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 RA11.B19C24 The lone scout : a 1 
 
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THE LONE SCOUT 
 
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 Open Knowledge Commons 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/lonescouttaleofuOOcart 
 
730 1 
 
 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 A TALE OP THE 
 
 UNITED STATES PUBLIC 
 
 HEALTH SERVICE 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD CHAMPE CARTER 
 
 WITH A FOREWORD BY 
 
 WILLIAM C. GORGAS 
 
 Surgeon- General, U. S. A. 
 {Retired) 
 
 THE CORNHILL COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON 
 
/c 
 
 Copyright, 1920, by 
 The Cornhill Company 
 
To 
 
 'Wardy Scout'' 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 Where laughter, gems, and passions melt, 
 'Tis whispered in each white salon 
 
 That, once-upon-a-time, there dwelt 
 A prisoner at Chalon. 
 
 And then, though say it 'neath your breath, 
 (Tiny Marquise, thy tears fall fast; 
 
 Such gentle tears!) There dwelt till death 
 A man in iron mask. 
 
 Far out the river glides away, 
 
 From further shore the children call; 
 
 And now, in glorious peace, the day 
 Kisses my city wall. 
 
 Strange, that within my buttress'd town, 
 Watching the sun's shaft pierce the gloom 
 
 My heart can still with peace abound — 
 Because my roses bloom ! 
 
 Ah, take this book, dear Golden Head ; 
 
 Fair boys, and brown boys, read a while; 
 Just care for it — my rose is dead 
 
 Unless you smile. 
 
 [V] 
 
vi DEDICATION 
 
 Some gentle heart grieved o'er Chalon. 
 
 Some pity soothed poor Iron Mask. 
 Some star-eyed child of Avignon 
 
 Smiled up and laughed. 
 
 Read with me, laugh with me, use these toys 
 In black and white. My smallest arts 
 
 And but to gladden brown-cheeked boys ; 
 Fun for young eyes, young hearts. 
 
 Officers, Boy Scouts, Sailor men, 
 
 Pass o*er the screen, work to resume. 
 
 Good-bye! Good-night! Thank God that when 
 Boys laugh, my roses bloom I 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 npHE control of malaria is a matter of the highest 
 ■'■ importance in the United States, as it is every- 
 where that this disease prevails. The method of 
 election is the prevention of the production of 
 Anopheles mosquitoes by destroying their breeding 
 places. Every agency that can help to that end 
 should be so utilized. 
 
 It is to the credit of Mr. Carter that he has 
 originated the idea of thus using the Boy Scouts. 
 In this book Mr. Carter develops the idea of using 
 this organization in a campaign for the control of 
 malaria by preventing the breeding of Anopheles 
 mosquitoes. 
 
 Considering how efficient this organization has 
 been in other work, there is every reason to believe 
 it would be efficient in this also. 
 
 W. C. GORGAS 
 
 Major-General U. S. Army (Ret) 
 
 [vii] 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 X. 
 
 XI. 
 
 XII. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Page 
 
 "Cookie" i 
 
 Where Nothing Ever Happens . . lo 
 
 The Highwayman 20 
 
 The "Chief" and His "Boys" ... 34 
 
 "Buster" 49 
 
 The Folly Quarters 56 
 
 Which is all About Work ... 70 
 
 The Lone Scout 83 
 
 Two Young Cub (b)s 96 
 
 Concert Pitch 108 
 
 Containing a Brief Constructive In- 
 terview, OF Official Character, 
 
 WITH Scout Master Pepper Sloan 133 
 
 First Aid 141 
 
 The Red Cross Man 153 
 
 The Boy Scouts of "Ours" .... 164 
 
 Law and Order 180 
 
 The Chief's Panacea 196 
 
 Field Work 201 
 
 Pierrot 211 
 
 A Boy Scout and a Copper Moon . . 220 
 
 The Call 231 
 
 [ix] 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 "But all we ask, if that befall, 
 
 Is this. Within your hearts be writ 
 
 This single-line memorial : — 
 
 He did his duty — and his hit!" 
 
 IAN HAY, 
 
 "Wide awake, watchful, full of fun — 
 I've had my knocks. I've had my joys. 
 
