Pee Wee Harris on the Trail by Percy Keese Fitzhugh

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"Enough! Enough!" said Scoutmaster Ned, rising, and sticking his fingers
into his ears. "We ask for an armistice. All we ask for is three hours'
time in which to move--"

"I'll fix it," vociferated Pee-wee.

"We surrender to the world's greatest fixer," said Scoutmaster Ned. "The
high authority from Temple Camp--"

"He isn't so high!"

"Size don't count," roared Pee-wee.

"Shall be followed," said Scoutmaster Ned. "To-morrow morning we'll move
to the east side of the island in view of the thriving metropolis of
East Ketchem. Its four lights will cheer us at night. This spilling of
water must be stopped. Pretty soon the island will be under water and
then where will we be?"

"Worse off than in school," called a voice.

"I am for the pine trees," said Scoutmaster Ned. "I am for the high
land and the fishing and the birds' nests and the shelter. In short, I'm
for Scout Harris!"

"I'm for the view of East Ketchem as long as I don't have to go there,"
said Fido Norton.

It was the silly, tail end of the season; they were ready to do almost
anything, except go to school. They were going to have the last minute
of the last day of this delightful little supplementary season, this
autumnal climax of their camping life. But aside from this resolution
they cared not what they did. Pee-wee, instead of getting on their
nerves, had gotten into their spirits. A change of location wouldn't be
half bad. And Pee-wee was right too, in much that he had said; they
realized this. And he admitted it.

"Sure, I'm right," he said; "you leave it to me. I'll fix it. We'll move
over there to-morrow and if you're sorry now you'll be glad of it
because--"

"Oh, it will be a day of rejoicing," said Scoutmaster Ned.

"Anything goes," said Charlie Norris.

"Lead and well follow, Scout Harris," chimed Fido Norton.

"One place is as good as another if not better," shouted another scout.

"All in favor of moving, say Aye."

"Aye!" shouted Pee-wee, in a voice of thunder.

CHAPTER XXXIX

BETRAYED!

The next morning they folded their tents like the Arabs and moved to a
spot which Pee-wee recommended, on the opposite side of the island. Why
he liked it I do not know, for it was a quiet spot. Perhaps he liked it
because it was retiring and modest, and kept in the background, as one
might say. It seemed to breathe peacefulness, which was Pee-wee's middle
name. It afforded a fine view of East Ketchem, the thriving community on
the east shore of Kidder Lake; and the crystal spring, and stalking
facilities, and better shelter of the stately, solemn pines, seemed in
accordance with scout requirements.

"Well, we're here because we're here," said Scoutmaster Ned, sitting
down on two loaded grocery boxes after his last trip. "If the spring
water doesn't come to us, we come to the spring water. Not half bad at
that," he added, looking about. Indeed they had not been familiar with
the eastern shore of the island and now they contemplated the discovery
of Christopher Columbus Pee-wee, not without surprise and satisfaction.

"When I go to a place I always leave it--"

"Lucky for the place," interrupted Nick in his dry, drawling way.

"I always go on expeditions," Pee-wee explained. "I even discovered
islands and things, I discovered a mountain once, up at Temple Camp,
only somebody discovered it before I did. I discovered this place day
before yesterday when I was tracking a mud-turtle. Once I found a
peninsula only it wasn't there the next day."

"Who took it?"

"The tide came up and it was under water. Do you want me to show you how
to make drain ditches around tents?"

They put up the tents and dug drain ditches around them and cleared a
place for the camp-fire and brought wood for it. They chopped supports
for their messboard and drove them into the pine-carpeted earth and laid
the long boards upon them. To do Pee-wee justice, the place was an
ideal camping spot. And what was one day's work of moving, against
almost an entire month of camping in that sequestered glen, among
fragrant pines?

"You've got the right idea, Scout Harris," said Scoutmaster Ned.

"It was a--a inspiration," said Pee-wee.

"Do you have those often?" Nick asked.

"_Oh boy_! I have them all the time."

"But how about a landing place?" a scout asked.

"Who wants to go to East Ketchem, anyway?" said Norris. "We should
bother our heads about a landing place."

"Leave it to me. I'll fix it," Pee-wee said.

In the late afternoon they sprawled about and found the velvet coverlet
of pine needles restful to their weary bodies.

"Well, it's all over but the shouting," said Scoutmaster Ned. "All we
need is sup--"

"I'll do it!" shouted Pee-wee.

"What, the shouting?" asked Nick.

"Here comes a boat," said another scout.

