Campfire Girls in the Allegheny Mountains by Stella M. Francis

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[Illustration: CAMP-FIRE GIRLS _In the_ ALLEGHANY MOUNTAINS

_or_

A CHRISTMAS SUCCESS AGAINST ODDS]

[Illustration: Campfire Girls in the Mountains]

Campfire Girls in the

Allegheny Mountains;

OR,

A Christmas Success Against Odds

By

STELLA M. FRANCIS

M.A. DONOHUE & CO.

CHICAGO NEW YORK

CAMPFIRE GIRLS' SERIES

=CAMPFIRE GIRLS IN THE ALLEGHENY MOUNTAINS;
or, A Christmas Success Against Odds.=

=CAMPFIRE GIRLS IN THE COUNTRY; or, The Secret
Aunt Hannah Forgot.=

=CAMPFIRE GIRLS' TRIP UP THE RIVER; or, Ethel
Hollister's First Lesson.=

=CAMPFIRE GIRLS' OUTING; or, Ethel Hollister's Second
Summer in Camp.=

=CAMPFIRE GIRLS' ON A HIKE; or, Lost in the Great
North Woods.=

=CAMPFIRE GIRLS AT TWIN LAKES; or, The Quest of
a Summer Vacation.=

1918

M.A. DONOHUE & COMPANY

MADE in U.S.A.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER

I The Grand Council Fire

II The Boy Scouts' Invasion

III The Skull and Cross-Bones

IV Studying the Mystery

V Girls Courageous

VI The Punster Makes a Find

VII To the Rescue

VIII The Eavesdropper

IX Mr. Stanlock Surprised

X Mr. Stanlock Amused

XI A Man of Big Heart and Queer Notions

XII A Mysterious Disappearance

XIII "Find Her, or I'll Find Her Myself"

XIV Trapped

XV A Pile of Scrap Lumber

XVI Helen and the Strike Leader's Wife

XVII Helen Declares Herself

XVIII Helen in the Mountains

XIX The Subterranean Avenue

XX Twelve Girls in the Mountains

XXI Thirteen Girls in the Mountains

XXII A Sleighride Home

"Camp Fire Girls in the Allegheny Mountains"

OR

"A Christmas Success Against Odds"

By STELLA M. FRANCIS.

* * * * *

CHAPTER I.

THE GRAND COUNCIL FIRE.

"Wo-he-lo for aye,
Wo-he-lo for aye,
Wo-he-lo, Wo-he-lo, Wo-he-lo for aye!
Wo-he-lo for work,
Wo-he-lo for health,
Wo-he-lo, Wo-he-lo, Wo-he-lo for love."

Two hundred and thirty-nine girl voices chanted the Wo-he-lo Cheer
with weird impressiveness. The scene alone would have been impressive
enough, but Camp Fire Girls are not satisfied with that kind of
"enough." Once their imagination is stimulated with the almost
limitless possibilities of the craft, they are not easily pleased with
anything but a finished product.

The occasion was the last Grand Council Fire of Hiawatha Institute for
Camp Fire Girls located in the Allegheny city of Westmoreland. The
classroom work had been rushed a day ahead, examinations were made
almost perfunctory, and for them also the clock had been turned
twenty-four hours forward. The curriculum was finished, and the day
just closed had been devoted to preparation for a Grand Council
wind-up for the fifteen Fires of the Institute, which would "break
ranks" on the following day and scatter in all directions for home and
the Christmas holidays.

And there was literal truth in this "break ranks" method of dismissing
school at the Institute. Since the United States entered the European
war on the side of the anti-frightfulness allies, Hiawatha had become
something of a military school. The girls actually drilled with guns,
and they would shoot those guns with all the grim fatality of so many
boys. Not that they expected to go to war and descend into the
trenches and fire hail-storms of steel-coated death-messengers at the
enemy. Oh, no. They might, but they were sensible enough not to let
their imagination carry them so far. But preparedness was in the air,
and the girls voted to a--a--girl (I almost said man, for they were as
brave as men in many respects) to take up military drill and tactics
two hours a week as a part of their curriculum.

Madame Cleaver, head of the Institute, did not start the military
movement rashly. She was carefully diplomatic in the conduct of her
school, for she must satisfy the critical tastes and ideas of a
high-class parentage clientele. But she also kept her fingers on the
pulse of affairs and knew pretty well how to strike a popular vein.
Hence the membership of her classes was always on the increase.
Indeed, at the beginning of this school year, she had to turn away
something like forty applicants, for want of room and accommodations.

