PREFACE

My Dear Boys:

Knowing that ninety-nine lads out of every hundred love outdoor life above all else, I have taken it upon myself to give you a series of what I hope will prove to be clean, wide-awake, up-to-date stories, founded upon a subject that is interesting our whole nation—the Boy Scouts of America. You know what a hold this movement has taken upon the rising generation of our broad land. There never was anything like it before—there never may be again.

At first many people made the mistake of believing that it was simply a new military order, and that boys who joined were to be taught the duties of soldiers, and learned how to fight. They know better now. It is really the greatest movement for Peace ever started. Not only that, but the lads who belong to this vast organization are taught how to be manly, self reliant, brave, courteous, kindly and steadfast.

When you examine the roster of the officers who have loaned their names to help along the good cause you will find such honored signatures as those of President William Howard Taft, ex-President Theodore Roosevelt, and many others dear to the hearts of our boys.

This glorious field opens up a very tempting opportunity for a series of stirring stories concerning the fortunes of real Boy Scouts, who have gone into the movement heart and soul, with a desire to excel in all they undertake; and at the same time enjoy themselves hugely. I only hope and trust that you may be pleased with what you read in this book, about the doings of the Red Fox Patrol, of Stanhope Troop, and that the story will do you much good.

Yours faithfully,

George A. Warren.

CHAPTER I

A MEETING IN THE BARN

"All here now, Paul!"

"Call the roll, somebody, won't you?"

"Keep quiet, fellows, please!"

"Shall I strike a match, Paul?"

"Not on your life, Bobolink. That crowd of Ted Slavin's is out, looking for us. Somebody must have leaked, or else Ted was tipped off. We've got to be mighty cautious, I tell you, if we want to give them the slip."

"S-s-say, d-d-don't you k-k-know we've got a fi-fine b-b-barn on our p-p-place, fellows?"

"For goodness sake; won't somebody please pound Bluff Shipley on the back, and make him bite his twisted tongue, so he can talk straight?" cried a pleading voice.

"Listen!"

There must have been a streak of authority in the tone used by Paul Morrison when he spoke this last word; every one of the other six boys crouched there, craning his neck, and listening to catch the unusual sound that had apparently reached the trained ears of their leader.

The woods surrounded the boys on all sides, gloomy, and full of mystifying noises.

Yet Paul knew full well just what every one of the sounds meant. An owl called mournfully to its mate from a hollow tree. Katydids and merry crickets added their shrill music to the chorus of that late summer night. Even a colony of tree frogs solemnly chanted their appeal for "more rain."

During the day just ended six fellows in the thriving town of Stanhope had received urgent telephone calls from Paul, who was an only son of the leading doctor in the place.

And each boy had promised to meet him at the Three Oaks by the time the clock in the church steeple had struck eight.

It was even now booming out the hour.

When the last stroke died away, the most impatient among the gathered boys moved restlessly.

"Follow me, fellows," said Paul, in a low, thrilling tone.

"Where are we heading for?" queried one, who had as yet failed to express his feelings in the matter.

This was Wallace Carberry, the sober member of the pair known far and wide as the Carberry Twins; his mate, William, being his exact counterpart in every particular, when he chose to repress the good-natured grin that usually marked his fate.

"To the Shipley barn; single file; and silence is the watchword!"

Paul Morrison had long enjoyed the confidence of his comrades in most matters pertaining to outdoor sports. A healthy lad, both in mind and body, he was never so happy as when studying the secrets of Nature in wood and meadow; or in playing any of the various strenuous games to which all boys with red blood in their veins are addicted.

And when he sent out his mysterious request that some of his most intimate friends meet him on this night, as he had a communication of importance to put up to them, the greatest curiosity made itself manifest.

Paul never suggested ordinary things. More than once he had engineered some game that brought honor and glory to the boys of Stanhope; and remembering these satisfactory "stunts" of old, it was no wonder these fellows had come to the place of meeting without a single exception.

With Bluff Shipley close upon the heels of the leader, and Robert Oliver Link, whose name had long since been corrupted into Bobolink, bringing up the rear, the seven lads trailed through the woods, following some path with which they were evidently more or less familiar.

Several times Paul gave a recognized signal that caused every one of the bunch to stop short, and turn his head on one side in the endeavor to discover whether hostile footsteps could be heard in their rear.