"Maybe somebody's going to discover the island," said Pee-wee.

"There are two men in it," said another; they're rowing straight for
us."

"Maybe this is their camping spot," said Fido Norton; "I knew this place
was too good to be missed all this time."

"If it's their place--"

"Leave them to me, I'll fix it," Pee-wee announced vociferously.

"That relieves us," said Scoutmaster Ned, lying back on the ground,
after sitting up to inspect the approaching boat; "we are safe in the
hands of Scout Harris. Let them come. We should worry our young lives."

The boat made straight for the new camp, and it appeared to contain two
men. The one who was rowing wore a large straw hat and his suspenders
were visible.

"They're scoutmasters!" Pee-wee shouted. This seemed as good a guess as
any.

The two men landed, drew the boat up very methodically and approached
the camp.

"Good afternoon," said Scoutmaster Ned, dragging himself to his feet and
seating himself upon a grocery box. "Beautiful fall weather we're
having. Just a little crisp out on the water, eh? Won't you sit
down--if you can find something to sit on?"

Whether the weather was crisp or not, the man who spoke first was very
crisp indeed.

"You in charge of these lads?" he asked.

"Well, we're all sort of in charge of each other," said Scoutmaster Ned.
"I guess I'm the goat."

"He's all right," Pee-wee said; "you take it from me."

"Well," said the man in a drawling but ominously conclusive tone, "my
name is Rodney, Birchel Rodney; and this is Mr. Wise, Mr. Barnabas Wise.
We came from East Ketchem."

"I don't blame you," said Scoutmaster Ned. "I'm happy to meet you,
gentlemen. This is a sort of table d'hote scout outfit that you see
here; two troops and a couple of sundries. Will you stay and have supper
with us?"

"We ain't fer interferin' in no boys' pleasures," said Mr. Barnabas
Wise, "but it's our dooty to tell you that we're the school committee of
the village of East Ketchem, and s'long as these youngsters hez moved
inside the taown limits of East Ketchem they'll hev to report for
school at nine o'clock to-morrow morning. The taown line between East
Ketchem and West Ketchem runs right through the middle of this island."

A gaping silence followed this horrible pronouncement.

"We--eh--we are just camping here, pending--" began Scoutmaster Ned.

"It ain't no question uv pendin'," said Mr. Birchel Rodney. "The
ordinance of the village of East Ketchem says that every minor--"

"We're not miners, we're scouts!" Pee-wee shouted.

"The ordinance of the village of East Ketchem," Mr. Rodney proceeded,
ignoring the boisterous interruption, "says that every _minor_, which is
spelled with a o, between the ages of eight years and fifteen years,
resident _or_ visiting _or_ otherwise domiciled--"

"You can't say I'm domiciled--" Pee-wee began.

"Or otherwise domiciled," the terrible man continued, "must attend
school in said village except upon cause of illness--"

[Illustration: "WE'RE NOT MINERS, WE'RE SCOUTS!" PEE-WEE SHOUTED.]

"I'm sick a lot," Pee-wee yelled.

"I expect to have a cold very shortly," said Nick in his funny way.

"Determined and certified by a physician _in_ good standing. Them's the
very words of the village law and we come to tell you that all these
youngsters will hev ter _re_port for school at nine A.M. to-morrer
morning, _in_ said village of East Ketchem."

"Foiled!" said Nick, falling back on the ground.

"Horrors and confusion!" said Fido Norton.

"That we should live to hear this!" moaned Charlie Norris.

"Oh, what have we stepped into?" another groaned, holding his forehead
in a way of despair.

"You mean what have we been drawn into!" said another. "Oh, that it
should come to this!"

"What have we done? What have we done?" sighed still another.

As for Scoutmaster Ned, he gave one terrific groan (or perhaps it was a
roar of abandoned mirth) and fell backward off the grocery box.

Only the fixer remained silent. His eyes stared, his mouth gaped. But
not a word said he. It was Napoleon at Waterloo. Scout Harris had no
words. Or else he had so many that they got jumbled up in his throat and
would not come out. And as he stood there, bearing up under that mortal
blow, the conquering legion, consisting of the two members of the East
Ketchem school board, withdrew with an air of great collusiveness and
dignified solemnity to the shore.

Then, and only then, did Scoutmaster Ned sit up and rub his eyes,
holding his splitting sides, the while he gazed after that official
delegation constituting the entire school board. He gave one look at the
fixer (and the fixer's face was worth looking at) and at the gaping
countenances all about him. Then he fell back again and shook as if he
had a fit and rolled over and buried his face in his folded arm and
roared and roared and roared.