 In fact I'm like the general run, 
 Of Service boys." 
 From ''the saga of an unsung service.'' 
 
 "COOKIE" 
 
 He had been christened William Prender- 
 gast Hoover, but his real name, as any of his 
 brothers in the Bulldog Patrol could have told 
 you, was Billy; First Class Scout Billy Hoover, 
 of Troop Number Two, Charleston, South 
 Carolina, with the two green bars of a patrol 
 leader on his left sleeve, together with six 
 Merit Badges, namely — the small figure of a 
 swimmer, for swimming, with breast, crawl 
 and side strokes, on the back as well as on the 
 stomach; clenched fist, for physical develop- 
 ment; a tiny red heart, for personal health; an 
 
2 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 ancient lyre, for music; a "bull's eye" target, 
 for marksmanship, and a fat little kettle, for 
 cooking. 
 
 Now the dream of Billy Hoover's life was to 
 win the badge of a Life Scout — a heart shaped 
 affair with the insignia of a First Class Scout 
 in the center, a fleur-de-lis, with the United 
 States coat-of-arms on it, and with the world- 
 famous motto "Be Prepared" on the scroll be- 
 neath it. It requires only five Merit Badges 
 to attain this dizzy height, but, unfortunately 
 for Master Billy, the badges must be for cer- 
 tain especial things, and Music and Cooking 
 are not among them, while Public Health, and 
 First Aid, and Life Saving, or Pioneering, are. 
 Billy felt quite sure that he could qualify in 
 Life Saving, if only some other boy would be 
 obliging enough to fall into Charleston Bay 
 and try to drown, but the torch badge for Pub- 
 lic Health and the red cross for First Aid, filled 
 his youthful soul with despair. Regularly he 
 came up before his local scout council to try 
 for these branches, and regularly he failed, for 
 one of the members was on the State Board of 
 Health for South Carolina, and by the end of 
 the very first question he had poor Billy in a 
 state of sulky mystification, in the vain at- 
 tempt to tell him the "chief causes and modes 
 of transmission of the following diseases: 
 tuberculosis, typhoid and malaria." It was 
 the last mentioned of this trio, malaria, that 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 3 
 
 was the casus belli, for the doctor was an en- 
 thusiast on malaria transmission, and required 
 a far greater knowledge of the subject than 
 was ever dreamt of in the Official Hand Book. 
 
 As to First Aid, it was always a failure from 
 start to finish, for Billy was as sound of body 
 as a young elephant, and sick people in general, 
 but sick boys in particular, worried him 
 mightily. 
 
 He was one of six children, three girls and 
 three boys, and he was next to the youngest, 
 being just fourteen years old. All the others 
 were thin and dark and rather frail, all pre- 
 senting the most beautiful clinical picture of 
 malaria had the scout had the wisdom to study 
 them, but Billy himself was well grown for his 
 age, w^ith a tall, solid young body that would 
 have been too plump but for the fact that it was 
 very muscular and as hard as nails. He had 
 one of the most engaging faces imaginable, the 
 skin as pink and white as a girl's, under a thick 
 mop of crisp, yellow hair that was inclined to 
 stand up on his head, straight from his 
 "widow's peak", and to curl a little, too. In 
 his round face were set a pair of large, dove- 
 like eyes, darkly violet and possessed of a gen- 
 tly smiling, pleading expression under their 
 thick lashes, many shades darker than his 
 golden head, an expression that utterly belied 
 the mischevious character of their owner. He 
 never tanned to amount to any thing, and the 
 
4 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 ivory whiteness of his smooth body filled his 
 heart with disgust. 
 
 Just now he was in no very good humor, for 
 all the Spring he had been caddying at the 
 Charleston Country Club, and selling papers 
 after school, yes, and even singing' as alto in 
 the cathedral choir, so that he could save up 
 his money and go on the ''big hike" — a trip to 
 the Virginia Blue Ridge, in June. Now, with 
 June almost gone, he was still in his own state, 
 only a few hours railroad journey from home, 
 with the rest of the Bulldogs, especially his 
 chum. Tod West, joyously camped somewhere 
 among the distant mountains, himself the lone 
 scout of the patrol, and a pretty sulky scout at 
 that! 
 