Hiawatha Institute was founded as a Camp Fire Girls' school, and when
Uncle Sam became involved in the European war, the national need for
nurses appealed strongly to Camp Fire Girls everywhere. What could
they do? The very nature of the training of the girls from Wood
Gatherer to Torch Bearer made the question, so far as they were
concerned, a self-answering one. They had all the broad commonsense
rudiments of nursing. With some advanced science on top of this, they
would be experts.

But military authorities said that the nurses ought to have some
military drill. War nurses must be organized, and there was no better
method of effecting this orderly requisite than by military training.

One well-known captain of infantry informed Madame Cleaver that war
nurses could not reach the highest grade of efficiency unless they
were able to march in columns from one camp to another and be
distributed in squads at the points needed.

With all this information at her tongue's end, the madame put the
matter to her uniformed girls in the assembly hall. Rumor of what was
coming had reached them in advance, so that it did not fall as a
surprise. The vote was unanimous in favor of the plan. The needed
nursing expert was already a member of the faculty. The classes were
formed a few days later.

These were the girls that gathered around a big out-door campfire--it
was really a bonfire--in the snow of mid-winter on the evening of the
opening of this story. Most of them were rich men's daughters, but
there were no snobs among them. They were girls of vigor and vim,
intelligence and imagination, practical and industrious. They were
lively and fond of a good time, but--most of them, at least,--would
not slight a duty for pleasure. Behind every enjoyment was a pathway
of tasks well done.

Madame Cleaver was Chief Guardian of the fifteen Camp Fires of the
Institute. The faculty was not large enough to supply all the adult
guardians required, but that fact did not prove by any means an
insurmountable difficulty. More than enough young women in
Westmoreland, well qualified to fill positions of this kind,
volunteered to donate their services in order to make the Camp Fire
organization of the school complete. Indeed, these volunteer Guardians
added materially to their influence and rank in the community by
becoming connected with the Institute. There was, in fact, a waiting
list of volunteers constantly among the social leaders of the place.

The Chief Guardian was mistress of ceremonies at the Grand Council
Fire. Two hundred and thirty-nine girls in uniform, brown coats,
campfire hats, and brown duck hiking boots, stood around the fire
answering "Kolah" in unison by groups as the roll of the Fires was
called. As each Fire was called and the answer returned, the Guardian
stepped forward and gave a little recitation of current achievements.
This program was varied here and there with music by a girls' chorus
and a girls' orchestra. Everything went along with the smoothness,
although with some of the deep dips and lofty lifts, of Grand Opera,
until the name of the last Camp Fire, Flamingo, was called. Miss
Harriet Ladd, the Guardian, stepped forward and said:

"Madame Chief Guardian, associate guardians, and Camp Fire Girls of
Hiawatha Institute, I bring to you a message of things planned by
Flamingo Camp Fire Girls, thirteen in number. As you know, there is in
an adjoining state a strike of coal miners that has caused much
suffering among the poor families of the strikers. High Peak lives in
a mountain mining district. Her father is a mine owner and has given
his consent to the extending of an invitation to Flamingo Camp Fire to
work among these poor families and give them relief during the
Christmas holidays. The arrangements have been completed, and the
girls will start for Hollyhill tomorrow."

"Hooray, hooray, hooray! Hooray for High Peak! Hooray for Marion
Stanlock! Hooray for Flamingo Camp Fire."

The cheers, shrill on the sharp winter air, now in unison, now in
confusion, came not from the assembled Camp Fire Girls, although from
nearly as many voices. Out from the timber thicket to the west of the
campus rushed a small army of khaki-clad figures. There were a few
screams among the girls, but not many. To be sure, everybody was
thrilled, but nobody fainted. There were a few moments of suspense,
followed by bursts of laughter and applause from the girls.

"It's the Spring Lake Boy Scouts," cried Marion Stanlock, who was
first to announce an explanation of the surprise. "Clifford, Clifford
Long, are you responsible for this?"

The Boy Scout patrol leader thus addressed did not reply, though he
recognized the challenge with a wave of his hand.