"Retreat! Retreat across the line! A disorderly retreat! That is our
only hope! Who will lead a disorderly retreat?"

The desperate cry was not unanswered. "_I will!_" said Fido Norton. "Get
the stuff together! Every scout for himself! Our freedom hangs on a
disorderly retreat! Vaccination--I mean evacuation--is our only hope!
Our freedom is more dear than our lives! Give me vacation or give me
death! We've been foiled by a school principal disguised as a boy scout!
Remember his pal, the manual training teacher? Spies! Traitors! We fell
into their clutches. Follow me, we will foil the schools yet! Every
scout grab his own stuff, or anybody else's, and retreat as disorderly
as possible. Our liberty is at stake! I love the west shore so muchly
now that I wouldn't even knock the West Shore Railroad."

CHAPTER XL

GUESS AGAIN

Alas, such is fame! The thunderous voice of P. Harris was mute, his
blankly staring eyes spoke volumes, libraries in fact, but they did not
make a noise. The voice which had aroused the echoes at Temple Camp,
which had filled the crystal back room at Bennett's Candy Store in
Bridgeboro, was still. And it did not speak again for--nearly twenty
minutes. Even then it did not speak in its former tone of thunder. It
could not have been heard for more than--oh, half a mile.

The first occasion on which the voice of Scout Harris arose to its
former height was on the last day before West Ketchem summoned its
bronzed scouts over to the makeshift school which had been prepared in a
vacant, old-fashioned mansion. They had had plenty of fun in the
meantime and they went with a good will. Far be it from me to publish
any unworthy hopes, but if your school should ever burn down in the
summer, try camping in the autumn. You will find the woods more friendly
then. Even the birds and chipmunks and squirrels seem to say, "Come on,
let us get together and be friends, for it's getting cool."

But to return to Pee-wee's-voice. On the last day of the autumn camping,
the silver stunt cup was to be awarded. It was an open secret that this
was to go to Nick Vernon, and the scouts of both troops were agreeable
enough to this disposition of it.

Many of them had performed conspicuous stunts, but they were all agreed
that Nick's feat in flashing the message by searchlight was the stunt of
the season. Perhaps Nick's personality, and consequent popularity, had
something to do with this. At all events when the two troops were
ordered to congregate under the old half-naked elm, to which they had
returned after their inglorious invasion of the east, it was generally
understood that the ceremony of presentation was to be purely
perfunctory having no surprises for anybody.

Safety First had been asked to do the honors but he had insisted on
Scoutmaster Ned making the address. That address has even been memorable
in West Ketchem history. It was (as Scoutmaster Ned himself said) the
best address ever made on Frying-pan Island, because it was the only
one.

"Bunch," he said "this is the happiest day of the year, for school opens
to-morrow (groans). Hereafter, whenever I see a frying-pan I'll think of
you and wish you were in it, being fried to a turn. (Laughter.) Don't
laugh, it's no laughing matter. I'm on the verge of nervous presumption
or whatever you call it, and I'll be glad to get rid of you--every one
of you!

"I've been asked to hand out this cup and it goes to St. Nicholas Vernon
because he sprawled the nice clean sky all up with scribbling and all
that kind of stuff. Nobody read the message but that makes no
difference, because the proof of the message is in the sending just the
same as the proof of the pudding is in the eating. How about that, Scout
Harris?

"I guess you fellows are all satisfied and I should fret my heart out
whether you are or not. Nick showed resource, and alertness, and a lot
of other stuff that's in the handbook, page something or other. If it
isn't there it's somewhere else. Shut up and give me a chance to speak.
Here you go, Nick, catch this. Your silver cup of joy is full and we
shall all live happily ever afterwards. Anything more, Safety First?"

Nick Vernon never seemed more at ease, and less interested, than when he
ambled toward the stump from which Scoutmaster Ned was descending, and
said in a quiet, drawling voice, "Yes, something more. May I have that
stump a minute?"

He stood there, holding the silver cup in one hand, his other hand
against his hip, in an attitude familiar to them all.

"A little speech of thanks," someone shouted; "make it short."

There was one who stood in that group, unnoticed. His eyes were fixed
upon the winner, and he was actually trembling with delight.

"Good idea, I'll make it short and snappy," said Nick. "Actions speak
louder than words."

"No, they don't," shouted Pee-wee.