 The trouble was that Billy's big brother had 
 at once gone into the Navy at the declaration of 
 war with Germany, and, with a fearfully inop- 
 portune choice of time, his small brother, 
 Teddy, had developed peritonitis, and was 
 even now in a hospital in Charleston, w^hile the 
 forty-five dollars that represented the entire 
 amount of Billy's savings up to date reposed in 
 the pocket of the surgeon, who had performed 
 laparotomy, along with a hundred or so of 
 similar dollars, earned with the sweet tem- 
 pered patience that was a part of Billy's 
 widowed mother's share in life. 
 
 She had never asked the boy for a cent of his 
 savings, but she did tell him the heavy ex- 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 5 
 
 pense that Teddy's illness had caused her, and 
 so Billy, with all the deep love that he felt for 
 her shining in his dark eyes, had simply laid 
 his little roll of bills in her lap and then, after 
 she had kissed him, he had gone out into the 
 back yard and cried, big, husky fellow of four- 
 teen though he was. 
 
 Mrs. Hoover had been a Charleston Pren- 
 dergast before she was married (and none of 
 you boys, unless you have lived in that south- 
 ern city, can quite know what a fearsome thing 
 it is to be "a Charleston anything''!) but her 
 mother had been a Boston woman, named 
 Mary HoUis. One of her second cousins, 
 Francis Hollis, was a sanitary engineer in the 
 U. S. Public Health Service (formerly the 
 Marine Hospital Service) and, on hearing of 
 the plight into which his relatives had fallen, 
 he came down from Washington and gave 
 them all the help they would accept, little 
 enough unfortunately, for such is the way with 
 "a Charleston Prendergast." 
 
 "You know, Frank," Mrs. Hoover said, af- 
 ter she had told her cousin of Bill's generosity, 
 "it is terribly hard on the child, being here in 
 Charleston, and all his boy friends away. If 
 only the choir work continued in the summer 
 it would be some help, but the cathedral dis- 
 bands its choristers the first wxek in June. I 
 wish I could send him into the country, but, 
 
6 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 frankly, Frank, I need every penny the little 
 chap makes." 
 
 "Now look here, Mary," Frank HoUis said 
 suddenly, "I'll do what I can for that boy. He 
 deserves it. The best thing I can do is to get 
 him some work. He will be moping around 
 here all summer if I don't. The Surgeon Gen- 
 eral has planned to establish a lot of sanitary 
 work all through this state, and, at the sugges- 
 tion of Dr. Fenton" (Billy's friend on the State 
 Board of Health) "we will begin with a small 
 camp, as headquarters, over in the Bull Creek 
 district, just outside of Dolittle." 
 
 "Dolittle?" from Mrs. Hoover, with a slight 
 smile, "Then I am sorry for you, Frank, if you 
 have to be on duty there. It is an ugly section 
 of South Carolina, the only redeeming feature 
 being "the Folly Quarters", that beautiful old 
 plantation that lies to the north of the village, 
 and that belongs to the Browns. They have 
 had it since before the American Revolution, 
 though I understand that Senator Cubb thinks 
 of buying it." 
 
 "Yes," Mr. Hollis responded drily, "I rather 
 think the Hon. Jeremiah Cubb will buy it, 
 which may explain the interest that your 
 Board of Health takes in the sanitation of that 
 section first, for I understand that mosquitoes 
 are on the rampage down there. It is just pos- 
 sible, you know, Mary. Well, anyway, we are 
 to estabUsh a camp in the Dolittle neighbor- 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 7 
 
