Pee Wee Harris on the Trail by Percy Keese Fitzhugh

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"I'll show you how to close it," said Pee-wee.

The one obstacle which might have stood in the way of these delectable
plans--school--was removed by the fact that Scout Harris was to enter a
private school (pity the poor private school) which did not open until
after Columbus Day. We shall see him wished onto this institution in a
subsequent volume.

The outlandish sweater and rakish cap in which Pee-wee had masqueraded
through that eventful night were now discarded by order of his mother,
and on the journey to Kidder Lake he appeared a vision of sartorial
splendor in his full scout regalia including all appurtenances and
sundries.

As a tribute, perhaps, to the island of which he was to be the imperial
head, he flaunted his aluminum frying-pan, its handle stuck in his belt,
ready to fry an egg at a second's notice in case of emergency. That he
might never be at a loss to know where he was at, his scout compass
dangled by a cord tied in a double sheep-shank knot to harmonize with
the knot of his scarf which could only be removed by lifting it over his
head. Thus, though he might be lost to his comrades, he could never be
lost to his scarf.

Twisted into the cord of his scout hat was an arrow pointing forward,
which gave him an exceedingly martial appearance and was useful, too, in
pointing out the way he should go and safeguarding him from the danger
of going backward. But if, by an accident, he _should_ go backward or
sideways, he had the empty funnel of an old auto horn with which to
magnify his voice and make the forest ring with his sonorous cries for
help. And if the help did not come, he had still one cylinder of an old
opera glass, with the lens of which he could ignite a dried leaf by day
or observe the guiding stars by night. And if there were no dried leaves
he had his crumpled piece of tissue paper. And if the stars did not
shine, he had a rag for extracting confidential information from the
wind. And if there was no wind, he should worry, he had gum-drops
mobilized in every pocket. Every safety device known to scout science
(and many of quite original conception) were upon the martial form of
Scout Harris, so that he could not possibly go wrong or starve.

So it was without any fear that he set forth for the untrodden wilds of
Frying-pan Island notwithstanding that it was a quarter of a mile wide
and nearly a third of a mile long.

CHAPTER XXXIV

PEE-WEE HOLDS FORTH

It was a delightful ride to Kidder Lake in the daytime. There is no time
like the autumn--except the spring. And the spring is only good because
it is the beginning of the summer. Just the same as the winter is best
because the spring comes after it. As Roy Blakeley would have said, "You
can do that by algebra." But there is nothing, either before or after,
to make algebra good.

As Jim Burton's big Packard car sped along, the country looked bleak and
the fields wan with their yellow corn-stalks. Even the little shacks
where fresh fruit and vegetables had been displayed to motorists were
now boarded up. Their cheerless, deserted look contributed quite as much
as the changing foliage to the scene of coldness, desolation. The sad
look which Nature assumes when school opens. The wind blew and the
leaves fell and the West Ketchem scouts fell too, for Scout Harris, who
was also blowing.

"That's what you call a proincidence, how I don't have to go to school
yet, the same as you don't on account of yours burning down. Gee whiz, I
like camp-fires, but I like school fires better."

"And you'll show us how to make a camp-fire?"

"Sure I will; 111 show you how they do at Temple Camp. Is there anybody
living on that island?"

"No one but us, and we'll have to be going home soon," said Charlie
Norris.

"I like desert islands best," Pee-wee said; "they remind you of dessert.
Sometimes I spell it that way. Don't you care, we have a month yet. Did
you ever eat floating island? It has gobs of icing floating around in
it. We have that Sunday nights at Temple Camp. When I said dessert it
made me think of it. Sometimes islands disappear."

"I bet the ones in that dessert do all right," laughed Nick Vernon.

"You said it!" Pee-wee vociferated with great emphasis. "I'll show you
how to make tracking cakes, too, only you can't eat them."

"No?"

"No-o-o, they're for chipmunks and birds to step on so you can save
their footprints. Gee whiz, did you think you could eat them?"

"We didn't know," said Fido Norris.

"Gee, there are lots of things _I_ don't know too," said Pee-wee
generously. "But anyway I fixed it so a scout could stay at Temple Camp
an extra week."

"Bully for you. A good turn?"

"You said it. I gave him a whole pail of berries I picked and he got
sick and couldn't go home."

"Some fixer."

"I've fixed lots of things."

"Maybe you can give us all berries the day before our temporary school
opens," said Fido Norton.

"Don't you worry," said Pee-wee reassuringly; "maybe the men who are
getting it ready will go on a strike; maybe there'll be measles or
whooping cough or something. I've had those."

"You're not missing much, hey?"