"The signal I sent," said Nick, "was read and the one who read it was a
scout. He's the one that stopped the car. The cup was in the car and so
he saved the cup. It's his. He tried to keep his scouting a secret and
he didn't get away with it. He beat Scoutmaster Ned hands down. He left
him guessing. Scoutmaster Ned is easy. But this kid can't put anything
over on _me_; I've got him red-handed; he's a scout and he's got us all
looking like thirty cents. He's a scout and he'll tell the truth, if you
corner him. He won't lie. Here you go, catch this, Pete, hold your
hands steady; if you don't hold them up I'll chuck it plunk in your
face. As sure as I'm standing here I will! _I'm_ making this speech of
presentation, not Scoutmaster Ned. You know so much about the handbook,
remember law one, about telling the truth. Here you go, Peter Piper,
you're the only scout that ever dropped into this Frying-pan. Catch it
or by gosh--"

But he didn't catch it, because his eyes were glistening, and his hands
were trembling, and you can't catch things in such a state.

He stood there like one transfixed, hearing the uproar all about him.
Nervously he stooped and picked up the glittering cup and held it as if
he were afraid of it. Peter Piper, pioneer scout, of Piper's
Crossroads. He would go home famous and rich, a hero, just as his mother
had dreamed that some day he would do....

It was just at that moment that Scout Harris really recovered his voice.
He recovered it in the moment of having an "inspiration." He jumped upon
a barrel, released his teeth from the apple into which he had plunged
them, and dancing like a maniac, sang at the top of his voice:

"Peter Piper picked
A peck of pickled peppers;
A peck of pickled peppers
Peter Piper picked.
If Peter Piper picked
A peck of pickled peppers;
Where's the peck of pickled peppers,
Peter
Piper
picked?"

Then, finding the place in the apple where his mammoth bite had been
interrupted by his inspiration, he completed the bite, eating and
singing at the same time.

It was one of the great scout stunts of the season.

* * * * *

_This Isn't All!_

Would you like to know what became of the good friends you have made in
this book?

Would you like to read other stories continuing their adventures and
experiences, or other books quite as entertaining by the same author?

On the _reverse side_ of the wrapper which comes with this books you
will find a wonderful list of stories which you can buy at the same
store where you got this book.

_Don't throw away the Wrapper_

_Use it as a handy catalog of the books you want some day to have. But
in case you do mislay it, write to the Publishers for a complete
catalog._

* * * * *

THE PEE-WEE HARRIS BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of "Tom Slade," "Roy Blakeley," "Westy Martin," Etc.

_Illustrated. Individual Picture Wrappers in Color. Every Volume
Complete in Itself._

All readers of the Tom Slade and the Roy Blakeley books are acquainted
with Pee-wee Harris. These stories record the true facts concerning his
size (what there is of-it) and his heroism (such as it is), his voice,
his clothes, his appetite, his friends, his enemies, his victims.
Together with the thrilling narrative of how he foiled, baffled,
circumvented and triumphed over everything and everybody (except where
he failed) and how even when he failed he succeeded. The whole recorded
in a series of screams and told with neither muffler nor cut-out.

PEE-WEE HARRIS
PEE-WEE HARRIS ON THE TRAIL
PEE-WEE HARRIS IN CAMP
PEE-WEE HARRIS IN LUCK
PEE-WEE HARRIS ADRIFT
PEE-WEE HARRIS F.O.B. BRIDGEBORO
PEE-WEE HARRIS FIXER
PEE-WEE HARRIS: AS GOOD AS HIS WORD
PEE-WEE HARRIS: MAYOR FOR A DAY
PEE-WEE HARRIS AND THE SUNKEN TREASURE
PEE-WEE HARRIS ON THE BRINY DEEP
PEE-WEE HARRIS IN DARKEST AFRICA

GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK

* * * * *

GARRY GRAYSON FOOTBALL STORIES

By ELMER A. DAWSON

Individual Colored Wrappers and Illustrations by WALTER S. ROGERS

Every Volume Complete in Itself

Football followers all over the country will hail with delight this new
and thoroughly up-to-date line of gridiron tales.

Garry Grayson is a football fan, first, last, and all the time. But more
than that, he is a wideawake American boy with a "gang" of chums almost
as wideawake as himself.

How Garry organized the first football eleven his grammar school had,
how he later played on the High School team, and what he did on the Prep
School gridiron and elsewhere, is told in a manner to please all readers
and especially those interested in watching a rapid forward pass, a
plucky tackle, or a hot run for a touchdown.

