. Tell them about the treasure hunt, tell them about last night's storm. I hope the boy who got something special out of our 'near cyclone' last night will tell his mother about it."

"Who was it?" came a chorus of voices.

"Don't bother about that," replied Mr. Newton. "Perhaps there was more than one."

"I'm not 'shamed of it," piped up Chick-chick. "I'm it. Got Mr. Newton out o' bed, I did, I was s' scared. Always have been scared 'bout wind—born that way. But Mr. Newton says, 'D'ye know who walketh upon the wings of the wind?' An' I said, 'Death'; an' he said, 'God! It's in the hundred an' fourth Psalm.' S' then he said, 'You c'n stay in my tent till the blow is over,' an' I said, 'No. I'll go back to me tent like Christian. With God on the wings I'm safe.' An' as I went back saw Brick Mason outside his tent swingin' hammer, an' I says, 'Ain't ye scared, Brick?' an' he says, 'No. I ain't scared. I'm mad.' An' that's all is to it, 'cept'n 'bout the feller I saw when I first went out."

"Now that's fine, boys," said Mr. Newton. "There's a double victory in that. Don't slight your letters. Make them long and newsy. Remember there will be Sunday School around the long table at ten o'clock. This afternoon a man is coming from town who has been all around the world and has seen the battles of great nations as a war correspondent. He will speak at three o'clock. By special request we will hold our camp-fire to-night at the summit of Buffalo Mound. Every scout will carry an armful of firewood and his blankets, as a part of the plan is to spend the night in a bivouac on mother earth. Now to your letters."

Glen sat looking out of his tent, just out of the glare of the sun. Writing letters home was no novelty to him. At the school you were supposed to do it at least once a month, and for a good letter you got ten merits, but no boy ever wrote what he thought because your letters were all read by the house officer. If he should write a letter home to-day some reform school officer would be inquiring at the camp for him day after to-morrow. But he would write some kind of a letter—it would look queer if he did not, with all the other boys writing. He would write just exactly what he thought, too, for once, and the mere fact that the letter was never to be mailed need make no difference.

For once (he wrote) I am being treated about right. There is just one chap here doesn't treat me right and his time's coming. But I don't hate him as bad as it seems like I would, and I don't want to get in bad with the scoutmaster so I don't know as I'll do much. The Scoutmaster's a Christian and I've got more use for Christians than I ever had before. Mr. Newton sure treats me fine. Apple's a Christian, he says I ought to be, too, and he's surely a peach. Mr. Gates is a Christian and nobody ever treated me better. The old Supe is a Christian and I guess he would have treated me right if I'd let him. Jolly Bill treats me fine, too, and I don't know why he isn't one but it makes you feel as if him being such a good fellow certainly ought to be. He says laugh and the world laughs with you but it wouldn't have done much good to tell Chick-chick that last night and it wouldn't have made him brave enough to go back to his tent and fight it out. Chick-chick talked right up this morning. He's never said anything about being one before but he's always acted like one—kind of on the square. That's the kind I'm going to be; I mean I would be if ever I got to be one, but I suppose I'd have to go back to the school and I don't know about that. But I'd like to feel like Apple and him, so sure-like and so safe. I think you'd better try to get me a job and maybe I can work under another name. Everybody has to work and I'm going to hold up my end. I wouldn't like to be like that J. Jervice man with his tricks—the man that tried to sell me. I'd tell you all about him but it would take a long time and this letter ain't ever going to be sent, anyway. I'm going to do better than send a letter. Just as soon as it's safe I'm coming to see you and I'm going to fix it so I can earn a living for you and you won't have to work any more. So that's all for this time anyway.

His letter had not been written as easily as it reads, and all the other boys had finished and were making a clamor for envelopes and stamps, a disturbance in which Glen did not join since his letter was never to be mailed.

He would have tried to escape the afternoon talk, but Will Spencer claimed him.

"Push my old billy-cart right up alongside that speaker," he demanded. "If he's done half they say he has I want to hear him."

So Glen was not only present but in a prominent place where he was bound to hear all that the speaker had to say. And a very interesting narrative it was, though we have no space in this story for anything but the few very last words.

"And so it came about," said the war correspondent, "that after seeing all sorts of soldiers in all manner of warfare, it fell to my lot to see this one brave man holding up his banner against great hordes of invaders in a crowded inland city of China, and he was single-handed. And I was obliged to admit that he was the bravest soldier I had seen; and since the appeal came to me so directly I volunteered. And thus it happened that one who had been a reporter of scenes of carnage turned to write the message of the Cross. And now I am going about enlisting recruits for the army of righteousness and right glad I am that so many of you are in that army, and right glad I shall be to talk with any of you who need help."

Many of the boys came to say a word to the speaker as they dispersed. Glen stood there, next to Spencer's cart. He would not have said a word had he been threatened with torture, but he was greatly concerned and both his hand and heart throbbed with the hope that some one would respond to the eloquent plea that had stirred him so deeply. When the boys all had gone the response came from the least expected place. It was from Jolly Bill who had lain in his cart in thrilled interest.

"I've half a mind to do it, Glen," he whispered.

"Oh, you must, Bill. It's just the one thing you need," urged Glen, as earnestly as though he were himself an exhorter.

"How is it?" asked Spencer, turning to the speaker. "You would hardly care to enlist half a man, would you?"

"No," said the war correspondent. "We don't care to do things by halves, but we're mighty glad to enlist a whole man like you. Whatever accident you have suffered hasn't cut you off from being a man after God's own heart. Shake hands on that."

"I've been finding it pretty empty to 'Laugh and the world laughs with you,'" admitted Spencer. "It's a hollow laugh a great deal of the time. It doesn't ring true. I want a peace that will help me to have cheer regardless of whether the world laughs with me or at me. I've known it for a long time but this last week especially I've felt the need of the kind of religion Mr. Newton practices."

"It's the same kind that Apple has," ventured Glen.

"It is for you, too," said the war correspondent. "It is for every one who will have it."

"You see, though, you don't know me," said Glen. "I've been a pretty hard case."

"Tell us about it," came the invitation.

His mouth once opened Glen's story came rapidly, and in the glow of confession he held nothing back, but his hearers were neither alienated nor offended.

"There's only one thing about a boy like you," said the speaker. "It isn't how bad you have been. You can't have been so bad but Jesus has cleared your debt. The one thing is, are you through with it all, are you willing to turn away from yourself and enlist under the banner of the cross?"

Glen's face worked with emotion such as he had not felt in many years.

"I don't know what to do," he said, huskily. "I'm all up in the air. I'd like to be a man like what you told about and like these people that have been good to me lately. I'd do it even if I wouldn't like some of the things I'd have to swallow. But I don't understand what I'd have to do. I've never done anything of the kind."

"You're a good deal like the soldier enlisting, son. He doesn't understand anything. All he knows is that he wants to enlist himself. And that's all you need to know. Your commander will see to the rest. You won't learn everything in a day. You'll make mistakes; you'll break rules; you'll have to be disciplined. But that is all in the bargain. The only question is will you enlist?"

And Glen enlisted!

The war correspondent was compelled to leave, but before doing so he gave Glen much assurance on many subjects.

"About your school," he said. "I hesitate to advise you. I know your Superintendent and will telephone to him to-morrow. Stay with Mr. Newton until you hear from him."

The scoutmaster walked with his guest through the woods to his car. They had scarcely left before the camp had a visitor in the person of Mr. J. Jervice. The boys crowded around him with great interest, for although obliged to leave his car he had brought with him many diverting trifles, for Mr. J. Jervice had no objection to Sunday trade if conducted on a cash basis.

Glen was still talking to Will Spencer. He was too much occupied with his recent great experience to be easily diverted, and did not even see his old friend Jervice. But Mr. J. Jervice having nothing of the kind to occupy his attention was quick both to see and to speak. Matt Burton was one of those who heard him speak.

"The reform school boy!" he cried.

"You say he has run away from the reform school?"

"He said so himself," asserted Mr. J. Jervice, "and don't forget that I am the one who gets the reward."

"You may take him along with you back to where he came. The cheek of the fellow! Come on, scouts, let's run him out. The scoutmaster isn't here but I'm a patrol leader and I know what to do. Let's run him out."

"Who's that you're going to run out?" asked Glen, coming up, attracted by the loud talking.