He was busy bringing his patrol in matching line with the other
patrols. As if realizing their purpose, the circle around the camp
fire was broken at a point nearest the newly arrived invaders, and an
avenue of approach was formed by the lining up of some of the girls in
two rows extended out towards the Boy Scouts. In double file a hundred
and fifty boys marched in and around the campfire; then faced toward
the outer ring of Camp Fire Girls and bowed acknowledgment of the
courteous reception.

* * * * *

CHAPTER II.

THE BOY SCOUTS' INVASION.

That was a grand surprise that the Boy Scouts of Spring Lake academy
"put over" on the Camp Fire Girls of Hiawatha Institute. They had been
planning it for several weeks, or since they first received
information of the Grand Council Fire as a closing event of the first
semester of the girls' school. The two institutions were located in
municipalities only fifteen miles apart, connected by both steam
railroad and electric interurban lines.

Spring Lake academy, located on a lake of the same name at the
southern outskirt of Kingston, was originally a boys' military school,
and it still retained that primal distinction. But the success of
Hiawatha Institute as a Camp Fire Girls' school set the imaginative
minds of some of the leaders of the boys at Spring Lake to work along
similar lines, with the result that the faculty's cooperation was
petitioned for the organization of the student body into a troop of
Boy Scout patrols. The scheme was successful, and as it served to
inject new life into the academy, the business end of the institution
had no ground for complaint.

This innovation at Spring Lake was due largely to the activities of
Clifford Long, one of the students. He was a cousin of Marion
Stanlock, and naturally this relationship served to direct his
personal interest toward Hiawatha Institute. Not a few other students
in these two schools were similarly related, some of them being
brothers and sisters.

And so it is not to be wondered at if these two places of learning
became, as it were, twin schools, with much of interest in common and
many of their activities interassociated. They had rival debating
teams between which were held more or less periodic contests, and in
the numerous social events there were frequently exchanges of
invitational courtesies.

The boys plotted their big surprise on the girls in true scout
fashion. There was no real secret in the fact that the Camp Fire Girls
of Hiawatha Institute were planning a big event, but girl-like they
affected secrecy to stimulate interest. The result was more than could
have been expected, although the girls did not realize this until
after it was all over. The curiosity of the Spring Lake boys was
thoroughly alive as soon as they learned of a mysterious "something
big" going on at the institute. True to the character of real scouts
they delegated emissaries, commonly denominated spies, to visit the
stronghold of the Camp Fire Girls, get all the details of their plans
discoverable and report back to headquarters. Greater success than
that which rewarded their efforts could hardly have been wished for.
Half a dozen boys went and returned and then put their heads and their
reports together with the result that the Scouts of the school had
all the information they needed.

They mapped out their plans and scheduled their prospective movements
by the calendar and the clock. They chartered an interurban train for
the run to and from the Institute. The arrival on the scene of the
Grand Council Fire was, as we have seen, a complete surprise to the
girls. The Scouts well knew that their presence would not be regarded
as an intrusion, for a Grand Council Fire, according to the handbook,
"is for friends and the public."

The interruption of the program by the marching of the Boy Scouts
within the circle of the Camp Fire Girls was permitted to continue for
ten or fifteen minutes, while a number of short speeches were made by
some of the boy leaders, in which they gloried over the way they had
"put one over on the girls."

"And we're not through yet," announced Harry Gilbert prophetically.
"Some of us are going to put over another surprise just about as
thrilling as this, and we want to challenge you to find out what it
is."

Of course this statement produced the very result the boys desired.
Naturally they wished the girls to think they were pretty bright
fellows. They got just what they were looking for as a result of their
"surprise," namely, volumes of praise. To be sure, this did not come
in the form of undisguised admiration. That isn't the way a clever
girl signifies her approval of this sort of thing. It just burst into
evidence through such mock jeers as, "You boys think you are so
smart," or "It's a wonder you wouldn't have gone to enough pains to
build a railroad or sink a submarine."

To which, on one occasion in the course of the evening, Earl Hamilton
replied:

"Thank you, ladies; we always do things thorough."

"-_ly_!" screamed Katherine Crane. Yes, it was really a scream, an
explosion, too, if the indelicacy may be excused. But the opportunity
for a come-back struck her so keenly, so swiftly, that she just could
not contain her eagerness to beat somebody else to it.

Well, the laugh that followed also was of the nature of an explosion.
And it was on poor Katherine quite as much as on Earl, who had tripped
up on an adjective in place of an adverb. The girl's eagerness was so
evident that it struck everybody as funnier than the boy's mistake in
grammar. Anyway, she recovered quite smartly and followed up her
attack with this pert addendum as the laughter subsided:

"You evidently don't do your lessons thorough-_ly_." The emphasis on
the "-ly" was so pronounced, almost spasmodic, as to bring forth
another laughing applause.

