Pee Wee Harris on the Trail by Percy Keese Fitzhugh

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"That's one thing about me, I'm good at guessing," Pee-wee said. "I
kinder knew you were that. Manual training, that's my favorite study
because it isn't a study at all. I made a bird-house, I did, in manual
training, a dandy big one."

"Bird-houses is a good thing to make," said the manual training
teacher.

Pee-wee could not see his new acquaintance very well or the bundle which
he carried. If the teacher had been after his junk he seemed to have
been fortunate in finding it, for he had collected a considerable amount
of booty. Indeed, he had but a minute before succeeded in disinterring
the safe which had been in the principal's office, but here he had met
with disappointment. He had, however, hit upon a microscope of some
value from the equipment of the student laboratory and he had found a
lady's handbag which he seemed to think worth keeping.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he asked of Pee-wee.

CHAPTER XIII

A FRIEND IN NEED

"Do you want me to let you into a secret?" Pee-wee said. "I know where
there's a stolen automobile. Maybe you'd like to help me take it back to
its owner, hey? If you do you'll get an honourable mention in our
troop-book. I was carried away in it by two thieves who didn't know I
was in the car, because I was disguised, sort of, under the buffalo
robe. Do you want to help me foil them?"

The manual training teacher seemed interested but a bit incredulous. He
looked Pee-wee over and said, "what's all this?"

"Maybe you don't believe me but it's true," Pee-wee said. "Do you know
how to run a car?"

"Anything from a flivver up," said the stranger.

"Shh," said Pee-wee, "this one is away, way up. It's a super six
Hunkajunk, it belongs to a man where I live, in Bridgeboro, New Jersey."

"Well, what are you doing here?" the manual training teacher asked.

"I was kind of kidnapped accidentally. They did it but they didn't know
it. They've got pistols and blackjacks and things and I heard them talk
about stealing. I bet I'd have heard a lot more only my head was under
the buffalo robe. If you'll help me we can circum--what do you call
it--you know--circum--"

The teacher did not know. But his interest was aroused at this whispered
tale of armed bandits and of a big stolen car. Pee-wee completed the
tale in breathless excitement. He told all, from the beginning. "They
locked it in," he concluded, "and went away; but one of the doors, the
big one, was locked on the inside and I opened it. Anybody can take the
car out. Those men have gone away across the lake. If you'll drive it to
Bridgeboro you can stay at my house and have breakfast and I'll tell Mr.
Bartlett that you helped me, and gee whiz, they'll thank, you a lot.
Maybe you know about scouts because manual training teachers know a lot
about scouts on account of scouts making bird-houses and all things like
that, and so maybe you know about good turns. That'll be a peach of a
good turn. And if I tell about it you'll get a kind of a medal from our
troop with your name on it. What's your name? Mine's Walter Harris, but
the fellows in my troop call me Pee-wee, but I should worry about them.
Will you help me? What's your name?"

"Mr. Swiper," said the stranger, rather thoughtfully; "let's go and look
it over."

He was certainly considering the proposition and Pee-wee accompanied him
back to the lake, keeping up a running fire of enthusiastic
encouragement and representing to him the delight and self-satisfaction
of circumventing a pair of scoundrels. "They've got pistols and
everything," he said as a clincher, "and if they'd steal a car they'd
kill somebody, wouldn't they?"

"Seventy pistols is a good many," said Mr. Swiper, incredulously.

"Sure it is," said Pee-wee excitedly; "it's more than Jesse James had. I
guess they belong to a big band of thieves, hey? Maybe they've got
a--a--a haunt on the other side of that lake, hay? Now you can see it's
good to go to the movies, hey? Because we could never circum--foil them
if I hadn't, hey? They drove it right away from in front of the theater.
Anyway," he added excitedly as he trotted along, "I'm glad I met you
because now I don't have to wake up the police or anything, hey? And I
bet Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett will be surprised when they see us bringing it
back, won't they? I'll show you where we have our meetings."

Mr. Swiper was not carried off his feet by Pee-wee's excited talk. He
was thoughtful and preoccupied.

"That's one thing I have no use for--thieves," Pee-wee said. "Gee whiz,
I never took a ride with thieves before. But anyway it's going to be all
right now. We'll just toot the horn in front of the house when we get
there, hey? And I'll say--I'll say--'Here's your car Mr. Bartlett.' And
then I'll introduce you to him, hey? And I bet he'll--anyway, you
wouldn't take anything, would you? Money or anything like that?"

"Don't insult me," said Mr. Swiper.