"I'm going to run you out, you cheat of a runaway from the reform school. You are a common thief, for all we know. You may be any kind—"

Alas for Glen's discipline. Alas for his good resolves. Had he been right in thinking that the service of Jesus was not for such as he? He flew at Matt with the velocity and ferocity of a tiger. His strength was that of a man, for he had worked hard at all kinds of manual labor. Two or three quick, stinging blows and his passion came to a terrified end as he saw Matt fall to the ground, white and unconscious.



CHAPTER X

J. JERVICE AND HIS GANG

Mr. Newton, returning to the camp he had left in such quiet peace, found one boy white-faced and sober endeavoring to restore another who lay prostrate on the ground, while some of the excited scouts were earnestly trying to recall their first aid suggestions and others stood in anxious contemplation. A pailful of cold water was being carried to the scene by Chick-chick, but the victim of the fight was mercifully spared its revivifying shock, for just as Mr. Newton came up he opened his eyes and murmured, "Where am I?"

"All scouts are excused excepting Glen and Matt," announced Mr. Newton, taking in the situation the more readily because of his previous knowledge of Burton's baiting tendencies. "If there is to be any fighting in this camp it will have to be done under my personal supervision and according to my rules."

As the scouts strolled off to the timber Matt sat up and looked around him.

"He's an escaped reform school boy, Mr. Newton," he began at once.

"And I suppose you told him so?" asked Mr. Newton.

"I know I'm everything that's bad," said Glen, bitterly. "I told you it was no good for me to enlist."

"Do you want to back out?" asked the scoutmaster keenly.

"I don't want to but I suppose I'll have to."

"It rests with you. Your past record has nothing to do with it and would have nothing if it were black as night. Do you want to back out?"

"No, sir. And I'm sorry I got mad and hit Matt."

"That speech shows that you have enlisted, boy. Matt," said the scoutmaster, turning to the boy who was much bewildered by the conversation as he had been by the blow, "you hear Glen's apology. Now it's your turn."

"But what I said is true," insisted Matt.

"And Glen admits it and has told me all about it. None the less you owe him an apology for throwing it in his face, just as much as he owed you one for putting his fist in your face."

"I don't apologize to anybody," said Matt, with an ugly frown. "I can go home if you like."

"It shall be as Glen says," decided Mr. Newton.

"I don't have anything against you, Matt," said Glen, in as gentle a tone as ever he used in his life. "I started in to be a Christian this afternoon, and part of it is being decent like Apple and Mr. Newton."

"I've nothing to do with a reform school boy," said Matt, and he rose unsteadily to his feet and walked moodily away.

"You're bound to have a lot of that, Glen," said Mr. Newton. "It's part of your discipline. And one of the things you will find hardest to learn will be to take your medicine and take it quietly."

Glen knew that. His new resolves had not changed his old impulses. If any one flung a taunt at him his impulse would be to fling back a blow. His determination would have to be just a little quicker than his impulse. Meantime he found lots of pleasure in the companionship of Apple and Chick-chick and several others. There was a new bond of fellowship between them, a bond which Glen would have found it quite impossible to state in words but which was none the less genuine and fixed. This bond was to mean much in the next few days for they were to be days of peril and adventure for Glen.

Glen's adventures grew out of his being discovered at camp by Mr. J. Jervice. Mr. Jervice had withdrawn behind some bushes when he saw the conflict beginning between Matt and Glen. Strange to say, any form of conflict was repugnant to the body of J. Jervice although the soul of him rejoiced in it. Let him be safely out of the way and he exulted in scenes of violence, but most cautiously he avoided any close proximity. He believed in playing safe.

When Jervice noted the vigor that Glen was able to put into his swinging blows and then saw Matt stretched out on the ground, he felt very certain that business called him in another direction. No telling upon whom that wild boy might next turn his fury. So he withdrew deeper into the bushes, and as he caught a view of Mr. Newton hurrying up he decided on still more active measures, and scampered away as fast as his pack and the undergrowth would let him.

Jervice was decidedly peeved with Glen. This escaped reform school boy, who should be just the same to him as ten dollars in the bank, had made for him nothing but trouble. J. J. seldom cherished grudges—it was poor business, being bad for one's judgment. But if ever he held a grudge it was against the person who hurt his pocket-book and as Jervice now figured it Glen had worsted him at least twenty dollars' worth. The items were: First, ten dollars which he should have secured as a reward; second, five dollars which he had been obliged to pay as license fee; third, five dollars he had expected to make on his sales at Camp Buffalo.

Twenty dollars is no slight loss to any one, and although J. Jervice did not toil as hard for his money as most people he loved it much better. He made his money in various ways, some of them not nearly so honest as peddling. He had some friends who were engaged in a rather peculiar business. They went to any place where they understood money had been gathered together, and quietly took it away. They generally notified Mr. Jervice where they would be, and he then came along with his car, loaded the plunder behind a secret partition and carried it away at his leisure.

The business of J. Jervice in this particular locality, however, was somewhat of a variation from the usual procedure. Some friends of Mr. Jervice's friends had done business in this neighborhood before. They had met with misfortune and now suffered confinement at the hands of certain stern authorities who would not even allow them to go out long enough to settle up the loose ends of their affairs. Not having a J. Jervice in their service they had cached certain products of their toil in a cave the secret of which had been disclosed to them by a dissolute Indian. Shut up as they were their only recourse had been to commission the capable man who happened to lead the Jervice gang to recover for them the property for which they had risked their liberty.

This, therefore, had brought to Buffalo Center, first of all, a hard, desperate man, who was the leader of the gang, then J. Jervice with his autocar, and, shortly to follow, various other whose characters were more widely known than commended.

Incidentally the leader had found that the little bank at Buffalo Center had its safe loaded with the sum of ten thousand dollars, which had been placed therein for the convenience of a certain wheat buyer in making some deals. This being rather in the line of work in which he had been most successful the leader had decided to relieve this congestion of cash and had so notified Mr. Jervice as soon as they met.

Mr. J. Jervice was thinking these things over as he went back to his car. He had stopped running now that he was well clear of the camp. He was walking slowly as one who is studying some great problem. It was not the problem of transportation. This was his especial job and he knew what to do about it. But this boy—this boy who owed him twenty dollars! He began to see how he could get his money's worth. A plan formed in his mind for using him.

That night the friends of Mr. Jervice arrived in the neighborhood and gathered without undue ostentation at his camping-place.

They fell into a very solemn conference and they said many things with which we are not greatly concerned. But Mr. Jervice made some remarks which were more than interesting, and showed that though slight in frame and deficient in courage he was a mighty plotter.

"About that window you wanted me to get through," he said. "I can't get through that place."

"Yes, you can," insisted a big man who seemed to be the leader. "What's more, you're the only runt in the gang, an' you'll have to do it. Us big men can't train down to a hundred an' fifty pounds to get through that window."

"Well, it ain't right for me to do it," objected Mr. Jervice. "It ain't safe for me to be 'round the place, I tell you. I ain't very strong an' I might break my neck."

"You'd never do it more'n once, Jervice, so don't let that worry you. You got to do this 'cause nobody else can't git through."

"But I've got a better scheme."

"Spit it out, an' don't waste no time talkin' nonsense, neither."

"I've found a boy. He's strong an' active an' fairly big, but he ain't so big he couldn't git through. He'd be just the one for it."

"What do we want with boys? How would we be squaring him?"

"He's the kind that wouldn't need much squaring. A little piece o' money 'd keep him quiet. He's jest run off f'm the reform school."

"You're dead sure about him?"

"I know how to make sure," said Mr. Jervice. "A reform school runaway is just what we want."

In which conclusion Mr. Jervice showed that he was not as clever as supposed.



CHAPTER XI

GLEN FOLLOWS A FALSE TRAIL

Morning mail was a great institution in camp. Two scouts, specially detailed, brought it from the Buffalo Center post-office, in a U. S. mail pouch. Mr. Newton opened and distributed it, and happy were the fellows who received letters with which they could retreat to some corner and feast themselves not only once, but sometimes twice and thrice, while pleased smiles circled their countenances.

Because Glen expected none he was all the more surprised when a letter was handed to him. It was a mysterious letter, indeed. The envelope was mysterious, if a dirty and crumpled condition spelled mystery. The writing and spelling were mysterious—most mysterious. Finally the contents of the letter enjoined mystery.