This exchange of repartee took place in the large school auditorium,
to which all repaired as soon as the outdoor exercises had been
finished.

The program of the evening was punctuated by interruptions of this
kind every now and then. Of course, the fun-makers waited for
suitable opportunities to spring their "quips and cranks," so that no
merited interest in the doing could be lost. And none of it was lost.
The presence of the bold invaders seemed to add zest to the most
routine of the Camp Fire performances, and when all was over everybody
was agreed that there had not been a dull minute during the whole
evening.

At the close of the Camp Fire Girls' program the 150 Boy Scouts arose
and, with heroic unison of voices peculiar to much practice in the
delivery of school yells, they chanted a clever parody of Wo-he-lo
Cheer, a Boy Scout's compliment to the Camp Fire Girls, and then
marched out of the auditorium and away toward the interurban line,
where their chartered train was waiting for them, and all the while
they continued the chant with variations of the words, the rhythmic
drive of their voices pulsing back to the Institute, but becoming
fainter and more faint until at last the sound was lost with the
speeding away of the trolley train in the distance.

* * * * *

CHAPTER III.

THE SKULL AND CROSS-BONES.

If Marion Stanlock, "High Peak" in the trait and a torch bearer, had
read one of two letters, signed with a "skull and cross-bones," which
she found lying on the desk in her room after the adjournment of the
Grand Council Fire, doubtless there would have been an interruption,
and probably a change, in the holiday program of the Flamingo Camp
Fire. She saw the letters lying there and under ordinary circumstances
would have torn them open and read them, however hastily, before
retiring. But on this occasion she was rather tired, owing to the
activities and the excitement of the day and evening. Moreover, she
realized that she could not hope for anything but a wearisome journey
to Hollyhill on the following day unless she refreshed herself with as
many hours sleep as possible before train time.

So she merely glanced at the superscriptions on the envelopes to see
if the letters were from any of her relatives or friends, and, failing
to recognize either of them, she put them into her handbag, intending
to read them at the first opportunity next morning. Then she went to
bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

Marion was awakened in the morning by her roommate, Helen Nash, who
had quietly arisen half an hour earlier. The latter was almost ready
for breakfast when she woke her friend from a sleep that promised to
continue several hours longer unless interrupted. She had turned on
the electric light and was standing before the glass combing her hair.
Marion glanced at the clock to see what time it was, but the face was
turned away from her and the light in the room made it impossible for
her to observe through the window shades that day was just breaking.

"What time is it, Helen?" she asked. "Did the alarm go off? I didn't
hear it. What waked you up?"

Helen did not answer at once. For a moment or two her manner seemed to
indicate that she did not hear the questions of the girl in bed. Then,
as if suddenly rescuing her mind from thoughts that appealed to have
carried her away into some far distant abstraction, she replied thus,
in a series of disconnected utterances:

"No, the alarm didn't go off--a--Marion. I got up at 6 o'clock. I
turned the alarm off. It is 6:30 now. I don't know what woke me. I
just woke up."

Marion arose, wondering at the peculiar manner of her roommate and the
strained, almost convulsive, tone of her voice. She asked no further
questions, but proceeded with her dressing and preparation for
breakfast. For the time being, she forgot all about the two letters in
her handbag that lay on her dresser.

In some respects Helen was a peculiar girl. If her speech and action
had been characterized with more vim, vigor and imagination,
doubtlessly she would generally have been known as a pretty girl. As
it was, her features were regular, her complexion fair, her eyes blue,
and her hair a light brown. Marion thought her pretty, but Marion had
associated with her intimately for two or three years, and had
discovered qualities in her that mere acquaintances could never have
discovered. She had found Helen apparently to be possessed of a
strong, direct conception of integrity, never vacillating in manner or
sympathies. Moreover, she exhibited a quiet, unwavering capability in
her work that always commanded the respect, and occasionally the
admiration, of both classmates and teachers.

Not only was Helen quiet of disposition, but strangely secretive on
certain subjects. For instance, she seldom said anything about her
home or relatives. She lived in Villa Park, a small town midway
between Westmoreland and Hollyhill. Her father was dead, and, when not
at school, she had lived with her mother; these two, so far as Marion
knew, constituting the entire family.