"I didn't mean it," Pee-wee said apologetically; "scouts are like that,
they won't take anything for a service, but eats don't count, you can
take eats. But I mean money----"

"Don't speak of money again," said Mr. Swiper.

CHAPTER XIV

SAVED!

Thanks to Pee-wee, the door of the rustic lakeside garage stood
invitingly open.

"I won't--I won't say anything about money; gee whiz, you needn't have
any fear," Pee-wee said, making a play for his companion's good-will;
"gee, I wouldn't do that--I wouldn't. But you could take a medal,
couldn't you? A scout good-will medal?" he added anxiously.

"Maybe," said Mr. Swiper.

"Gee, you'll _have_ to take it," said Pee-wee; "our scoutmaster will
make you."

Before entering the building, Mr. Swiper made an inspection of the
lonely neighborhood, and looked out across the still, dark lake.

"That's where they went?" he asked.

"Sure, they won't see us," Pee-wee said reassuringly.

But the manual training teacher was not going to take any chances with
a crew of ruffians--not he.

"Even if they should see us or hear us," Pee-wee encouraged, "they
wouldn't dare come after it, because it isn't theirs. They thought
nobody would ever find it in here. It's good I was on the inside, hey?"

"That's the place to be," said Mr. Swiper.

"You bet it is," said Pee-wee. "Were you ever locked in a place?"

To this purely personal question, Mr. Swiper made no reply; Instead he
walked about the car thoughtfully, then climbed into the front seat and
turned on the dash-light. He seemed to know what he was doing. Pee-wee
did not wait but excitedly climbed in beside him.

"Gee whiz, a feller's got to have nerve to steal a car, hasn't he?" he
asked, unable in his elation to keep still.

"That's what," said Mr. Swiper briefly.

"It--it kind of--sort of--makes us feel like thieves, taking it,"
Pee-wee commented, looking about him rather fearfully, "but anyway we've
got a right to, that's one sure thing.... Haven't we?"

"Sure."

"And it's all right, that's one sure thing. Oh boy, I'm glad I met you
and you'll get as much credit as I do, that's sure. Anyway, we've got a
right to take it away from the thieves, I hope. Gee, nobody can deny
that. Anyway, I guess _you_ don't feel scary."

"Guess they won't follow us," said Mr. Swiper. "Not if they know what's
well for them. Thieves don't come after you, they run away from you."

"You bet they do," said Pee-wee, delighted at his new friend's rather
generous contribution to the talk.

The engine now purred softly, the silent shifting into reverse gear told
the young rescuer that a practiced hand was at the wheel. Slowly the big
car backed out of the building and around till it headed into the dark
over-grown road.

"You didn't put the lights on," Pee-wee said.

"Time enough for that," said his companion, who seemed quite accustomed
to driving in the dark.

Presently the big super six Hunkajunk touring model was rolling silently
along through the woods, rescued, saved! Soon to be restored to its
rightful owner by W. Harris, scout, B.S.A.

By the dash-light, Pee-wee obtained a first glimpse of his companion's
face. There was nothing in particular about him, save a long, diagonal
scar on his face which Pee-wee thought might have been caused by some
tool in the ruined manual training room. The young man had also very
short hair; it was so short, in fact, that it seemed almost like no hair
at all. It was like a convict's hair.

CHAPTER XV

IN CAMP

The light which Pee-wee had seen across the water was not on a boat as
he had supposed. It was on a small island the very name of which would
have delighted his heart, for it was called Frying-pan Island, because
of its rough similarity of form to that delightful accessory of camp
life. If Scout Harris could have eaten a waffle out of such a frying-pan
he would have felt that he had not lived in vain.

This frying-pan, instead of being filled with fat, was filled with
woods, and a little to the west of the center, where an omelet might
have nestled in its smaller prototype, three tents were concealed in the
enshrouding foliage. Down at the end of the handle of this frying-pan
was good fishing, but it was marshy there, and sometimes after a heavy
rain the handle was completely sub-merged. From an airplane the three
white tents in the western side of the pan might have seemed like three
enormous poached eggs; that is, provided the aviator had an imagination.

It was upon the shore of this little island that the two young men who
had driven the automobile from Bridgeboro pulled their boat ashore about
ten minutes after they had all unknowingly locked Scout Harris in their
makeshift lakeside garage. Considering that they were cut-throats and
ruffians and all that sort of thing, their consciences seemed singularly
clear, for they laughed and chatted as they made their way along the few
yards of trail which led to their lair, or den, or haunt, or cave, or
whatever you care to call it.

They were greeted by a chorus of boys who jumped up from around the
camp-fire where they had been seated making demands upon them for news
and booty.