"Say nuffin to noboddy burn this at once," it cautioned. "This is important. Your forchoon is maid and you git part of a big tressure if you do exackly as told. Don't say a word to noboddy but cum at ten o'clock to the blazed oke wich is just south of your camp if you tell anyboddy or bring anyboddy you wont get to no nuffin about it."

Glen's first impulse was to show the document to Jolly Bill. As Bill was busy in conversation with Mr. Newton he had time to think it over. It was something about the treasure, quite evidently. Very likely it was a trick. Some one was trying to get a laugh on him. Very well. Glen was not at all displeased. He would let them do their worst. It showed that they had taken him in among them and were treating him exactly as one of themselves. He was gratified. He would go along and see it through. If they could make him bite, all right.

There was no difficulty in locating the blazed oak which stood close to the camp. Glen had no watch, but he went early enough to be quite sure of being there by ten o'clock. Then he waited and waited. He was about to give it up as a hoax, when a man slipped quietly out of the woods and advanced toward him. Glen fell into a position of defense as he saw that it was his old enemy, Jervice.

"Now, don't go actin' up," begged Mr. Jervice. "I ain't goin' to do nothin' only tell you how to git into a good thing. I'm the man as wrote that letter."

"You are!" exclaimed Glen. "What do you know about the treasure?"

"I know all about it," Jervice assured him confidentially. "I'm the only feller that can help you git a slice. They's jest one question—are you willin' to go in an' will you keep mum. I don't tell nothin' till you tell me."

"Am I willing? Are you crazy? You bet I'm willing. Try me."

"Well, listen here then. I thought you'd be the feller. Who can I get as is good an' strong an' yet not much over boys' size, thinks I. Then I thinks of you. 'That reform school boy,' I says to myself. 'He's the very feller. Likely he's done this kind of a job before.'"

"I've never had anything to do with treasure before, and I don't know what you mean," said Glen. "Hurry up and tell about it. I want to be back at camp for the swim at eleven o'clock."

"Come over to my car," invited the artful Jervice. "It ain't very far an' we won't be in no danger of being interrupted."

"How's that boy you hit?" asked the peddler as they journeyed. "That was a awful crack you give him."

"He's all right and able to be about," Glen assured him. "I'm sorry I hit him."

Neither Glen nor Jervice knew that Matt was not only able to be about but was at that moment within ten feet of them, being, in fact, just that distance above their heads in a tree which seemed to him to offer such facilities as wild bees might desire in choosing a home. He kept very quiet in his "honey tree" and looked down on them with contempt for both.

"Up to some tricks," he muttered to himself.

The J. Jervice autowagon was not so very far away, but the two were well out of range of Matt's vision before they reached it.

"Now, to begin with," said J. Jervice. "Are you one o' them scouts or ain't you?"

"I am," replied Glen. "I'm a tenderfoot."

"Tenderfoot, eh! Reckon you ain't so tender. Well, why don't ye wear one o' them uniforms, so's to make ye look like one?"

"I haven't any uniform, yet. Perhaps I could borrow one. What's that got to do with a treasure hunt?"

"It's got a whole lot to do with it. People knows that boys wearing them uniforms is straight, an' we want you to look straight as a string."

"I'm going to get one as soon as I can," Glen assured him. "I want to look straight—that is part of the oath, 'physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.'"

"I don't know nothink about no oaths like that," objected Mr. Jervice, in a dubious tone which indicated that he might know more about other varieties. "We don't care about yer being so straight—jest so ye look straight."

"Well, hurry up and tell about the treasure," urged Glen. "Remember I want to be back by eleven o'clock. You're awfully slow."

"I'm comin' to that. Remember this now—you mustn't never tell nobody nothink about it."

"What do you mean—never tell anybody?" asked Glen. "I guess we know as much about it as you do."

"You know about it!" Mr. Jervice seemed incredulous. "What do you know about it?"

"Well, we know what Mr. Spencer told us the other night," insisted Glen.

"What was that?" asked Mr. Jervice cautiously. "Sit down here an' tell me about it."

Glen sat down on the back step of the car and told the story of the lost treasure as he remembered it.

"So that's the treasure story, is it?" came a deep voice from the side of the car. There stepped into view a man whom Glen had not seen before. He was evidently associated with Mr. Jervice, but he did not in the least resemble him, for instead of being a cringy weakling, he was big and strong and hard.

"That's the story as Mr. Spencer told it to us," replied Glen.

"Say, that's mighty interesting to me," said the man. "Happened right around this neighborhood, too? I'll bet them Indians put that treasure in a cave an' hain't never done nothing about it since 'cause they couldn't sell bullion without giving themselves away."

"I suppose they'd find it hard to sell," said Glen.

"You bet they'd find it hard to sell. They'd just been obliged to leave it in the cave. Bet it's the same cave we're lookin' for. You know any caves around here, boy?"

"No, sir," replied Glen. "I haven't seen a cave in this country."

"You know something about the country?"

"A little bit," Glen cautiously admitted. "I've only been here a few days."

"Get that chart, Jervice, an' we'll see what he reckernises," ordered the leader.

Mr. J. Jervice offered some protest and the two held a whispered conversation of which Glen was evidently the subject.

"Oh, shut up," exclaimed the big man, at last. "I can take care of the kid all right. You git the chart."

Mr. Jervice thereupon dived into the car and soon returned with a rough map which he opened out before the leader.

"Lookahere, boy, look at this," commanded the man. "This remind ye of any place around your camp?"

Glen looked at the chart and saw many things which had become familiar to his eyes in the last few days. There was an elevation that was undoubtedly Buffalo Mound, certain wavy lines that depicted a stream down its west side could scarcely mean anything but Buffalo Creek. A big star was quite conspicuous midway along the course of the stream and Glen was curiously examining words which he made out to be "Deep Springs" and "Twin Elms" when Mr. Jervice put his thumb over the spot.

"Never mind 'bout readin' that too close," objected Mr. Jervice, "what we want to know is did you ever see a place like that?"

"I think I have," admitted Glen.

"Don't you know ye have?" insisted the big man in a harsh voice. "Ain't that the place where yer camp is?"

"It looks something like it," said Glen. "It's open country, open to everybody. Why don't you go and see?"

"There's reasons, boy. Some on 'em you wouldn't understand. We don't mind telling you some of the trouble. Did ye know that all o' that treasure was claimed by the heirs?"

"Whose heirs?" asked Glen.

"Heirs of the freighters as the Indians took it away from. Did you know that a lot o' that bullion had been got out and was held in the bank here at Buffalo Center?"

"Mr. Spencer said nothing about it," replied Glen.

"Because he don't know nothink 'bout it," said J. Jervice. "We know because we represent the heirs. Now if you want to help us, your share will be a hundred dollars; but, remember, you say nothink to nobuddy."

"I won't say anything," Glen promised, rashly.

"If you do you'll be in as bad as anybuddy, so yer better not. If yer goin' to help, fust thing is to go back to camp an' git one o' them suits like they call scout suits."

"I reckon I can borrow one," said Glen.

"Then ye'll go down to Buffalo Center an' look out for the Bank. Walk right in as if ye owned it, jest like a reg'lar boy scout might do."

"I can do that," agreed Glen. "But what's that got to do with it?"

"It's got a plenty. When nobuddy ain't lookin' much you take a good look at a little winder that's clear in the back. You'll see it ain't got no bars over it like the other winders. It's jest 'bout big enough to let a boy through."

"Well?" asked Glen, beginning to feel that it wasn't well at all, and that this plan Mr. Jervice was unfolding had to do with a very different treasure than he had supposed.

"Jest imagine you've been dropped through that winder an' landed on the floor. You've got to go f'm there to the front an' unbolt the door. We can handle the lock all right but they got old fashioned bolts inside. So just wait aroun' an' figure how you'd git acrost the room without knockin' nothink over, an' look particular at the fastenings on that front door so you'll—"

"Stop right there," interrupted Glen. "I won't do anything of the kind."

"What's the matter of you, backin' out thaterway?" exclaimed Mr. Jervice. "Ain't I explained to you that the bank's got our bullion."

"I'm not that green," retorted Glen. "You want to rob the bank. I'm through with you."

"Hold on, boy!" The strong hand of the big leader closed over his shoulder. "Not yet you ain't. We can't let you go off thinkin' that way about us."

Glen wriggled around until he could look into the face of the man who held him. His spirits dropped. It was no weak, trifling face such as J. Jervice exhibited. A hard, rough look—a cruel, remorseless look—a mean, ugly look—all these things he read in that face.