Marion had visited her home, and there found the mother and daughter
apparently in moderate circumstances. Naturally, she had wondered a
little that Mrs. Nash should be able to support her daughter at a
private school, even though that institution made a specialty of
teaching rich men's daughters how to be useful and economical, but
the reason why had never been explained to her. Helen got her
remittances from home regularly, and seemed to have no particular
cause to worry about finances. She had spent parts of two vacations at
the Stanlock home and there conducted herself as if quite naturally
able to fit in with luxurious surroundings and large accommodations.

Only a few days before the Christmas holidays, something had occurred
that emphasized Helen's secretive peculiarity to such an extent that
Marion was considerably provoked and just a little mystified. A young
man, somewhere about 25 or 27 years old, fairly well but not
expensively dressed, and bearing the appearance of one who had seen a
good deal of the rough side of life, called at the Institute and asked
for Miss Nash. He was ushered into the reception room and Helen was
summoned. One of the girls who witnessed the meeting told some of her
friends that Miss Nash was evidently much surprised, if not
unpleasantly disturbed, when she recognized her caller. Immediately
she put on a coat and hat and she and the young man went out. An hour
later she returned alone, and to no one did she utter a word relative
to the stranger's visit, not even to her roommate, who had passed them
in the hall as they were going out.

Helen Nash was a member of the Flamingo Camp Fire and accompanied the
other members on their vacation trip to the mountain mining district.
The other eleven who boarded the train with Marion, the holiday
hostess, were Ruth Hazelton, Ethel Zimmerman, Ernestine Johanson,
Hazel Edwards, Azalia Atwood, Harriet Newcomb, Estelle Adler, Julietta
Hyde, Marie Crismore, Katherine Crane, and Violet Munday.

Miss Ladd, the Guardian, also was one of Marion's invited guests. The
party took possession of one end of the parlor car, which,
fortunately, was almost empty before they boarded it. Then began a
chatter of girl voices--happy, spirited, witty, and promising to
continue thus to the end of the journey, or until their kaleidoscopic
subjects of conversation were exhausted.

Every thrilling detail of the evening before was gone over, examined,
given its proper degree of credit, and filed away in their memories
for future reference. There was more catching of breath, more
cheering, more clapping of hands; but no mock jeers, now that the boys
were absent, as the events of the Boy Scouts' invasion and the many
incidental and brilliant results were recalled and repictured.

"I wonder what Harry Gilbert meant when he said some of them were
planning another surprise nearly as thrilling as the one they sprung
last night," said Azalia Atwood, with characteristic excitable
expectation. "He addressed himself to you, Marion, when he said it;
and he's a close friend of your cousin, Clifford Long. Whatever it
is, I bet anything it will fall heaviest on this Camp Fire when it
comes."

"Maybe it was just talk, to get us worked up and looking for something
never to come," suggested Ethel Zimmerman. "It would be a pretty good
one for the boys to get us excited and looking for something clear up
to April 1, and then spring an April fool joke, something like a big
dry goods box packed with excelsior."

"Oh, but that wouldn't measure up to expectations," Ruth Hazelton
declared. "It wouldn't be one-two-three with what they did last night,
and they promised something just about as interesting."

"You don't get me," returned Ethel. "The dry goods box filled with
excelsior would be the anti-climax of wondering expectations."

"You're too deep for a twentieth century bunch of girls, Ethel," Hazel
Edwards objected. "That might easily be mistaken for the promised big
stunt. They might compose a lot of ditties and mix them up with the
packing, something like this:

"'Believe not all big things that boys may tell thee, for
Great expectations may produce excelsior'."

"Very clever, indeed, only it sounds like an impossible combination of
Alice in Wonderland and an old maid," said Harriet Newcomb, with a
toss of her head. "I'm surprised at you, Hazel, for suggesting such a
thing. If the boys should put over anything like that, we'd break off
diplomatic relations right away. If they wanted to call us a lot of
rummies, they couldn't do it as effectively by the use of direct
language. Cleverness usually makes a hit with its victims, unless it
contains an element of contempt."

"That is really a brilliant observation," announced the Guardian who
had been listening with quiet interest to the spirited conversation.
"Continued thought along such lines ought to result in a Keda National
Honor for you, Harriet."

"I'll agree to all that if Harriet will take back what she said about
my being an old maid," said Hazel with mock dignity.

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