"You said it. I've been lost in the woods too. Roy Blakeley says I get
lost at C when I sing. He's crazy, that feller is. He started the Silver
Foxes. There's a feller in that patrol can move his ears without
touching them. I should worry as long as I can move my mouth. I'll show
you how to flop a fried egg in the pan only you have to look it doesn't
come down on your head. You can scramble eggs but you can't unscramble
them. Once one came down on my head. I took a bee-line hike, too."

"With a fried egg on your head?"

"No-o-o. I'll show you how to make a thing to get olives out of the
bottom of a bottle too; it's better than a hatpin, but a hatpin is good
to catch pollywogs with. There's a Pollywog Patrol that comes to Temple
Camp. Gee, I never knew that silver cup was in the car with me all the
time."

"Well, we expect you to walk away with that," said Scoutmaster Ned. "You
rode away with it once. So now we expect you to walk away with it."

"It's won already," said Charlie Norris. "Nick's the one."

"Gee whiz, I wish I had seen that signal," said Pee-wee, "but anyway I
have to admit it was a stunt sending it. Gee, I guess you'll get the cup
all right."

It was characteristic of Pee-wee that his thoughts did not recur to his
lonely adversary at Piper's Crossroads. His thoughts were always of the
moment and aroused by the present company. He was just as ready to shout
for others as he was to shout for himself, and that is saying a great
deal. It was immaterial to him who he shouted for so long as he could
shout.

Nick Vernon was the nearest and likeliest, so he was all for Nick's
stunt. And he was not in the least curious about the things said by that
lonely boy with wide eyes who had stopped the car. He was thinking of
other things now.

CHAPTER XXXV

SCOUTMASTER NED DOESN'T SEE

But Scoutmaster Ned was curious and when they reached the little cottage
he jumped out and, taking the can of gasoline he had brought, he bade
the others go on their way, saying that he would follow when he got his
car started.

"Well sir, you haven't been sitting here all this time, I hope?" he said
to Peter. "Nice brisk morning, hey? The kind of weather to give you an
appetite."

"Wouldn't they wait for you?" Peter asked.

"I'm glad to get rid of them," said Scoutmaster Ned in a way of friendly
confidence; "they make a noise like an earthquake; that little fellow's
the worst of the lot; he ought to have a muffler."

"Is he a real scout?" Peter ventured.

"Oh, he's two or three scouts. What d'you think of them? Crazy bunch,
hey?"

"They're all real scouts--are they?" Peter asked hesitatingly.

"They think they are. Now look here," he added, sitting down on the
running board in a companionable way beside Peter, "I want you to tell
me what made you say that road was closed. There was a light in the sky;
you saw that? Big, tall light?"

"That--that fellow--named Nick--he made it."

"Yes, and what made you close the road? Somebody tell you the light
meant something?"

"There isn't anybody around here," said Peter, growing more at ease as
everyone did with Scoutmaster Ned, "except Aunt Sarah Wickett and she's
crazy. There's nobody in this house but my mother."

"How about Mr. Fee? No? Well then, who told you to close the road? Come
now, you and I are pals and you have to tell me."

A scoutmaster, a real, live scoutmaster, a pal of _his?_ Why that was
more wonderful than reading a signal. Peter's hands rubbed together
nervously and he hedged, as a scout should never do.

"I want that scout to get that cup, the one that sent the message.
Could--maybe could I see that cup--if it's in this car?"

In the excitement of the night, Scoutmaster Ned had forgotten all about
the stunt cup (as they had come to call it). He now brought it forth
from under the rear seat and unwound the flannel rag that was around it
and polished it a little as he held it up. It shone in the bright
morning sunlight and Peter saw his face in it. That was strange, that
Peter Piper of Piper's Crossroads should see his own face looking at him
from the radiant surface of a scout prize cup. He had never even seen
such a good mirror before. He just gazed at it, and continued to gaze,
as Scoutmaster Ned held it up. _Awarded for the_--it shone so, he
could hardly make out the words--_for the best all scout stunt of the
season._

"It cost a lot of money, didn't it?"

"Oh, something less than a couple of thousand dollars. Look nice,
standing on a scout's table, huh?" Scoutmaster Ned gave it another
little rub and contemplated it admiringly. "We had enough of a fuss
getting it, that's sure. See that Maltese Cross on it? That's our
bi-troop sign. We have two troops; always hang together. A troop's one
bunch in scouting. That kid thought the Maltese Cross meant that the cup
was to drink malted milk out of. He's a three-ring circus, that kid."

"It was a stunt to send that--to make that light, wasn't it?" Peter
asked.

"Well, I'll say it was," said Scoutmaster Ned, giving the cup another
admiring rub.