"Mebbe ye'll know me when ye see me agen," said the man.

Glen made no reply.

"I ain't figurin' on you seein' much more o' me, though, nor any of us. D'ye know what I'm goin' to do with you?"

"Send me back to the reform school?" guessed Glen, wishing from the bottom of his heart that he might get off so easily.

The man laughed as if at an excellent joke.

"You're funny, boy—positive funny, you are. Sendin' you to the penitentiary would be easy along o' what I'm goin' to do to you."

"I've never hurt you," cried Glen. "Let me go."

"It ain't safe, boy. They's jest one way you c'n make it safe. Come in along of us an' do what we do. You wouldn't be a reform school runaway if you hadn't never been up to nothink. This'll be easy for you."

It was a temptation that would have tried boys of firmer principle than Glen. This man might do something awful to him if he resisted. He was on the point of yielding—and then came the vision of Matt Burton, white and unconscious, and the recollection of his agony as he thought that he had murdered Matt and lost his first chance to walk straight. Was it better to choose one evil than another?

"Do what you want to," he said bravely, to the big man. "I'm going to be a true scout, if you—if you kill me for it."

There was murder in the man's appearance, evidently enough, for J. Jervice eagerly protested. "You don't want to do no murder, now. Murder means hangin'!"

"Shut up!" commanded the leader. "Look what ye got us into. What can we do with him?"

"We'll have to hide him till we git away," said Jervice.



"No good trying to hide him round here. Them scouts will be missin' him when he don't get to his meals an' swarm all over here. You run over to the city—it's only twenty-four miles. You ought to be back easy by night. You know who to leave him with."

"He's a desperate hard boy to manage," complained J. Jervice with some recollection of previous dealings. "I'm afeared one man can't handle him."

The leader laughed significantly.

"One man could," he declared. "But that ain't saying the kid wouldn't be too much for you."

"Tie him up," urged Mr. Jervice. "I can handle him when he's tied."

"Brave man!" sneered the leader. "Get me a little rope an' I'll do him up scientific."

He was as good as his word. When his scientific job was finished the only thing Glen could do without restraint was to perspire. He could make a few muffled noises, but no intelligible sound could he utter.

"Now chuck him inside the car, please," begged Mr. Jervice. "He'll be quiet now."

"Quiet enough," said the leader. "But hustle your car out of here and get him twenty miles away as quick as you can. We don't want no scouts trackin' around while he's here."

Glen's spirits took another slump. It was bad enough to be captured, but his faith had been great in the scouts' deliverance. Following him twenty or thirty miles was another thing.



CHAPTER XII

THE BEE TREE

Matt's presence in the tree beneath which Glen walked with J. Jervice was neither accident nor coincidence. He had business there—business which he considered important, which he did not wish, to share either with J. Jervice or Glen Mason or any other person. At least he did not wish to share it right at that moment; later on would be another story.

Matt was making a bee tree. Perhaps you did not know that bee trees could be made, nor how to make them. Matt himself was not very clear on either of these heads. He was experimenting, and back of his experiment was a desire to get even with Chick-chick.

Henry Henry, commonly called Chick-chick, did not desire to shine as a great athlete, sport leader, a water witch, or in any of the other specialties in which Matt reveled, but he did pretend to know a little something about beetles, bugs, butterflies and bees. He had long cherished an ambition to find a "bee tree." At last night's camp fire he had announced his positive belief, based on observations of the day, that such a tree was somewhere in the vicinity of the blazed oak. He had watched the bees until dark without definitely locating his tree but he had not given up.

Matt decided that it would be a great pity to let all Chick-chick's efforts go for nothing. He proposed to help find such a tree, or to put Chick-chick in the way of it so that he would be bound to find it. He wanted the find to be public, and the interest in it to be so popular that all thought of buried treasure—especially treasure buried in a bread-box—would be obliterated forever from the minds of those in camp.

Matt had gone to some little trouble in his fixing. He had neatly lettered a sign: "Wild honey. Prepared by the Honey Bees for Chick-chick." This he stuck into the bottom of the hollow limb, only an end protruding. Then he put in a good chunk of honeycomb, begged from Bob. From a small jar he then released some half dozen bees which he had allowed himself to borrow from Mr. Ryder's hives. His supposition was that these bees would fill up and fly back to the hives. Soon they would return bringing their mates with them. In a short time a steady stream of bees would be passing in and out of that hollow limb, which would be just the time for Chick-chick to make his proud discovery and announce it.

After Matt had fixed the tree to his satisfaction his chief trouble was to lead Chick-chick to make the discovery in a perfectly natural manner. The best opportunity came as they went back to camp after the morning swim. Chick-chick was always a wanderer, likely at any moment to dart off in sudden pursuit of something. This morning it was a butterfly, and to Matt's delight he ran in the direction of the loaded tree. The crowd joined in the pursuit. They were within a short distance of Matt's tree before they gave it up.

"How about that bee tree you were going to get, Chick-chick?" suggested Matt. "Round here somewhere, isn't it?"

"Why not?" asked Chick-chick. "Why not. Why ain't this good place as any for bee make her happy cupboard?"

"Show it to us, Chick-chick. You're hiding it. We know what you are trying to do. You want to keep all that honey for yourself."

"Chick-chick wants all the honey for himself," chimed the chorus. "Lead us to your bee tree, Chick-chick. Don't be selfish."

"A'right, boys. There's bee tree in these woods. I don't want dinner—want bee tree. All who feel just so an' similar follow me. Here flies honey-bee right now. Watch her!"

And the bee sailed right to Matt's tree.

"Oh, look at the bees buzzing around that hole. Let me get at it," cried an excited scout.

"Not too familiar," warned Chick-chick. "Bees have feelin's. D'ye never hear the piece:

"How doth the little honey bee In self defense excel. She gives her life for one sharp sting Yet hath she spent it well."

"Leave it to the expert, fellows," cried Matt. "Let him get at it. Make way for the sum of all knowledge."

"It's me he means," modestly admitted Chick-chick. "He wants me to tackle this peculiar tree. Peculiar tree an' peculiar bees!"

"Why peculiar?"

"They've done changed theirselves since I saw 'em yes'day. To-day they're Italians—the nicest kind of tame bees we have. Yes'day they was wild, black Germans—nothing like this."

"What changed 'em?"

"Jes' naturally smart, reckon. See, they scratched the bark gettin' up tree, too. Here's place one of 'em rested number nine shoe an' cut bark through. Most remarkable honey bees ever heard of."

"Why don't you go up an' find out about 'em?"

"Answer me this botanical riddle first. What's difference between tree and a plant?"

"We give it up."

"You too, Matt?"

"Sure I give it up. What is it."

"Well, Matty, Great an' Only; in this case ain't no difference. This is tree an' plant too. 'Tain't a bee tree but it's bee plant, see. Watch the bees. Ought to be comin' in loaded an' goin' away light. But they ain't—they're doing just totherwise. Somebody's put some stuff up there. Who d'ye reckon?"

But Matt was already stealing away.

"Let him go," directed Chick-chick. "Bees are all buzzing 'stung' they are. But no stinger in me."

After that, no one cared further what the tree held. They rushed back to camp, for the dinner hour was upon them and their appetites were brisk from their swim.

Dinner was almost ended when Chick-chick, who was acting as a waiter, was called to the end of the table where the scoutmaster sat with Will Spencer.

"Mr. Spencer is wondering about Glen Mason," said Mr. Newton. "He hasn't come in, yet, for dinner. Was he at the swim?"

"No, sir. I haven't seen Brick since morning."

The scoutmaster rose to his feet.

"Mason has not appeared at dinner. Has any one seen him since ten o'clock?"

There was no answer; the boys waited in silence. At last Chick-chick held out a crumpled sheet of paper.

"I haven't seen him, but here's what found near tree where Matt thought he'd found bee tree," he explained.

It was the note from J. Jervice. Mr. Newton read it in silence.

"I don't know who could have written such a note," he remarked, handing it to Jolly Bill.

Then Matt Burton found his voice.

"I was in the neighborhood where the note was dropped this morning and I saw Mason in company with the very disreputable peddler fellow who came here Sunday. They seemed very intimate and were going off together."

"What do you mean by going off together?"

"I mean they were just walking along through the woods like they'd always known each other and were planning something. The thought came to me that they might be accomplices and the peddler had sent the boy into our camp just to work something up."