Good, clean football at its best--and in addition, rattling stories of
mystery and schoolboy rivalries.

GARRY GRAYSON'S HILL STREET ELEVEN;
or, The Football Boys of Lenox.

GARRY GRAYSON AT LENOX HIGH; or, The
Champions of the Football League.

GARRY GRAYSON'S FOOTBALL RIVALS; or,
The Secret of the Stolen Signals.

GARRY GRAYSON SHOWING HIS SPEED; or,
A Daring Run on the Gridiron.

GARRY GRAYSON AT STANLEY PREP; or, The
Football Rivals of Riverview.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publisher,_ NEW YORK

* * * * *

THE TOM SLADE BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of "Roy Blakeley," "Pee-wee Harris," "Westy Martin," Etc.

_Illustrated. Individual Picture Wrappers in Colors. Every Volume
Complete in Itself._

"Let your boy grow up with Tom Slade," is a suggestion which thousands
of parents have followed during the past, with the result that the TOM
SLADE BOOKS are the most popular boys' books published today. They take
Tom Slade through a series of typical boy adventures through his
tenderfoot days as a scout, through his gallant days as an American
doughboy in France, back to his old patrol and the old camp ground at
Black Lake, and so on.

TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT
TOM SLADE AT TEMPLE CAMP
TOM SLADE ON THE RIVER
TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS
TOM SLADE ON A TRANSPORT
TOM SLADE WITH THE BOYS OVER THERE
TOM SLADE, MOTORCYCLE DISPATCH BEARER
TOM SLADE WITH THE FLYING CORPS
TOM SLADE AT BLACK LAKE
TOM SLADE ON MYSTERY TRAIL
TOM SLADE'S DOUBLE DARE
TOM SLADE ON OVERLOOK MOUNTAIN
TOM SLADE PICKS A WINNER
TOM SLADE AT BEAR MOUNTAIN
TOM SLADE: FOREST RANGER
TOM SLADE IN THE NORTH WOODS

GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK

* * * * *

THE WESTY MARTIN BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of the "Tom Slade" and "Roy Blakeley" Books, Etc.

_Individual Colored Wrappers. Illustrated. Every Volume Complete in
Itself._

Westy Martin, known to every friend of Roy Blakeley, appears as the hero
of adventures quite different from those in which we have seen him
participate as a Scout of Bridgeboro and of Temple Camp. On his foray to
the Yellowstone the bigness of the vast West and the thoughts of the
wild preserve that he is going to visit make him conscious of his own
smallness and of the futility of "boy scouting" and woods lore in this
great region, Yet he was to learn that if it had not been for his scout
training he would never have been able to survive the experiences he had
in these stories.

WESTY MARTIN
WESTY MARTIN IN THE YELLOWSTONE
WESTY MARTIN IN THE ROCKIES
WESTY MARTIN ON THE SANTA FE TRAIL
WESTY MARTIN ON THE OLD INDIAN TRAILS

GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK

* * * * *

THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of "Tom Slade," "Pee-wee Harris," "Westy
Martin," Etc.

Illustrated. Picture Wrappers in Color.
Every Volume Complete in Itself.

In the character and adventures of Roy Blakeley are typified the very
essence of Boy life. He is a real boy, as real as Huck Finn and Tom
Sawyer. He is the moving spirit of the troop of Scouts of which he is a
member, and the average boy has to go only a little way in the first
book before Roy is the best friend he ever had, and he is willing to
part with his best treasure to get the next book in the series.

ROY BLAKELEY
ROY BLAKELEY'S ADVENTURES IN CAMP
ROY BLAKELEY, PATHFINDER
ROY BLAKELEY'S CAMP ON WHEELS
ROY BLAKELEY'S SILVER FOX PATROL
ROY BLAKELEY'S MOTOR CARAVAN
ROY BLAKELEY LOST, STRAYED OR STOLEN
ROY BLAKELEY'S BEE-LINE HIKE
ROY BLAKELEY AT THE HAUNTED CAMP
ROY BLAKELEY'S FUNNY BONE HIKE
ROY BLAKELEY'S TANGLED TRAIL
ROY BLAKELEY ON THE MOHAWK TRAIL
ROY BLAKELEY'S ELASTIC HIKE
ROY BLAKELEY'S ROUNDABOUT HIKE
ROY BLAKELEY'S HAPPY-GO-LUCKY HIKE
ROY BLAKELEY'S GO-AS-YOU PLEASE HIKE

GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers,_ NEW YORK

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