But although there were doubtless many rustling sounds, the boys laid these to the bright-eyed little denizens of that strip of woodland. Too often had they watched the chipmunks and red squirrels hunting for nuts under the already falling leaves, not to know that the forest was peopled with these harmless animals.

After five minutes more there loomed up before them the dark outlines of a huge barn that seemed rather out of place here on the border of the woods.

This belonged to the father of Bluff, who, being a prosperous tobacco grower in this valley, used the place to cure the product of his broad fields, after it had been harvested in the fall.

Paul had been carrying some sort of package in his hand, and the boys for some time amused themselves in guessing its nature. When he took off the paper it stood revealed as a lantern, ready for lighting.

"Show us the way inside, Bluff. Then we'll have a little light on the subject," remarked the leader, with a last anxious searching look around; as though he still entertained suspicions that their march to the old barn might have been observed by some of the hostile Slavin crowd.

Ted Slavin had long been known as the bully of Stanhope; for it seems that there never yet existed a village or town without some big chap exercising that privilege. He was a fighter, too, and able to hold his own against the best. Besides, Ted had shown some of the qualities that indicate a natural leader; though he held the allegiance of those who trailed after him mostly through fear, rather than any respect for his manly qualities.

His leading crony for the past year had been Ward Kenwood, son of the wealthy banker who was also a leading real estate owner in the place. Once upon a time Ward would have scorned the thought of associating with Slavin and his crowd; but an occasion had arisen whereby he had need of a strong arm to even up a score, and once he found himself indebted to Ted he kept on in the bully's company.

His rivalry in many fields with Paul had much to do with his throwing his fortunes in with the other fellows. And nothing pleased him more than to be able to upset any calculations the latter entertained. That explained why Paul was anxious to avoid a meeting with the Slavin crowd on this particular night, when he was brimming over with a great idea.

Once the boys had entered the barn, Bluff secured the door, after which a match was quickly lighted.

"Now, here we are, safe and sound, and not an enemy around. Suppose you open up, Paul, and get this load off our minds," said Albert Cypher, who seldom heard his own name among his friends, but was known far and wide as Nuthin'.

But what else could a lad expect who was so unfortunate as to find himself afflicted with such a name as A. Cypher?

"Yes, what's it all mean, Paul? You haven't even taken me in, you know, and I'm as much in the dark as the next fellow," remarked Jack Stormways, reproachfully; for being Paul's closest chum he might have expected to share his confidence.

"Wait a bit. We might as well make ourselves comfortable while we're about it. I'll sit down on this box, and the rest of you gather around on the floor. I've got a big proposition to make, and you want to listen carefully."

"T-t-take c-c-care of the lantern, f-f-fellows; my d-d-dad's w-w-wanting this old barn f-f-for his t-t-tobacco crop, and he'd b-b-be some put out if it b-b-burned just now!" came from Bluff.

Finding perches on various low piles of waste left over after the shipment of the last crop, the six lads gathered around Paul, eagerness stamped on every beaming face.

"Now, what's the idea that struck you this time, Paul?" demanded Bobolink.

"I'll tell you without any beating around the bush, fellows. The thought came to me that Stanhope was away behind the times. Other towns not nearly so big, have one or more troops of Boy Scouts. Why shouldn't we get up one here?" and Paul waited to hear what the response would be.

The six who sat in a ring looked at each other as though stunned by the proposal. It was strange, indeed, that no one had up to this time taken a lead in advancing such a thing.

"Bully idea, Paul!" ejaculated Jack, slapping a hand on his knee enthusiastically, as though it appealed to him most decidedly.

"Well, I declare, to think that nobody ever mentioned such a grand movement before. Count me in right from the start!" said Wallace Carberry—sober Wallace, who usually measured his words as though they were golden.

"And me too," observed Bobolink.

"Ditto for William!" called out the other Carberry Twin, grinning with delight.

"G-g-guess I'd make a bully good t-t-tenderfoot!"

"That's the best thing you ever thought up, old chap," came from Nuthin'.

"Hurrah! every county heard from, and not one contrary word. It looks as if there might be something doing right soon around this region," declared Paul, naturally pleased because his proposition had met with such unanimous satisfaction.