"He sure did it," volunteered Chick-chick.

"Something up and something down," suggested an irresponsible listener.

"That's enough, boys." Mr. Newton brought them sharply to order. "Burton has no right to such a guess nor you to such remarks. They don't make for harmony. They aren't helpful. You may all go now, except the patrol leaders and assistants and the signal corps."

When the little group had collected Mr. Newton continued his remarks.

"Glen Mason is a scout—a member of this troop—and we are responsible for him in more ways than one. Mr. Spencer and I know enough about him to be sure that there is no reason why he should go away with the peddler excepting under misrepresentation. Perhaps nothing out of the way has happened, but we have just a suspicion that Jervice is making an effort to get Glen into his hands for a reward which he thinks he will get."

"He'll have a sweet time holding him in his hands after he gets him," interrupted Jolly Bill.

"Unless he has help," corrected Mr. Newton. "And this is not improbable. Because of this I want the scouts to divide into groups of four and explore the territory I lay out. Each patrol leader and each assistant will take three boys. Signal and make for headquarters at once if you find anything. If there is any need of a rescue don't attempt it without me. Henry may start at the place where he found the note."

Thus it happened that a short time later, Chick-chick, Goosey and two other scouts were making a careful search around the bee tree.

"Everything's trampled flat around here. That crowd this morning did it," announced Chick-chick. "Every fellow spread out ten yards to his left."

It was Goosey who found the trail.

"Here it is," he cried. "It's Brick's trail all right. Mr. Spencer said to look for marks of heel plate on the right shoe and here it is. There was somebody with him."

The ground being soft and damp in spots there was no difficulty in following the trail. It led them to an open glen which showed a recent camp fire and the travel of many feet. Leading off toward the road were the broad depressions made by the tires of an automobile.

"My find, now," cried Chick-chick. "Here's where we do some real fine work, an' we can do it on the run, we can. See the tracks. What are they?"

"Automobile tracks," yelled the squad.

"What kind of a tire made 'em?"

There was no enthusiastic shout this time.

"An automobile tire," ventured Goosey.

"Jes' so, Goosey. Jes' so! It was rubber one, too, why don't you say? Good, safe guess—rubber."

"All right, Chick-chick. Be as funny as you want. If my father ran a garage I reckon I'd know something about tires, too."

"'Scuse me! You certainly right, Goosey. Who ought know automobile tires if not me. What I want you see is these tires can be followed anywhere 'cause they're non-skid with that peculiar bar formation. They'll show up on road so we can follow on dead run, we can."

"How do you know we want to follow? What makes you suppose Mason has gone in the car? Maybe we'll find his tracks going on away from here."

"Bright thought, Goosey. Ev'body look for tracks leading 'way from here."

They searched industriously but in vain.

"No good," decided Chick-chick. "Got old Brick in their wagon, all right, all right. We must go after him, we must."

"Mr. Newton said not to attempt any rescue."

"We ain't was going to. Back to headquarters an' report an' me for my motor-bike. Mr. Newton mebbe can get a car in Buffalo Center an' mebbe he can't; but no heavy old buzz-wagon can get where my motor-bike can't catch 'em."

Mr. Newton agreed to Chick-chick's plan of chase rather more readily than he had expected.

"It's perhaps as good a thing as we can do," he asserted, discussing the plan with Will Spencer. "I have a good many of the younger scouts in my especial care and cannot afford to leave camp on a wild goose chase."

"Motor-bike carries two," suggested Chick-chick. "Apple go with me?"

"Yes. You and Corliss may go. Don't do anything foolish. If you overtake the car get the peddler to stop. If Glen is a captive use your coolest judgment about interfering. The man may be armed and it would be far better to push on to the nearest town and get help than to risk a bullet. Of course, if Glen should be going of his own wish you must just come back and tell me."

"No fear of that," said Spencer.

"What shall we do if he isn't to be seen and the peddler won't let us look inside?" asked Apple.

"A scout's judgment and ingenuity ought to be worth something in such a case," replied Mr. Newton. "I prefer not to instruct you. I'm not sending you two big fellows out as messenger boys but as scouts. Use all the knowledge and courage and skill that you have, but don't take unnecessary risks."



CHAPTER XIII

THE CHASE ON THE MOTOR-BIKE

The boys felt the importance of their commission as they rode away from the camp on the motorcycle. They had no difficulty picking up the track of the autocar. It ran directly to the village and on through.

"Let's find out what the old car looks like," suggested Apple. "Maybe, too, they can tell us just how long ago it passed."

There was no difficulty in getting a description of the car—one enthusiastic person even went so far as to detail all the various articles advertised by J. Jervice for sale.

"How many people were riding?" asked Apple.

"A little man at the steering wheel and a big fellow perched up next to him."

"Didn't you see a boy on it?"

"No boy anywhere unless he was inside. Of course we couldn't tell about inside. It's jest like a wagon in a circus parade—nice paint on the outside an' the inside left to yore 'magination."

"Two men on the wagon—one a big fellow!" exclaimed Apple, as they left the fount of information. "We'll have to be pretty careful what we do."

"Sure will," agreed Chick-chick. "They got over an hour's start, so we'll have to go some—Hello, have they been stopping here?"

"Looks like it. There's marks that show a man got off the car."

"The big man," said Chick-chick. "Look where the tracks are headed, Apple. He's gone back to the village. Didn't get back on car at all. Good for us."

Chick-chick had correctly guessed. After J. Jervice and his car were safely through the village the big man had alighted.

"I'm goin' back to lie aroun' an' meet the other fellows," he said to Jervice. "You beat it along with your car. You can stop an' do a little tradin' when ye get to the next county. That'll prove you wasn't anywheer around if anythink should happen to-night. But be sure you git rid of the kid an' start back so's to git here by midnight."

Apple and Chick-chick took up the trail with renewed confidence now that they felt they had only Jervice to reckon with. They had seen him at the scout camp last Sunday and had no great respect for his dimensions or prowess.

It was late in the afternoon when first they saw the peddler's car in the road ahead.

"Let's trail along kind o' slow and watch him awhile," suggested Apple. "Maybe he'll be stopping somewhere."

As it happened this guess was well founded. Mr. J. Jervice had two reasons for stopping. One was that he wanted himself to be seen a good, long distance away from the bank, so that he could prove that he was far distant from that region if any robbery occurred. The other was a natural cupidity which sorely regretted the necessity of hurriedly passing prosperous farm houses where perfectly good money was all ready to exchange for his wares.

A mile further on a splendid house came into view. Everything about it spelled prosperity—its barns, and silos and windmills and fences all showed that the residents believed in having what they needed and had money to spend on their needs. The bait was irresistible. Mr. Jervice stopped his car at the side of the road, clambered down from his seat and went to lift the bars from the rear door.

Two boys on a motorcycle ditched their wheel a hundred yards away and crept cautiously up.

"He's going to the house to try to sell something," whispered Apple. "We must keep him from locking those back doors so we can look inside."

"We sure will," vowed Chick-chick.

Crouching in the bushes at the side of the road their pulses throbbed in great excitement as they observed that the peddler addressed some one inside the car. His tone was low so they did not catch the words, but they heard a mumble and saw his cruel laugh.

"We'll teach him to laugh," whispered Chick-chick.

"But supposing he shuts and locks that rear door before he goes up to the house."

"That's up to us. We'll watch him. If he locks it we must catch him as he goes through that orchard and get the key away."

They watched in great anxiety. Mr. Jervice closed the rear doors of his van and put the heavy bars in their slots, but, secure in the isolation of his surroundings, he did not apply the padlock. Wherein, Mr. Jervice committed a grievous error.

Scarcely was he concealed within the orchard than the two scouts rushed to the car, lifted the bar and swung back the door. There lay their new comrade, helplessly trussed and gagged, faint and weary with the close confinement, almost ready to collapse.

"Water!" he gasped, as Apple took the gag from his mouth. "Get me a drink."

Apple was able to supply him from his canteen, and even as he held it to the parched lips, Chick-chick was slashing the cords that had been drawn needlessly tight.

"I think I can manage this little old machine, I can," announced Chick-chick. "Apple, you can run my bike. Go back and get it."

"Rub my wrists where the cords cut, while he's gone," Glen begged. "That fellow that tied me up—he's a thief, that's what he is. He pulled 'em tighter just to see me wince."