 hood, a sort of a temporary headquarters, and 
 I am afraid that John Iron is to be in charge. 
 He is an awful old bear, and has been in such 
 frantic altercation with the municipal authori- 
 ties at New Orleans that the Washington 
 Bureau must give him some other station. The 
 real soul and life of the thing, though, will be 
 Ian Whitlock, one of the Assistant Surgeon 
 Generals, and, as you know, he is a regular 
 Bayard, a gracious, polished man of the world, 
 with a reputation as a sanitarian, that extends 
 from Tokio to London and from New York 
 to Bahia and Rio. We call him "the Chief," and 
 he is a wonderful man, all through. His chief 
 of staff is that idiot, Jimmy Neems, a full Sur- 
 geon, like old Iron, and he is no addition to the 
 Service. I hope that every Anopheles — ma- 
 laria mosquito, my dear — may find him as 
 charming as I did not. I served with him in 
 Cuba, at Matanzas, and then, had him for cof- 
 fee, breakfast and dinner for three whole, hate- 
 ful years in the old Panama days. Now, if 
 you can only think of something that your Boy 
 Scout could do in camp, I — " 
 
 Mary Hoover began to laugh softly, though 
 her busy fingers never dropped a stitch in the 
 stocking she was knitting, a roll-top, scout 
 stocking for her son. 
 
 "The very thing, Frank," she said gaily "He 
 can cook." 
 
 "You mean to tell me that you wish to con- 
 
8 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 sign our poor old stomachs to the tender 
 mercies of a fourteen-year-old, Mary Hoover?" 
 Mr. Hollis cried in good-natured surprise. 
 
 "I most certainly do mean it, Frank," the 
 lady laughed back, "and the aforesaid aged 
 stomachs might seek farther and fare worse. 
 Billy is a first rate cook. He prepared your 
 entire breakfast this morning. Why, he has a 
 merit badge for cooking, in his scout troop." 
 
 "Which means just nothing at all, my dear," 
 Mr. Hollis smiled, "for I can roast potatoes, 
 bake a Johnny cake and cook a hunter^s stew 
 myself, thank you; but those hot rolls and that 
 cheese omelet at breakfast are too strong a 
 recommendation to pass unnoticed! If you 
 are willing, and if the youngster has enough 
 sense not to be ashamed of the work, as I be- 
 lieve he has, you may consider him already en- 
 gaged as a cook for Camp Ross, the salary to 
 be $50.00 per month." 
 
 And so it was settled and, a week later. First 
 Class Scout Billy Hoover, in the olive drab 
 shirt, short khaki pants, bare knees and rolled 
 down stockings of his scouting uniform, found 
 himself in the nest of cabins, among the pines, 
 on Bull Creek, in the county of Dolittle, about 
 three miles from the village of that name, 
 regularly installed as a "Cookie" for the 
 United States Public Health Service, quite de- 
 termined to do his best now that he had be- 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 come "a Service boy", but gloomily certain 
 that nothing of interest could possibly happen 
 so near home, while up in the Blue Ridge some- 
 thing was sure to happen every minute. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 "Hostess : Here's a goodly tumult ! Til forswear keeping 
 house, afore Fll be in these tirrets and frights. 
 So ; murder, I warrant now ! — Alas, alas ! 
 Put up your naked weapons, put up your 
 naked weapons!" 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 "The Army drab, the Navy blue, 
 Help mighty empires 'raise a fog*, 
 
 They help 'emselves, but Me and You, 
 {The Service) help the under dog." 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 WHERE NOTHING EVER HAPPENS 
 
 Camp Ross, named in honor of the great Sir 
 Ronald Ross, who established the fact that 
 malaria was conveyed to man through the 
 agency of a mosquito, looked very peaceful, 
 though hot, late one afternoon, and Cookie, 
 seated before the door of the two room log 
 cabin that served half for storeroom and half 
 for kitchen, passed one damp arm across his 
 dripping face, and over the crisp mass of his 
 upstanding hair. He had discarded every- 
 thing except the short khaki pants and the 
 lightness of a sleeveless, gauze undershirt, and 
 
 ID 
 
THE LONE SCOUT ii 
 
 yet he was fairly baking as he peeled potatoes, 
 in company with an aged negro, named Pete. 
 Except for these two, the camp was deserted, 
 for the small force of doctors and the two sani- 
 tary engineers, with their assistants, were out 
 somewhere in the broiling sun, on field work, 
 with the exception of one unfortunate young 
 officer who had been sent up to address a set 
 of school children on Sago branch, for the very 
 first time in his life being forced to make a 
 speech. The main work at present was to do 
 some ditching, after Mr. Hollis had made his 
 sanitary survey, so that the meadows about 
 camp could drain into Bull Creek. 
 