"How about it? Can we stay here?"

"What kept you so long?"

"Did you get the silver cup?"

"I bet you didn't find out?"

"I bet you ate supper in a restaurant."

"We made rice cakes."

"Did you get the cup?"

"Let's see it."

"They didn't get it"

"Yes they did."

"I bet they didn't."

"I bet they did."

"Look at the smiles on their faces."

"I bet we have the town hall wished on us."

"I bet it's the fire-house."

"I feel it in my bones we have to go to school."

"Let's see the cup."

"Did you eat?"

"What is this, a questionnaire?" asked one of the arrivals, the one who
had driven the car.

"Let's hear the worst."

"Break it gently."

"We thought your new junk wagon broke down."

"Don't say anything against his new junk Wagon or he'll never tell us
anything."

"Did you put the baby to bed?"

"Yes and locked him in."

"What kept you so late?"

"We got mixed up with a Bandit of Harrowing Highway."

"Who's he?"

"He's a villyan."

"A which?"

"A movie play."

"That's a nice thing for two scoutmasters to go and see. Your two troops
are ashamed of you."

"If our two troops don't shut up--"

"We'll shut up--come on, _altogether_!"

Followed a welcome silence.

"We've gone to a lot of trouble today for you kids," said one of the
scoutmasters. "We've got the cup but we had to wait a couple of hours
for it. The merchants in the great metropolis of Bridgeboro are so slow
that a turtle would be arrested for speeding there. Poke up the fire,
Nick, we're cold, and I'll tell you all about our adventures. We've made
a day of it, huh?"

The scout whom he called Nick jogged up the waning blaze while others
brought a fresh log, and soon the camp-fire was roaring a warming,
hearty welcome home to the weary scoutmasters. One of these (who was
evidently young enough to be addressed by his Christian name, for they
called him Ned) sat on an old grocery box and related the happenings of
the day, while the others sprawled about, listening. Occasionally his
fellow scoutmaster (Safety First they called him) contributed a few
words.

"Well, the first thing we did when we got ashore was to--"

"Get out of the boat?" a scout asked. There was surely not much
constraint between scouts and scoutmasters in this outfit.

"We went up to town and saw the school board; at least we saw Mr. Cram.
He says everything's upside down and they don't know what they'll
do--says there won't be any school for a month anyway. (Cries of
despair.) They can't use the town hall and they can't use the fire-house
and they're talking of using the old Wilder mansion. We told him if
there wasn't going to be any school till the middle of October or so,
we'd like to bunk right here on the island and study nature. He said,
'Go to it.' So there's no school for a month (murmurs of disappointment)
and we've got to chip in and get some more groceries.

"We squared things with your parents and most of them are glad to get
rid of you. How about that, Safety First? Corby's sister is giving a
party and hopes he'll stay away. Let's see now; oh yes, we bought some
fishing tackle.

"Then we got some gas and started for Bridgeboro after the cup. We went
after that cup like Sir Thomas Lipton. The jewelry man didn't have the
engraving finished so we dropped in at a movie show and saw a fellow
with a lot of pistols. How many pistols were there, First Aid? We
counted them off coming back in the machine, there were seventy. Crazy
stuff. That's the kind of stuff you kids fall for. Well, after the
pistol shooting was over we got the cup and started back and here we
are. Any questions?"

"Let's see the cup."

We left it in the machine. We'll get it in the morning. Now look here,
you scouts. I want every last one of you to try for that cup. There are
half a dozen of you that need to wake up. There are a few dead ones
here; Harry, the crack shot--yes you--I'm looking right at you--I want
you to can all this stuff about killing animals and get busy and do the
best scout stunt of the season and win that cup. Understand? I was
saying to Safety First on the way home that a fellow gets more fun
stealing up on an animal and piking him with a camera than he does
poking around with an old air gun that he saw advertised in _Boy's
Life_. That's what! I'm talking to you straight.

"Now here's a silver cup and it looks pretty swell all engraved with our
patrol names and we drove way to Bridgeboro to get it. That cup's going
to stand on the stump of that tree there--where the chipmunk hangs out.
And the day we leave this island it's going to the scout that has done
the best scout stunt. Tracking, signalling, good turn, cooking, it makes
no difference what. The scout that does the _biggest thing_, he gets the
cup. We two scoutmasters and Mr. Wade are going to be the committee. Now
you'd better all turn in and hurry up about it, and Ralph Gordon is not
to snore; they're complaining about it over in town."

"Can we do any kind of stunts we want to?" asked the tall scout whom
they call Nick.