He was too cramped to stand on his feet so Chick-chick kneeled down at his side to rub some circulation into his wrists and ankles. Suddenly a great noise of running was heard. Chick-chick looked out through the crack of the door.

"It's the peddler," he declared. "He's running like a bull was chasing him, he is. He's headed straight for the car."

"We'll give him a surprise," said Glen. "Probably he's run on to somebody who knows that he's a thief and they're after him. I'll just lie the way I was and you stand where the door will hide you."

Glen missed his guess in one important trifle. J. Jervice did not wait to be surprised. He was in such terror that he waited for nothing. He threw a pack in at the door, slammed it, dropped the bar in place with the incredible swiftness of long practice and in less than a minute had his motor cranked and the car in motion.

Coming up on the motorcycle a minute later Apple saw the car disappearing around a turn in the road, and wildly chasing it a puffing, panting old man, brandishing a heavy club.

The positions of the scouts were changed for the better, but they yet were a long distance from freedom. Instead of Glen tied and gagged in the car with Chick-chick and Apple following on the motorcycle, Apple now was following alone, while, imprisoned in the car, were both Glen and Chick-chick with the fortunate difference that the gag and bonds were removed.

"We're shut in," whispered Chick-chick. "Pretty mess I made of rescue, I did."

"No mess at all," said Glen. "I'm free now and ready for anything, or shall be when I get some circulation in my feet and hands. Can't move till then, anyway. What d'ye s'pose Apple's doing?"

"Following us along, Apple is, you bet. When he gets a chance he'll help us out, he will. Say, what's loose board here?"

"I don't know," replied Glen. "It's got a ring in it like it might be intended to be lifted up."

"Bet I know," said Chick-chick. "I reckon the transmission case is just below here, an' this is fixed to lift out so you can see transmission without crawling underneath."

"It wouldn't make a big enough hole to let us out, would it?" asked Glen.

"No, it wouldn't. But if I can get to that transmission I can stop car—won't run little bit."

"Could you start it again?"

"Depend on what I did to gears."

"Let's try it."

The board came up easily. Four bolts held the lid of the transmission case but were readily removed with Chick-chick's pocket wrench.

"Now we'll pack in something soft. Clog up the gears without breaking 'em."

"What good will that do—except make him mad."

"Help us out—it will. He isn't enough mechanic to find out why can't run. Off he goes town after help. Leaves us here do as we please. We know where trouble is. Fix it. Off we go."

There was plenty of soft material to feed into the transmission case. The car pulled unsteadily and stopped. The boys cautiously replaced the board in the floor and awaited developments. They could hear J. Jervice tinkering around, examining brakes and wheels and everything but the transmission.

"Hey, you!" he called after a few minutes. "You inside there! D'ye hear me?"

Then as it probably occurred to him that he could expect no great volubility from a gagged prisoner he continued:

"I've broke down an' I'm goin' to git help. When I bring a mechanic back don't ye try makin' no racket or it'll be the worse for ye."

The first positive assurance that he had gone was when Apple came up on the motorcycle, lifted the bar and opened the doors. It did not take them long to scramble out.

The world looked very beautiful to the eyes of Glen Mason after his hours of real peril and imprisonment. It was fine to be able once more to stretch out and shake loose every little muscle, to be able to draw in a long breath, just as deep as one wanted, free from the muffling of a foul mouth gag. The world was a good old place in which to live and surely Glen would henceforth try to live in it in an appreciable manner.

"Look here, fellows," said Chick-chick. "I know all about this old wagon. I can make it go ramblin' right along; handle it so it's perfectly tame an' gentle—take the bit nice an' stand 'thout hitchin'. What d 'ye say? Do we make the horsey go for Mr. Jervice?"

"You mean run away with it?" asked Apple. "That wouldn't be right, would it?"

"You don't know much 'bout this gang, Apple. Brick's been telling me. He's found out about 'em, Brick has. Regular band o' thieves, they are."

"Thieves!" exclaimed Apple. "No wonder they acted mean."

"No wonder. Wonder is they did no worse, it is. They think they're going rob Buffalo Center bank to-night. We'll show 'em, we will."

"Would taking their car away stop them?"

"It would be apt to hinder," said Glen. "I think Jervice carries their kit in his wagon and they depend on him to get their stuff hauled away."

"Take away their little old wagon sure will bother 'em."

"What would you do with it?"

"Turn it round. Run back to Buffalo Center and give sheriff."

"All right," agreed Apple. "You'll have to get busy if you want to get it back before dark. I suppose I'll have to ride the motor-bike."

"Reckon you're elected, Apple. Brick can't ride it, an' I can't run more 'n one at a time."

"Well, I'll not get far ahead of you. I'll keep you in sight, anyway."



CHAPTER XIV

SAFE AT CAMP BUFFALO

Riding triumphantly on the driver's seat with Chick-chick made the return journey very different from the miserable trip Glen had made inside the car, bound and gagged, and horribly jolted at every irregularity of the road.

"Shall we leave car at Buffalo Center, or run right on to camp an' show the booty?" asked Chick-chick.

"We haven't made the trip yet," Glen reminded him. "If we're lucky enough to get all the way to Buffalo Center we'd better deliver it to the first officer we see, sheriff or constable," counseled Glen. "We don't want to be arrested for stealing. It won't do for me to be arrested for anything."

"But don't you think we ought let scoutmaster see it? Let him have say about it. Don't you think?"

"Perhaps we ought," agreed Glen, who saw clearly that Chick-chick longed for the honor of driving his captured car proudly into camp—an exciting honor which he was not reluctant to share.

"It certainly would be fine if we could make it."

But it was not to be. Daylight was still pretty good, so that they could see a long distance back along the road. And so, when they still had several miles to go, they looked back and saw their nemesis overhauling them.

"That car's coming like fury," observed Glen. "I'll bet it's Jervice and his friends hot after us."

"'Fraid so," sighed Chick-chick. "Gettin' all speed out of the old wagon I can."

"We'd better try to catch Apple and all get on the motor-bike," suggested Glen.

"Can't catch Apple unless he takes notion to turn an' see we want him. Think we can hide, I do."

"Hide the car, too?"

"Hide the car. Saw place on way out. It's less'n mile from here. There's creek pretty near dry, and bridge over it. But there's ford by side of bridge, too. We forded it coming out."

"Can you get the car down?"

"Think I can. Think can run down by ford an' get under bridge. They'll go shooting by without seeing us, they will."

It was time to be taking some action. As they mounted the hill they were evidently seen by the pursuers who sent a pistol shot after them, though not with any possibility of reaching them. At the foot of this hill lay the creek.

Chick-chick slackened speed and scanned the bank eagerly to see if the car could make the descent. Dusk was already present under the heavy timber by the creek, and he left the road slowly with the double object of feeling his way and leaving as little track as possible.

Glen leaped from the car and bent back the brush flattened out by the wheels and kicked dust over the tracks left by the car in turning. Then he rushed down and found that by skillful driving Chick-chick had managed to make the descent safely and drive the car under the arch of the bridge, so concealed by the abutments and by outgrowing bushes that there would be little likelihood of attracting notice from above excepting from careful searchers.

A few seconds later the noise overhead told them that the pursuing car had rushed on, still hot in the chase.

"What's to do, now, Brick?" asked Chick-chick. "Got old car down pretty easy, we did. Don't know about getting back. Reckon I could cross over an' climb t'other side."

"I don't believe we want to try it," counseled Glen. "We are only a couple of miles from Buffalo Center. They'll be there in a minute or two. When they find we've dodged 'em they'll start back hunting for us. We'll meet 'em and there'll be real trouble. We don't want their car, anyway."

"Let's walk on an' catch Apple, then," suggested Chick-chick. "When he finds we don't come he'll either wait for us or start back. We can all ride into camp on the bike, we can."

"Leave the wagon just like this?"

"Why not? 'Tain't ours: All we've done is interfere with burglars. If this car carries the burgling things to rob the bank they won't be able to burgle to-night, anyway. Let's look for that chart they showed you. If it's anything about the treasure it's ours."

"He said he kept it on the shelf with his railroad guides. I'm afraid he put it in his pocket after they'd looked at it."

They found the shelf with the railroad folders, but no chart of any description was there.

"'Fraid you'd see more of it than they wanted," suggested Chick-chick.

"They need not," said Glen. "I don't care what's on their chart."

"Why not?" asked Chick-chick. "Why not? They got chart cave. Cave is somewhere between our camp an' top Buffalo Mound. They say Indian cave an' think Indians have hid treasure there; why not?"