"Tell us more about it, please. I've read about the Boy Scouts; but my mother would take a fit if she thought I was practicing to become a soldier. You see, I had an older brother, who enlisted to go out with some of the boys when we had our little fuss about Cuba and the Philippines; and poor Frank died in camp of typhoid fever. I'll have a hard time winning her over, and the dad, too," remarked Bobolink, sadly.

"Well, that's where you make a big mistake, Bobolink. Over in England, where the Boy Scout movement started, it has some connection with the army, because there, you see, every fellow expects at some time to serve his country as a soldier, or on board a naval vessel. But here in America, the movement is one for peace."

"Then what's all the doings about?" asked Nuthin', as if puzzled.

"I know, and Paul is right about it," came from Wallace Carberry, always quite a reader of newspapers and magazines.

"Let him tell then. I'm for the game, no matter what it means," cried Bobolink.

"And I think Bluff knows something about it, for he said he would do for the lowest grade of scout, which is the tenderfoot. But I don't think any of you are qualified to take even that degree; for a tenderfoot must first be familiar with scout law, sign, salute, and know what his badge means; he must know about our national flag, and the usual forms of salute due to it; and be able to tie some seven or eight common knots. How about that, Bluff?"

"N-n-not guilty!" promptly answered the one addressed.

"Say, that sounds interesting any way. Tell us some more about this, Paul!" exclaimed William, always eager to hear of anything that smacked of novelty.

"Well, there are two more degrees a fellow can climb up to, a second-class scout, and a first-class scout, full fledged. After that, if he wants to keep right on there are merit badges to be won for excelling in angling, athletics, camping, cooking at the campfire, taxidermy, first aid to the injured, handicraft, life saving, path-finding, and a lot more."

"Now you've got me stuck on this new game," cried Bobolink, excitedly. "The more you explain the better I like the idea. Me for the Boy Scouts, fellows!"

"Hear! Hear! Paul, the idea is yours, and we vote unanimously that you occupy the exalted position of scout master—I know that every troop has to have such a head, and you're better fitted for the job than any fellow in town!"

"Yes," laughed Paul, "but unfortunately, I believe a scout master has to be over twenty-one years of age."

"Who knows the ways of the open like our Paul? He's the right man in the right place. Say, are there any books on the subject, that we can get, and learn more about this thing?" asked Wallace, who seemed to be particularly well pleased.

"I've already sent for a manual, and expect it by to-morrow; when we can find out all about it. But wishing to be posted when I put the question I went over the river to Aldine to-day, and saw some of the boys there who belong to the Scouts. They made me more anxious than ever to start a patrol in our home town."

"But I've seen something about a troop?" remarked Jack Stormways, who, Paul thought, seemed unusually sober for a boy ordinarily light-hearted.

"Yes, a troop takes in say, three local posts called patrols, each of which has eight members. It is known by a number, as Troop One of Boston; and each minor organization takes a name of some animal, such as wildcat or fox. If it is called Fox, every boy belonging to it is supposed to be able to bark like a fox, so as to be able to signal a comrade while scouting in the woods."

"Ginger! but that does sound interesting," declared William.

"It's j-j-just immense, that's w-w-what!" was Bluff's opinion.

"Listen! I heard a laugh as sure as anything!" exclaimed Paul, lifting a hand to indicate silence; and every one of the group assumed an attitude of expectancy.

As they waited there suddenly came a tremendous crash, as some object landed forcibly against the wooden side of the old barn. It was instantly followed by a second bang, and others came quick and fast, until the noise might be likened to a bombardment from a hostile battery.

"It's the Slavin crowd!" called Bobolink, excitedly jumping to his feet. "They followed us here after all, and have been listening to every word!"

"All hands to repel boarders!" shouted Paul; and with a cheer the seven boys rushed over to the door, out of which they sprang, bent on retaliating on their tormentors.

CHAPTER II

WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A BOY SCOUT

"Where are the stone throwers?" shouted the merry member of the Carberry Twins, as he danced up and down, eagerly trying to discover some moving object in the surrounding darkness.

"Gone like smoke, I guess," laughed Paul, who had really expected something of this sort, judging from past experiences with these same tormentors.

"Look there, I can see something moving yonder. Get ready to give a volley!" cried Nuthin', pointing as he spoke.