"Any kind at all that's good scouting; that's the only rule."

"All right, then I'm going to start to-night," said Nick; "I'm going to
row across and get that cup out of the car so we all can see it. Let's
have the key, will you?"

At this there was a general laugh mingled with shouts from a dozen or so
volunteers:

"I'll go with you!"

"Take me?"

"I'm in on that!"

"I was just going to suggest it!"

"Yes you were--not!"

"Wait till morning," said Scoutmaster Ned.

"It can't be done," said Nick in a funny, sober way; "a scout is
supposed to have his sleep, that's the most important rule of all, you
said so yourself. I can't sleep till I've had a squint at that cup. Come
on Fido, let's row over."

The scout called Fido had won his name because of his doglike
persistence in following trails. "That's me," he said, "I was just going
to propose it when you took the words out of my mouth."

"I'd like to see a photograph of anybody taking anything out of _your_
mouth," said Scoutmaster Ned. "Go ahead, the two of you; I wish your
people would send you both to a private school that opens up to-morrow.
Go on, get out of here. And don't wake us up when you come back."

"Thank you kindly," said Fido.

"The pleasure is mine," said Scoutmaster Ned.

CHAPTER XVI

FOOTPRINTS

So this, then, was the explanation of the bloodthirsty talk which the
mighty hero of the Bridgeboro troop had heard under the buffalo robe as
he emerged from the sweet realm of slumber in the automobile.

Pistols, killing, stealing and dead ones! To steal up to a bird and
_not_ kill it! To wake up if you are a dead one! To laugh with wholesome
scout humor at the silly gun play of the screen! To count the pistols in
William I. Smart's five reel thriller!

Alas, Scout Harris!

But we are not to accompany that redoubtable rescuer in his thrilling
flight. We are going to row across the lake in which the dying camp-fire
on the little island cast a golden flicker, into which the oars held by
our new acquaintance, Nick Vernon, dipped silently and rose dripping as
his practiced arms drew the boat through the water, causing a musical
little ripple at its bow.

"Got the key?" Fido asked.

"Do you suppose I'd come away without it?"

"Pull a little on your left. I can just make out the shed. There
isn't,--yes there is, there's just one light in the town."

"That's Algernon Kirkendall studying his algebra," said Nick.

"It's just in line with the shed. Row straight for the light and we'll
hit the shore just right. I'll lift this seat and steer with it.
Crinkums, it's dark on the water, isn't it?"

So the algebra was of some use in the world after all; Algernon
Kirkendall was a scout without knowing it.

"S.N.[1] thinks more of that new car than he does of the troop," said
Fido.

"Sure, the car don't give him as much trouble," said Nick. "We're a
Hunkajunk troop and Safety First's troop is a Ford troop; it's small but
it makes a lot of noise. If I ever start a troop it will be air-cooled.
How about it, am I headed right?"

[Footnote 1: Scoutmaster Ned he meant.]

"Row straight ahead, I'll steer."

"Golly, the water's black. Look! Did you see that fish jump? Look
around, the camp-fire looks good from here. Believe me, the autumn is
the time to camp. We're in luck. I love, I love, I love my lessons, but
oh you little island!"

"Ditto."

"We're set till Columbus Day."

"You mean Election Day. Gee, your oar touched bottom, here we are. I'll
row back."

They pulled the boat up and started for the shack. Fido reached it first
and called excitedly, "It's open! The car's gone!"

"Stop your fooling," called Nick.

"I'm not fooling, come and look for yourself, hurry up, the car's gone."

They stood in the big open doorway in gaping amazement. They walked in,
too dumfounded to speak, and when they did speak their voices sounded
strange to each other within the dark, empty confines of those old dried
board walls.

"Somebody must have broken in through the small door," said Fido.

"It's closed and locked," said his companion. "How about the fastening
on the big one?"

"It's all O.K.; nobody's been breaking in, that's sure."

"You don't mean to tell me S.N. would lock the small door and then come
away leaving the big one open, do you?" Nick asked incredulously.

"Well, what then?" his comrade retorted with greater incredulity. "If
both doors were closed and fastenings are all right now, could anybody
get the car out? They left the big door open--that's what they did."

"They never did that," said Nick; "look here, here's a fresh finger
print on the door--you can smell the oil on it. Here, wait till I light
another match. S.N. did what he always does, he opened the hood and
turned on the oil pet-cock and fussed around and then pulled the door
shut. Someone must have been inside this place before they got back."

Fido Norton was by this time on his knees outside the larger door. "Here
are footprints," said he; "two, three,--here's another one. Give me
another match."