"What makes you think the cave is between our camp and the top of Buffalo Mound?"

"Didn't you say Jervice man stuck his thumb over—so shut out your look. What he do that for if cave ain't there?"

"You jump too quick, Chick-chick. I'm not sure there's a cave at all. I just know that they talked as if they were looking for a cave or a hole in the ground or some place where somebody had hid a lot of plunder."

"Sure you know it. An' why wouldn't it be a cave? An' didn't you say the big man said he'd bet Indians had bullion hid in same cave they were hunting. Didn't you?"

"That isn't saying it's so," objected Glen.

"It's sayin' it's worth lookin'," affirmed Chick-chick. "Didn't one of 'em say chart was drawn from description Indians gave?"

"Yes, but they might have been fooling 'em."

"An' they might not. If it's Indian cave it's got our treasure. You draw copy that chart from memory soon as we get back, you do."

"I can't draw," objected Glen. "Maybe I can remember enough about it to tell you or Apple how to put it on paper."

"Here's Apple coming now," said Chick-chick. "He's the boy to draw. Draws better 'n flax seed poultice. You'll draw him all maps he wants when we get to camp, won't ye, Apple?"

"If we ever get back," said Apple. "It's getting dark. Father will be anxious. Why are you leaving the car?"

"Don't want it," explained Chick-chick. "Isn't ours. 'Fraid somebody see us with it an' think our name is Jervice. We all get on little old bike an' hike along sudden, we do."

Three boys was no special load for the motor-bike. They were constantly on the look out for the pursuing car which they expected to meet coming back, but nothing did they see of it. They rushed through Buffalo Center and a few minutes later Chick-chick blew his horn for the camp.

Great was the excitement when it was seen that the search party not only had returned but had brought the missing boy. Glen was almost mobbed by the crowd of scouts who pulled him one way and another in vociferous and jovial greeting. It was an experience such as had never happened in all his life, and his heart throbbed with thankfulness, and unbidden and unexpected tears rushed to his eyes that he should be honored with such a welcome by such loyal comrades. "God is good," came the thought, and he knew that henceforth he would live a richer, deeper and more loyal life because of this experience.

Off to one corner Apple had a noisy audience and there were yet others who gathered about Chick-chick as he retailed to them in his jerky fashion such things as he deemed proper for them to know. Loud and furious discussions were heard from every group.

"There won't be any looting of the Buffalo Center Bank while the scouts are in camp, that's a cinch," proclaimed big Tom Scoresby.

"Tom'll see to that," added Chick-chick.

"If Tom doesn't do it alone, the scouts will," insisted Tom. "We wouldn't let robbers loot a bank with us in camp not a mile away, would we, Mr. Newton?"

"We wouldn't expect to have anything of the kind going on," agreed Mr. Newton.

"Great yarn, this," Matt Burton, was saying to his own little group. "I reckon we're expected to swallow it with our eyes shut. I never heard such stuff."

"What d'ye mean it's a yarn, Matt?" asked a scout.

"This story about those fellows being bank robbers. Why that scared little old peddler would be afraid to rob a sandbank. If anybody gave him a cross look, he'd die."

"You don't mean to say Brick Mason's lying?"

"Oh, no! He just has dreams."

"Did he dream himself tied up with cords cutting in so sharp they left red welts and took half hour to get circulation going?" demanded Chick-chick who had overheard.

"Red welts nothing!" retorted Matt. "I could raise red welts all over my body and never feel it."

"You keep makin' insinuations an' I know fellow'll raise red welts on you so you won't feel anything for month," threatened Chick-chick. "I felt those welts. Saw 'em too. Plain as the ridges on a non-skid tire. Anybody's thinks Brick had 'em made for fun can get all that kind o' fun he wants."

"What's the trouble, scouts?"

It was Mr. Newton, his attention drawn by the angry tones.

"Explainin' 'bout Brick's body marks," said Chick-chick.

"I think you've talked long enough." Mr. Newton easily guessed the quarrel. "Go along with Corliss and Glen and work your tongue on your supper. You other fellows see they get filled up."

Glen had rushed to Will Spencer at his first free moment, but the supper table gave him his first real chance for conversation with him. Will had his billy cart pushed up where he could clap Glen on the shoulder and tell him again how glad he was to see him safe and sound.

"Nice, comfortable day you've given your Uncle Bill," he said in cheerful accusation.

"Did you worry about me?" asked Glen.

"Not so much about you," explained Jolly Bill. "But I had a terrible time making my mind easy about that poor peddler and worrying about what would happen to him when you found he'd run off with you."

"I didn't believe there was anything J. Jervice could do to me, but I found people worse than him. I believe he's one of a robber gang—"

"I don't understand these references to robbers," interrupted Mr. Newton. "Perhaps you'd better make it clear to us."

So for the benefit of the two men, Glen went over the whole story, telling them all about his capture, his suspicions of the gang, the chart he had seen, and the way they had treated him when he refused to acquiesce in their plans.

"That sounds very grave," said Mr. Newton, busy already penciling a note. "I'll get you to take this letter to town, Henry, just as soon as you have finished your supper."

"You think they intended to rob the bank to-night?" asked Spencer.

"That was their original plan, I am sure; but I don't know—"

He was interrupted by a very earnest and eager delegation of scouts, with big Tom Scoresby at its head. Tom saluted and asked permission to address a request to the scoutmaster.

"We want to go out and capture these bank robbers before they get far away," he explained. "According to what Chick-chick says, the peddler's car is within three miles of here. Our plan is to go after it and use it to catch the thieves."

"How many scouts are in for this?" asked Mr. Newton.

As with one voice fifteen scouts shouted "I." Others came running to swell the number.

"Let us think this over quietly, scouts. It would be a great thing for us to capture this gang of thieves, wouldn't it?"

There was no doubt that the sentiment met with unanimous favor.

"Why would it be such a fine thing?"

Dead silence prevailed for a moment after this direct question; then all manner of answers filled the air.

"Show what scouts can do!"

"Put an end to bank robbing!"

"Protect our fellow citizens!"

"Glory for troop 3!"

"A scout is helpful!"

"Great sport to catch robbers!"

"A scout is brave!"

"Show we're good as men!"

These were some of the answers that were shot at the scoutmaster.

When quiet prevailed Mr. Newton resumed his talk.

"A man asked me once if I didn't think the National Council made a mistake in its decree that every organization of scouts must have a scoutmaster.

"'You baby your boys,'" he said. 'You ought to put them on their own responsibility.'

"But he forgot that certain things, such as a tempered judgment, come only by experience. A scout is brave and a scout is helpful, true enough. But a scout must learn how to use his bravery and when to be helpful.

"Now suppose I allowed you to organize for a robber hunt, and suppose that, during that hunt, some robber was so unfair as to fire real cartridges and hit some member of our expedition. What good would it do to tell the boy's mother that her son was brave, or helpful, or adventurous, or daring? What would it avail to tell her that in preparation for manhood scouts must develop daring and courage?"

He paused, but the silence was broken by no reply.

"I can conceive of circumstances in which the risk of your lives would be your duty, and I hope that, should they come, no scout of this troop will count life dearer than honor. But this is not one of them. This is a plain case for plain handling, and I want to tell you how I have handled it.

"There is a deputy sheriff in the village and I have sent word to him of the circumstances and of our suspicions. He, being a regularly appointed officer of the law, will take such steps as seem best to protect the bank and to apprehend the robbers. He is not likely to call for help from this camp for he knows that there are but two citizens here who could legally be enlisted in his posse. One of them is crippled, and the other has a squad of young boys in his care; but if the sheriff should feel a need to call upon these men, I venture to say that neither will hold back."

The boys moved away in rather an unusual silence. It was broken by a voice from a distant group, speaking loudly in heavy sarcasm.

"No need to bother about what the sheriff will do. He won't do a thing because he'll know that the whole thing is a plant."

The words rang out quite distinctly above the rather subdued hum of the other voices.

"The Great an' Only Matty!" exclaimed Chick-chick in disgust. "He sure knows all about it if it's plant."



CHAPTER XV

STRENGTH AND LOYALTY

Glen found next day that he had suddenly become somewhat of a hero. Apple and Chick-chick had privately given very good accounts of his fortitude and resource. He felt about as happy as ever in his life and all manner of good impulses stirred within him.