 I say that the camp was deserted, save for 
 the young scout and the old negro, and so it 
 was, unless you care to count a pair of vicious 
 mules, known as Ike and Bob, grizzled vet- 
 erans of most evil repute, who drew any thing 
 from a dirt scoop or a plough, to a quite start- 
 ling vehicle, probably an heirloom, that was 
 known at Camp Ross as 'Old Ironsides'', and 
 that was popularly reported to have cost a 
 fabulous price in the days of its youth and 
 beauty. On the rare occasions of its paying a 
 visit to the nearby village of Dolittle, it was 
 always occupied by Senior Surgeon John Iron, 
 and its advent in front of Habakuk Meers' 
 general store, and also post office, was always 
 greeted by faint cheers, an occurence that en- 
 raged its irrascible occupant mightily. Old 
 
12 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 Uncle Pete was invariably to be found on the 
 box at these times, and, as both he and the 
 ancient equipage had belonged to the Brown 
 family in anti-bellum days, he explained that 
 the comment it excited was all due to a tra- 
 ditional admiration and veneration on the part 
 of the "po' white trash", for "ole marse War- 
 field's ca'aige". 
 
 Small, puffy little clouds of red clay dust 
 down the winding road from Dolittle pro- 
 claimed the coming of a rider, and Billy raised 
 his eyes with excitement, rejoicing openly; for 
 any one was welcome to him on a hot, lone- 
 some afternoon like this, when there was noth- 
 ing to do for the next hour but to peel potatoes 
 and to sing softly, old Pete adding a sweet, 
 shaky tenor to the Scout's low contralto: 
 
 " 'Swing low, sweet chariot, 
 Goin' fo' ter carry me home! 
 Swing low, sweet chariot, 
 Goin' fo' ter carry me home! 
 
 Ah looked at ma hands, an* ma hands looked new, 
 (Goin' fo' ter carry me home!) 
 
 A troop ob angels comin' into view, 
 
 (Goin' fo' ter carry me home !)* " 
 
 and so on through the endless quaintness of 
 the old negro hymn. A rattle of wagon wheels, 
 coming from the opposite direction as the 
 rider, made the scout feel quite gay. 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 13 
 
 "Yay, Uncle Pete," he cried with enthusiasm 
 and shying a bit of potato at an empty wooden 
 water bucket, ''Watch me hit the bull's eye 
 every time! Ping! Told you so. Gee, I 
 hope that wagon stops here! Goody, that's 
 just what it's going to do! And here comes 
 that horse — no suh, it's a mule — but he's going 
 to stop here, too! Isn't that great, Uncle 
 Pete?" 
 
 "'Evenin' stranger!" called one of the men 
 in the wagon — there were three of them, and 
 a dusty, slab-like woman. "Got a go'd o' 
 water, sonny? Ma 'lowed she mus' hev a 
 drink or bus'," and he let out a toothless cackle. 
 
 He was not over fifty and was dressed in 
 dirty overalls, and a straw farmer's-hat, with a 
 shoestring interlaced through the base of the 
 crown to make it fit. The other men were very 
 much like him, except that one was very old 
 and weazened and tiny, and the other was 
 quite young, probably not more than eighteen 
 or nineteen. 
 
 "Wanta drink. Pap?" he of the diny overalls 
 how^led, taking the brimming gourd dipper 
 that Billy handed him and offering it tojh^ old 
 man. ^ 
 
 ''No, no," the aged one piped, shaking his 
 bald head emphatically. *'I ^on\ want nothin' 
 ter do with it. It -^lought be pizened,Henery. 
 Them Federal fetors air campin' lere, an' 
 they do say they're a crazy lot. Why, WLb, says 
 
14 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 they're a' lookin' fer skeeter aiges ! — to cook 
 'em, I reckon." and he laughed shrilly, and 
 then began to cough. 
 