That settled it for Peter. He could not match his poor little exploit
against such miraculous performances. The sight of those uniforms in the
broad daylight had cowed him. The sight of Nick Vernon's signalling
badge had brought him to his sober senses, and he felt ashamed even of
his dreams and his pretending. The brief glimpse he had had of Scout
Harris in all his flaunting array, going forth to new conquests
surrounded by infatuated disciples, these things settled it for poor
Peter. He thought himself lucky not to have drawn attention and been
made a fool by those heroes. Maybe they would not all have been as
considerate as Scoutmaster Ned. The safest thing, as well as the thing
nearest to his heart, was to stand for Nick Vernon. He could stand for
him even if he was afraid of him. After all, a pioneer scout was not
really and truly a scout....

"I don't know why I put the rope up," he said nervously; "I just did.
There is a--a bad place in the road if you're going fast--I'll--I just
as soon show it to you--if you don't believe me. I thought maybe the
light--but anyway I wasn't sure--and I'll show you that bad place. I
guess he'll _sure_ win the cup, won't he; the scout that made the
light?"

"Shouldn't wonder," said Scoutmaster Ned, a little puzzled, but
apparently satisfied. "Didn't you say something about a signal? To that
little codger? Or was he dreaming? Or am I dreaming?" He scrutinized
Peter very curiously but seeing no sign of the scout about him, he
dismissed the receiving end of this business with Peter's rather awkward
explanation, and let it go at that.

As for what Pee-wee had said, that did not worry Scoutmaster Ned.
Pee-wee's dream and experiences seemed to be all mixed up together like
the things in a hunter's stew. Scoutmaster Ned went by the _signs_,
which scouts do, and the signs were a funny ticking shirt and a pair of
pantaloons like stove pipes. No hint of scouting there.

For you see the scout was _inside_ of Peter Piper of Piper's Crossroads.
That was why he was for Nick Vernon. It was _inside_ him, and
"disguised" (as Pee-wee would have said) as a checker-board shirt. And
that was why Scoutmaster Ned couldn't see it....

CHAPTER XXXVI

MORE HANDLING

And so Peter Piper, of Piper's Crossroads, proved too much for
Scoutmaster Ned. He kept his secret. But he had a very narrow escape
from being a hero.

Scoutmaster Ned had his way, too. "So you think you'd like to have a
pike at that camp, eh?" he said.

Scoutmaster Ned's theory about camping was to keep open house. If he
lacked discipline (which it is to be feared he did) he made up in pep,
and the surprises that he was forever springing on the camp were a
perpetual joy. I suspect that he was not well versed in his
scoutmasters' handbook. He was a sort of human north wind. He adopted
the pose of being driven to distraction by "those kids" and he denounced
them roundly and said there were too many of them and that he was going
to pick out one and drown the rest. Then he would show up with a new
one. He was a sort of free-lance scoutmaster and I wonder how he ever
drifted into the movement. Probably he didn't drift in, but blew in.
Scoutmaster Safety First (Bill) was his balance-wheel.

"Where is she? I'll talk to her," he said to Peter.

So he talked with Mrs. Piper while Peter stood by. He sat down in the
kitchen and drank a glass of milk and ate a piece of pie and told her
that it was the first real piece of pie he had ever eaten in his life.
Would he have another? Well, he'd say he would! Mrs. Piper thought he
was about the finest "young gent" she had ever seen.

He told her all about his adventures of the night as if she were a pal
and when she said she had slept through all the rumpus outside, he said,
"Well, you've got West Ketchem, where I come from, beaten twenty ways.
Could I have just one little sliver--no, not as much as that--well, all
right. That town, why you couldn't wake it up, Mrs. Piper, not with an
earthquake. It would just fall down through the crack in the earth and
go right on sleeping--no I couldn't eat another speck. We must be off."

"We?"

"Oh yes, Pete's going with me. He's going to make us a little visit for
a week or two. We have lessons and everything, study nature, and all
that, and all he wants to eat. I'll bring him back, he wants to see the
real scouts in captivity. No accounting for tastes, hey, Mrs. Piper?
You'd better bring along a coat, Pete; but don't change your clothes,
you're not going to church; come just as you are, so I'll be able to
tell you from the rest in case I should decide to kill them all. That
let's you out, see? Come ahead before your mother changes her mind."

Poor Mrs. Piper had not yet made up her mind, so she could not very well
change it. Scoutmaster Ned had made up her mind for her.

"I'll have to get Sally Flint ter come over and visit with me," said
Mrs. Piper doubtfully.