None of the three who had taken chief part in yesterday's adventure felt very much inclined to energy this bright morning. Glen lay in the warm grass close to Jolly Bill and his billy-cart in peaceful comfort. His muscular arms were a senna brown, his bare chest the same color, excepting where it was marked by a dull blue design similar to that which caused an anchor and various rings to appear prominently upon his arms.

"'Lo, Brick," said the cheery voice of Chick-chick, whose light hearted philosophy and undisturbed equanimity under all circumstances Glen greatly admired. "Some strong man, ain't you, Brick?"

"Pretty strong for a boy," Glen admitted.

"Say, Brick, Goosey wants ask you question," jerked out Chick-chick. "Goosey so bashful wouldn't come alone, he wouldn't."

"I'd like fine to be strong like you, Brick," said Goosey. "Some of us kids have been talking about it and one fellow says he's noticed that strong men like sailors and railroad men always have tattoo marks like you got. A brakeman told him that's what made him strong. Some of us want you to fix us up."

Glen laughed, but it was a bitter laugh.

"Do you know how much I'd give to have these marks cleared off, if I had the money?" he asked, savagely.

"Cleared off!" exclaimed Goosey. "Why, Brick, they're just handsome. That anchor on your arm and the flag on your chest—why we kids think they're great!"

"Wait till you kids get to be a little bit older and find out what real people think of 'em—I mean people that are people. They call 'em gallows marks in the school back there. The chaplain he's strong against 'em. I 'member when he caught a kid having some ink pricked in by one of us."

"Got after you, did he?" asked Chick-chick.

"Well, he says, 'You kids know why I always wear a bandage round my right arm when I play tennis?' I'd often wondered. 'I suppose it's to strengthen the arm,' I guessed."

"Was it?" asked Goosey, eagerly. If there was anything that would strengthen an arm he wanted to know it.

"Strengthen the arm nothing!" replied Glen, with contempt. "He rolled up his sleeve and snowed us where he had a woman's head tattooed in. I s'pose you'd say it was a peach of a head, Goosey."

"Wasn't it done right?" asked Goosey.

"Done fine. Done as well as they're ever done. But he was ashamed of it. He put on that bandage just so it wouldn't show when his sleeve was rolled up."

"I don't understand that," said Goosey, in evident disappointment.

Chick-chick, too, inclined to the opinion that the chaplain was over nice.

"You'd understand if he spoke to you about it," said Glen. "He says to us: 'Every once in a while you'll find a good man and a smart man that is all marked up with tattoo marks, but where they're carried by one clean, smart man, there's a hundred bums and tramps that have 'em. If a good man has 'em it's a safe bet that he didn't put 'em on when he was doing well. It means that some time in his life he was down in bad company. It's the poorest kind of advertising."

"That's why he hid 'em up, then."

"Chiefly. He says 'One reason I cover this up is so it won't set foolish ideas into boys' heads. There's many a business man would pay ten thousand dollars to get rid of the ugly marks. There are all kinds of ways but none of 'em work well and most of 'em cost the fellow that owns the skin an awful lot o' pain as well as the money. The way to get rid of tattoo marks,' he says, 'is not to put 'em on.'"

"But since you can't help having 'em, you aren't going to let 'em keep you down, are you, Brick, old top?"

It was Jolly Bill who asked the question. They had thought him asleep in his cart.

"No, nor anything else," declared Glen. "I'm not so far behind. Somebody asked me once, 'How does it come you talk so well?' They don't understand that we learn as much in the state schools as in the regular public school, and we have to do our best or make a show at it, whether we want to or not."

"But, Brick," persisted Goosey. "You said a lot about the tattoo marks, but you didn't say yet whether it makes you strong."

"Chick-chick," commanded Jolly Bill. "You lead that little boy away. Whatever made you bring him here with his sad story? What is there in a little India ink, pricked beneath the skin, to make you strong—does it make father's shirts strong when mother uses it to put his initials in the corner? Lead him off, Chick-chick."

"That's all right," Goosey observed. "Matt Burton thinks it's what makes Brick strong. Matt says no reform school boy could knock him down if he hadn't been doped up with some stimulant."

"You mustn't pay too much attention to what Matt Burton says," counseled Spencer.

"Oh, I don't. Matt says there wasn't any thief and there isn't any cave, and I believe there is. Matt says he wouldn't believe it, anyway, 'cause Brick says it's so."

"You'd better run along, little boy, before you say something Matt'll be sorry for," said Spencer.

Glen had stood a good deal from Matt and had borne it quietly. It was not that it did not sting, but that he believed he was "taking his medicine." Let no one suppose, however, that because he had started on the up route, Glen Mason disclosed any anatomical peculiarities such as the sprouting of wings. His capacity for taking a wrong view of matters was as great as ever. The only difference was that he resisted it occasionally. But there was a limit to his resistance, and so nearly had he reached it that this report of Goosey's decided him to take a sufficient vacation from his good principles to allow of the administration to Matt Burton of one good, swift punch.

Goosey said that Matt was walking toward Buffalo Center when last seen. There was only one road to the village, so with his bottled up vengeance in his heart Glen struck out along this road.

There, on the main street of the little town, right at the Bank corner, stood Matt talking to a couple of men who sat on the low railing which served for ornament rather than protection to the bank front. One of the men wore a star on his coat; the other was a rough looking individual who yet had an official air.

It was no part of Glen's program to create a public disturbance, but he was quite resolved not to let Matt get far out of his sight. A good plan was to hike through the alley and come up on the south side of the bank building, where, hidden by a convenient pillar, he would be able to hear what was going on without being seen.

Glen lost no time getting through the alley, and in a few moments, flattened against the wall at the southwest corner, could hear all that Matt said to the men as they sat on the rail at the west front.

"What we want," said one man, "is to catch 'em in the act. They was timid last night and the fust little noise we made they was off. Are you one o' them scouts as seen 'em yestiddy?"

"I have seen the little peddler," asserted Matt. "I didn't think he had spunk enough to rob a blind man."

"Mebbe he has—mebbe he ain't. It don't allus take spunk. Yore chief said they was another fellow—desp'rit villain. Did ye see him?"

"No, I didn't," Matt admitted reluctantly. "I don't often have any luck. It takes fellows like Glen Mason."

"Name sounds familiar. Mason! Glen Mason! Let me look at that circ'lar I got in my pocket. Thought that was it. Fellow, that name, just run off f'm the reform school. Here's the bill about it."

Glen was seized with a paralyzing terror. This constable or sheriff or whatever he was had only to reach around the corner to lay hands right on him. He forgot all about revenge on Matt—what he now wanted was to get away.

Then he heard the officer's next question.

"This Glen Mason fellow you speak about—is he one of your regular scouts?"

Glen waited in breathless suspense to hear how Judas would betray him. The answer left him high and dry, gasping with surprise.

"Yes, he's a regular scout," said Matt. "He's a tenderfoot. I suppose it isn't such a very uncommon name."

After all, Matt was a scout—a scout and a patrol leader. He might be conceited, he might be supercilious, he might and did need a lot of nonsense sweated out of him. But he was a scout, and—a scout is loyal! He would have loved dearly to see Glen Mason sent back to the reform school and thus removed from disputing his preeminence. But he was no Judas—his should not be the tongue to betray a fellow scout.

Glen straightened the fist that he had clenched so fiercely at his side, and drew a deep breath as he settled himself down more closely into the protection of his pillar.

"I'd like to see the feller that seen the robbers an' took the ride in their car. I'd like to see the car. I didn't see it when they went through here yestiddy." It was the rough voice again.

"Why not go now and see it?" asked Matt. "The bridge where the boys hid it is only a couple of miles away."

"No good," replied the man. "Them boys wasn't as smart as they thunk. We sent up to get the car fust thing after yore chief sent the word to us last night, but all they was left of it was tracks."

So the car was gone. Glen could easily understand how they discovered it. They had only to run back to where the peculiar tires ended their journey and then search to find where they had left the track. So the ford would have been discovered and then the car.

"If I'd been driving I'd have run it right up to the sheriff's office and claimed the reward," boasted Matt.

"Mebbe you would—mebbe you wouldn't. Mebbe you'd got a few slugs o' lead under your vest. Them fellers must ha' been pretty clos't around to get that car away so quick. I think them boys was clever. Anyway they wasn't no reward then. They is now—five hundred dollars. The Bankers' Association offered it soon as they heard the story."