 "Pap's a cute one, Pap is !" the youth in the 
 wagon chuckled, then, noticing the approach 
 of the mule, he added in a sing-song drawl that 
 they all used: "Ef it aint Gopher Bean! 
 Evenin', Gopher. Been to the mill?" 
 
 "Nope,' answered the Gopher, a thick set, 
 sun browned lad of fifteen, like the rest in over- 
 alls and straw hat, "I been to town, Jim. Big 
 doin's in town, too," and he let his muscular 
 young body slump down in the saddle, while 
 he scratched one bare leg with some show of 
 enjoyment. 
 
 "What's he say, Henery?" the aged one 
 piped. "Somethin' wrong in the town? Ef 
 that's so, I ain't a-goin' nigh it," and he shut 
 his old mouth with a click of finality. 
 
 "Pap's the cutest ole critter fo' his eighty-fo' 
 years, I ev^er see," Jim Bode (the family were 
 all named Bode) cackled hilariously. 
 
 "But you will be a-goin' to town though, Mr. 
 Bode," the Gopher grinned, "when I tell you 
 what*b l>een gone, an' went, an' done thar. It's 
 the pow'fullec^t, awfullest, whoppin'est, dare- 
 devilest — " 
 
 But tere "Ma" took a i^and: 
 "Dra: that Gopher Bea^^j" she said with 
 much csperity, "Aint you got no sense, you 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 15 
 
 fool boy? What's the pow'fullest, awfullest, 
 whoppin'est — an' all the rest of it?" 
 
 Gopher Bean winked at Billy, and wrinkled 
 his snubbed, freckled nose in huge enjoyment, 
 pushing the mat of towsled brown hair off his 
 forehead: 
 
 "Why the highwayman, Mis' Bode," he 
 drawled with the utmost glee. 
 
 "A highwayman, in Dolittle? Fo' the land 
 o' Goshen!" Ma cried, while the aged one pro- 
 ceeded to scramble down, with the help of a 
 deeply interested, though grinning, Boy Scout. 
 
 'I be a'goin' to walk back home, Henery," he 
 piped in agitation, "An' ef you was anything 
 of a proper man-sized man, you'd be pow'ful 
 'shamed to take a po' ole critter like me right 
 into the hands of sech! When I was a lad — 
 an' a fine, strappin' one I was, too — over in the 
 old country, I'd a' been 'shamed to death to do 
 the like." 
 
 "Heah, heah. Pap," the youthful Jim called, 
 "Git back in the wagon. Papa aint so crazy to 
 go meet a highwayman, I'll bet," then, in an 
 aside to Billy Hoover, "Pap's the cutest ole 
 critter fo' takin' care o' hisself. Pap is," and he 
 spat most expertly on the wagon wiieeh 
 
 "Did they catch the high-'^y^an. Gopher.?" 
 Henery asked, offering ^^s son a bit of cut 
 plug, which the latt-- took absently, 
 
 "No, sirree," tV" ^^V ^n the mule laughed. 
 "He got clean ^>^^y> ^ bet." 
 
i6 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "Who'd he highway?" Ma demanded eager- 
 
 "Well, you'd be just plum emazed ef I toF 
 you, ma'am," Gopher Bean grinned slowly, af- 
 ter which he scratched his brown leg once 
 more, and became exasperatingly silent. 
 
 "Fo' two pins I'd slap that face of yours, 
 Gopher Bean," Ma cried in exasperation, "Go 
 on an' tell yer tale — I suspicion thet et's a 
 whole possel o' lies — an' then shet yo' mouth." 
 
 "Ma's sorter riled. Gopher," Jim Bode 
 chuckled, and the Gopher giggled happily. He 
 was enjoying himself thoroughly now. 
 
 "Peers that way, Jim," he assented gra- 
 ciously. "Et was this a'way, Mis' Bode. Ole 
 Habakuk was a-settin' in his sto' las' night." 
 'bout nine o'clock, and he was all by hisself." 
 
 "Habakuk Meers, you mean. Gopher?" Ma 
 interrupted. 
 
 "Yes ma'am." The Gopher responded with 
 gentle politeness. 
 
 "Then et just serves the ole fool right fo' 
 settin' up so late." Ma flung out severely. 
 "Any Christian oughter be in bed befo' that." 
 