"H-h-hold on, f-f-fellows, d-d-don't fire yet! It's only our old d-d-dun cow!" gasped Bluff, excitedly; as he waved his arms up and down after the manner of a cheer captain at a college football game.

"They've lit out, that's what," grumbled William, who felt as though cheated.

"All right, then. It's just as well, for a fight would be a mighty poor way of preparing to join the scout movement. You'll learn what I mean later on when you hear the twelve points of the law that every fellow must subscribe to," observed Paul, seriously.

"What d'ye mean, Paul?" demanded Bobolink, quickly.

"Yes, tell us right now what the twelve rules are," said William.

"I know, for I read all about them a few days ago," remarked Wallace, readily.

"All right, then, suppose you call them off. What does a scout promise to be if allowed to wear the uniform, Wallace?" asked the leader.

"To be trustworthy, loyal, helpful to others, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient to his superiors, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent."

"Why, it doesn't say a single word about fighting!" ejaculated William.

"Because a scout must never fight save as a last resort, and then only to save some weak one from punishment. He must be brave to face danger, to stop a runaway horse; or jump in and keep another from drowning. Do you get on to the meaning of this movement, fellows?" asked Paul, eagerly. The more he read about it the greater became his desire to have a hand in organizing a Stanhope troop that might compete with those of Aldine and Manchester, two rival towns, both on the opposite side of the Bushkill River, the former a few miles up-stream, and the latter the same distance down.

"We do, and I tell you I like it better and better the more I hear of it," said Jack, earnestly. "Why, I just had an idea it meant being junior soldiers, and drilling so as to be ready to invade Canada, or repel the yellow peril when the little Japs swarmed across the Pacific. Count me in, Paul."

"If I can pass the examination I'm going with you, sure," observed William.

"All right, but if they take you in just remember that you've got to quit your playing tricks on everybody, William," declared the other Carberry Twin.

"Listen to him, will you? He's feeling hard on me just because dad gave him a touch of the cane last night, thinking it was me. As if I was to blame for looking like my brother," the other said, plaintively, though chuckling at the same time.

"You know you fixed it so he'd pounce on me. I'm always in hot water because you must have your fun. 'Taint fair, and I'd have to be an angel not to kick. Oh! I hope you get to be a scout, because then I'll have some peace," declared Wallace; but all the others knew very well what a deep and abiding affection there really lay between the Carberry Twins.

"Let's go home now. No use staying any longer out here, with Ted Slavin and his cronies hanging around, ready to bombard us again. Besides, I guess Paul wants to wait till he gets his book before telling us any more about the game."

"Right you are, Nuthin'. I only wanted to see how the land lay, and if you took to the idea. I'm satisfied already that it's going to make a hit, if we can get a few more fellows to join in with us," said Paul.

"I know one good recruit I can drum up—Tom Bates," spoke up Albert.

"And a good addition to the seven now here. That would make our first patrol," echoed the leader, quickly.

"How about inviting some of the Slavin crowd to join us?" asked Bobolink.

"Well, perhaps we might pick a couple there; but I think you'll have to be getting up early in the morning to manage it," replied Paul, meaningly.

"What's that?" asked William.

"Just this. Ted Slavin has heard our plans. You know that he never likes to see anybody else pull down the plums. What will he do right away, fellows?"

"Go and see his shadow, Ward Kenwood, and get him to put up the money to start the ball rolling. My word for it that inside of a week there'll be two rival Boy Scout troops in little old Stanhope," remarked Jack Stormways.

"Say, that would be great, if the other crowd only acted on the square," ventured William. "We could have all sorts of contests between us. But I know Ted Slavin too well to believe he'll ever subscribe to the twelve rules Wallace mentioned. Why, he'd have to be made all over again to do that."

"Look here, Paul, if a fellow has to live up to the rules, however could the members of Ted's company be taken into a troop of Boy Scouts?" asked Bobolink, who always sought information.

"I don't believe they ever could. Still, there's no law in the land to prevent any lot of boys from forming a patrol, and calling themselves scouts. That's my way of looking at it," was the answer the leader gave.

The lads were now on their way home, the lantern having been secured, and extinguished, lest it invite another bombardment on the part of their tormentors, doubtless still hovering somewhere nearby.