"Those were made by our own fellows," said Nick, inspecting the ground,
half interested. "Can't you see they were made by scout shoes? Do you
think a boy scout stole the car? Here are some others, too, S.N.'s, and
Safety First's, I suppose."

"Why should they step outside the big door?" Norton asked. "These are
fresh footprints, all of them. After they got through, they'd go out
through the small door wouldn't they? This print, and this one, and this
one," he said, holding a match, "were made by scout shoes--_to-night_,
not an hour ago."

"All the fellows except us two are in camp," said Nick.

"All right," Fido Norton shot back, "they might all be at the North
Pole, but these prints were made by scout shoes _to-night_. That's what
I'm telling you."

"All right," said Nick with a tolerant sneer in his voice, "the car was
stolen by a boy scout, probably a tenderfoot. Maybe it was stolen by a
girl scout--"

"No, they're scout shoe prints," said Norton, ignoring his friend's
sarcasm, "and they're not an hour old, not a half hour, that's what I
think."

"Well, actions speak louder than footprints," said Nick; "what are we
going to do, that's the question?"

"Whatever you say," said Norton cheerfully.

CHAPTER XVII

ACTION

"Well then I say let's send up a signal," said Nick hurriedly, "the
fellows at camp will see it and everybody else for miles around will see
it. Every telegraph operator along the railroad can read it. Forget
about scouts stealing cars and do what I tell you. Hustle up to the
police station and tell them about it so they can't say we didn't report
it, then meet me at the town hall."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to use the old search-light if it will work. It hasn't been
used since the night of the armistice when they lighted up the flag with
it. Climb in through the broken window on the side and come up into the
cupola. Don't tell Chief Bungelheimer or he'll say it was his idea. My
father's on the town committee, it's all right, hustle now, get the
police department off your hands and maybe we can do something--no
telling. Remember, the side window, the one that's broken. And look out
for the ladder, it's rotten. Hurry up, beat it!"

Fido Norton hurried to the police station in back of Ezra Corbett's
store and aroused Officer Dopeson who was at the desk waiting for
out-of-town speeders to be brought in. In a kind of waking dream the
officer heard an excited voice shout, "Mr. Ned Garrison's car is stolen
from the shed down by the lake."

When Officer Dopeson was fully aware of this noisy intrusion, the
intruder had disappeared. He lost no time, however, in setting the usual
machinery in motion. By a continuous series of movements of the receiver
rack on the telephone he aroused Miss Dolly Bobbitt, the night operator,
from the depths of the novel she was reading, and notified the Police
Department in East Ketchem across the lake to be on watch for the car.
The police department over there said that he would be glad to do that.
The police departments of Conner's Junction and Rocky Hollow were also
notified.

A long distance call to the New York police warned them to be on the
lookout. Blinksboro, on the main road, did not answer. Knapp's
Crossroads had gone to a harvest festival and forgotten to come back.
No answer. Lonehaven couldn't get the name of the car but said it would
watch out for a Plunkabunk. Wakeville said no car could possibly get
through there as there wasn't any road. Miss Dolly Bobbitt returned to
her novel.

And meanwhile the scout raised a mighty hand up into the vast, starry
heaven, like some giant traffic cop....

"Pull that canvas cover off it," said Nick to his comrade who had just
come up the ladder. "The blamed thing's all rotten anyway, I guess.
Strike a match and find where the switch is. Look out you don't slip in
the hole. Look at all the confetti and stuff," he added hurriedly, as
the tiny flame of the match illuminated a small area of the little
cupola. "War's over, huh?"

There upon the floor were strewn the gay many-colored little paper
particles, plastered against the wood by many a rain, mementos of the
night when even West Ketchem arose and poured this festive, fluttering
stuff down necks and into windows. Someone who had thought to throw the
search-light on the flag across the street, had spilled some of
insinuating stuff in the little cupola. How old and stale, and a part of
the forgotten past, the war seemed! And these once gay memorials of its
ending were all washed out and as colorless as the big spiders that
claimed the little cupola as their own. It smelled musty up there. And
whenever a match was lighted the spiders started in their webs. A lonely
bat, settled for the winter, hung like an old stiff dishrag from a beam.

"Did you find the switch?" Nick asked, as he fumbled hastily with the
big brass light. "All right, wait till I point the lens down, now turn
it."

There was no light.

"Did you turn it?"

"Sure."

"Pull it out, maybe it works that way."

There was no light, Norton paused in suspense while Nick shook the brass
case and jarred the wiring to overcome a slight short circuit if there
was any there.

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