"Just the one," said Scoutmaster Ned. "She'll keep you company and
you'll have a little peace with this youngster gone. Mrs. Piper, if I
had my way I'd chloroform every boy in creation. I wonder you look so
young with a wild Indian like that around."

"Oh, I ain't lookin' so young," she smiled, greatly pleased.

Before she realized it she was shaking hands with Scoutmaster Ned while
her other arm was around Peter. "I'm going to come here and stay a
month," the young man said. "I'm going to churn butter and eat pie--if I
can escape from that outfit. Well good-bye, we're off. I hope the old
bus runs."

"It looks reel smart with all the blue paint," said Mrs. Piper.

"Handsome is as handsome does," said Scoutmaster Ned. "Climb in, Pete,
what are you scared of? It won't eat you. Anybody'd think you were
stalking--stepping so carefully. Know what stalking is? They'll show
you."

Mrs. Piper stood holding her gingham apron to her eyes as they rode off.
It was of exactly the same pattern as Peter's shirt. He looked funny
sitting rather fearfully on the front seat. She had never dreamed of
seeing him enthroned amid such sumptuousness. Perhaps some day he would
go away and come back _rich_--a hero. Her Peter. And this stranger
liked him. She was weeping because she had never heard her boy called
Pete since his father died. She liked to hear him called Pete, it was so
friendly, and recalled the past so vividly....

As if Scoutmaster Ned would have called him anything else than Pete!

CHAPTER XXXVII

HINTS

They showed him. As Scoutmaster Ned had told him they would do, they
showed him. And Peter Piper was in dreamland; it was all too good to be
true. They showed him how to track and stalk. And how to signal.

Nick showed him how to make a smudge fire, and Peter was doubly sure,
then, that Nick would win the cup. In the nights he dreamed of the
winning of that cup, of Nick winning it. Yes, they showed him. Fido
Norton showed him how to track a rabbit, and a small-sized, pocket
edition of a scout in the Elephant Patrol showed him (very difficult)
how to trail a hop-toad. Charlie Norris showed him how to use a deadly
kodak, which Peter had never seen before. He liked it because it pulled
open the way a turtle's neck comes out, and then went in again. Oh yes,
they all showed him.

And meanwhile Peter Piper kept his secret and no one ever knew of his
little exploit, for which the handbook really deserved all the credit.
The adventure of the stolen car was now forgotten in a hundred new
activities, and with it the rope across the road and the lantern and all
that. Sometimes when they spoke of that, Peter was troubled. But they
did not often speak of it. And he did not even tell them that he was a
pioneer scout. Harding and Coolidge he now kept in the pocket of his
stove-pipe pantaloons. For Peter Piper was approaching scouthood through
the tenderfoot class. Yes, they were all busy showing him.

Scout Harris showed him. Oh yes, he showed him. But Scout Harris was too
busy showing all the rest of them to do any exclusive showing for the
pioneer scout. And besides, Peter, who was too new and too bashful and
too awed by his companions and surroundings to be a good general mixer,
was mostly occupied with his hero, Nick Vernon. Pee-wee, who was a mixer
as well as a fixer, went on mixing and fixing and soon he performed his
greatest of all "fixing" feats; probably the greatest fixing feat in
scout history. Perhaps the greatest fixing stunt in the history of the
world.

But Peter was satisfied to laugh at Pee-wee with the rest of them, with
that bashful, hesitating laugh, which endeared him to them all.

It was natural that he should follow Nick Vernon about the island, for
everyone liked Nick, who was quiet, humorous, modest and withal very
resourceful and skilful. He had a kind of a contained air, as if he knew
more than he gave out, in contrast to Scout Harris who gave out more
than he knew. A bantering, off-hand way he had, as if all the things he
did (and he could do many) were done just to kill time. Skilful though
he was, he did not take himself too seriously. Everything he did he
seemed to do incidentally.

He would wander aimlessly into some triumph. "Going tracking?" they
would say. "Guess so," he would answer. He never made a fuss. The
general impression that he gave was that scouting was a good enough way
to while away a summer. Peter Piper worshipped at the shrine, winning
scout personality. He hoped that his mother would allow him to stay for
the finish so that he could see Nick receive the cup. He watched,
jealously, anxiously, the stunts of the other scouts, but none of them
could be mentioned along with Nick's signalling.

One morning Nick sauntered down to the shore, Peter with him.

"Going to wigwag?" they asked him.

"Maybe, if there's anyone to wigwag to. No use talking if there isn't
anyone in town to listen."

"Scout Harris talks whether there's anyone to listen or not," one said.

"Shall I bring the card to wigwag with?" Peter asked.

"No, don't bother. Got some matches? Never mind if you haven't."

Peter ran back and got some.

"If you're signalling tell them not to hurry with the school, we can
wait. Scout Harris is giving us an education. He's going to move the
lake to-morrow."

"He's a queer duck," one of the party sprawling around the tents said as
the two made their way down toward the shore.

"Who, Pete?"

"No, Nick; jiminy, it always seems as if--I don't know--as if he has
something up his sleeve."

"It's his arm," commented a joker.

"Maybe he knows about a mystery," Pee-wee said; "maybe there's treasure
buried on this island."

"There'll be some scouts buried on this island if we all die laughing at
you," another scout observed. "Come on, let's dig some bait."

Nick did not decide what he was going to do till he reached the shore.
That was just like him. Peter was all excitement.

"Are you going to signal?" he asked.

Nick often signalled over to town and sometimes he got an answer, for
there were other scouts over there. He did it just for pastime. Usually
it was the wigwag that he used. But on this morning, noticing the dried
leaves all about, he said, "We'll try a smudge, that's pretty good
sport; Morse Code, you know." He looked about half-interestedly and
began kicking leaves into a pile, Peter doing the same. If Nick had any
particular purpose in this business, at least you would not have
supposed so. He seemed as aimless as a butterfly. "Are you going to ask
about school?"

"No," laughed Nick, dragging some leaves with his foot; "there's no
school for a month, we know that. If you know a thing you know it; isn't
that so?"

"I don't know many things."

"No? Well, get some water in your hat--here, take mine. These blamed
scout hats are made to hold water."

Peter brought some water, which Nick poured on the leaves.

"Now haul that old raft up here and we'll hold it up. We'll just say
'_hello_' to be sociable, show the town we're not stuck-up."

They held the old raft, of about the area of a door, slanting ways over
the leaves, and Nick showed Peter how to manipulate it so as to control
the column of black smoke arising from the damp leaves. Peter was
greatly interested, even excited, over this new kind of signalling. He
was not quite as careful as he had been in talking with Scoutmaster Ned.

"Make one long one first to call their attention," he said, quite
aroused by the novel enterprise.

"Yes?" said Nick, half interested apparently. "Who told you that?"

"I--I just knew it. I know now--let _me_ do it--it's easy. Only they
have to be careful over there. That's--that's the hard part. I hope
they have a--one of those books over there--and then--maybe--I hope they
keep it open at page two hundred and eighty-four. Let _me_ try it--"

"Ned give you one of those books?"

"N--no, I--I saw one."

"Hmm."

"Well, let's get busy with the message, Pete."

Nick Vernon did not seem greatly interested in where or when or how
Peter had seen the handbook, nor how he happened to remember page two
hundred and eighty-four. But one thing Nick Vernon knew (it was a
reflection on Scoutmaster Ned and just exactly like him) and that was
that _there was not a single copy of the scout handbook on Frying-pan
Island_.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE FIXER

"All right, you can do as you choose," said Pee-wee; "only I'm just
telling you. There's always better fishing on the east side of an island
because that's what Uncle Jeb up at Temple Camp said and he knows--he
knows--"

"He knows all the fish personally," said Charlie Norris.

"You think you're smart, don't you?" thundered Pee-wee. "There's a
better spring over there than there is here and then besides, the rain
will drain out better on account of the ground being higher, because I
know all about camping, you can ask my scoutmaster. It won't be so cold
over there at night, either; you see. You move the tents over there, gee
whiz, Arabs move their tents every day, and look at gypsies, they keep
moving all the time."

"It will be a scout movement," said Scoutmaster Safety First, rather
impressed with Pee-wee's arguments.

"I'm game for anything," said Scoutmaster Ned. "Variety is the spice of
life. The housing situation--"

"I know all about the housing situation," said Pee-wee; "my father owns
a house and the water's calmer on the east side of an island, because I
can prove it by the Pacific Ocean."

"The Pacific Ocean is west of here," said Scoutmaster Ned. "At least it
was when I went to school. I dare say it's there yet. Put another log on
the fire, Nick. How about it, Pete? Where's the Pacific Ocean? I'll
leave it to Pete."

"It's in the school geography," Pee-wee shouted from the other side of
the camp-fire, "and it's on the east of China. You have to know where
you're at before you can tell where it is and there's better fishing in
China than there is here, because in Japan they catch sardines! Temple
Camp is on the east side of Black Lake, and anyway there's a dandy place
over there for tents and there are a lot of birds' nests and there's a
better spring and you don't have to carry water so far and you always
spill a lot of it and there are a couple of pine trees and the leaves
don't fall off them, because there aren't any leaves and leaves keep the
rain and wind off but not if there aren't any and these trees are
getting bare--"

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