 But the aged one began to chuckle, quite as 
 ithe maddest of wags might have done. 
 
 "When I wa., <t^ the old country," he piped, 
 with pride, "Out in ^xVessex, us boys used ter 
 set up nigh to twelve o'.Iq^.^^^ e^gj-y Saturday 
 night 'most." 
 
 "Aint he the cutest ole crii.oj. fo' eighty-fo', 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 17 
 
 you ever saw, Gopher?" young Jim laughed 
 admiringly, "An' can't he tell the durnest 
 lies?" 
 
 '*Git along with thet story, Gopher Bean." 
 Ma struck in pettishly. "An' do shet yo' 
 mouth, Jim Bode. Et were ole Habakuk 
 Meers thet was highwayed, were et?" 
 
 "Yes ma'am, thet's who et were. Well, he 
 says a feller comes in an' aks him fo' a plug 
 o' Niggerhead, and jus' as he was gittin' et, 
 he sees the feller pointin' a pistol in his face. 
 Hab lows he weren't one mite skairt, but I 
 know better'n that, an he hit right plum out 
 at the feller, but the feller knocked him down 
 an' traumpled on him just scan'lous, an' then 
 tied him to a cheer." 
 
 "Lordy, lordy," from Ma, with a keen relish 
 for the news, "but aint thet awful? My, my, 
 what sorter man was it. Gopher?" 
 
 "W-well," the Gopher drawled, "Hab said 
 et were so blamed dark-like in the sto' thet he 
 couldn't see the feller's face good, but he was 
 pow'ful big and strong, an had a yaller beard. 
 He stole some vittles and — " 
 
 "Well?" from the rest eagerly. 
 
 "Well, he took the mail bag, too, the one fo' 
 the north." 
 
 "Say," Billy Hoover cried suddenly, "That's 
 just tough ! We had heaps of stuff in that bag, 
 I bet, for Washington. And, huUy-gee ! Yes 
 suh, cousin Frank had some glass test tubes 
 
i8 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 in a box with skeeter larvae in them, and I reck- 
 on the old eggs will all spoil, for sure. Aw, 
 Gee! are you all going? I'll give you some 
 apples if you'll stay. They are some swell 
 apples, too. Honest they are. Please stay 
 around a while, wont you?" but he only spoke 
 to a cloud of dust, for "Pap," "Ma", "Henery" 
 and "Jim" were fast disappearing down the 
 road, homeward bound, while a laughing 
 Gopher galloped after them on his mule, vow- 
 ing most cheerfully, and at the top of his 
 young lungs, that he was " 'most skairt ter 
 death, hisself" and further that he "sho' did 
 hope they'd all see home once mo', " but that 
 he "was plum sure none of 'em ever would." 
 
 "Marse Billy," came the voice of old Pete, 
 "I reckon I better go see Bru'er Phillips 'bout 
 dis. Yas suh, I sho' had better see 'im." 
 
 "Who's Brother Phillips, Uncle Pete?" 
 Billy demanded crossly. 
 
 "He a man o' God, Marse Billy." Pete re- 
 plied solemnly. "Black wif out, but purest 
 white wif in. I knows, chile, kase I helps pay 
 his salary." 
 
 "But why in time do you want to run off 
 and see him now?" the boy asked a bit help- 
 lessly. "There's not a soul in camp but you 
 and me, and the rest wont be back before eight, 
 and- — I reckon I'm scared a little — anyway, I 
 don't feel good. Uncle Pete, so I wish you'd 
 stay." 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 19 
 
 "Lordy, Marse Billy," the old negro said 
 comfortingly, ''Highwayman aint goin' ter do 
 nothin' ter a po' li'l boy like you, less he ties 
 you to a tree an' takes yo' clothes, an' licks 
 yer, so don't you worry. He wouldn't do 
 nothin' mo'n that, Marse Billy." 
 
 "Well, I think that's a whole lot, myself." 
 Billy flushed, though he grinned in spite of 
 himself. ''And I think you might stay. Uncle 
 Pete." 
 
 "Ah jus' cyant do et, honey," the old man 
 said regretfully, "kase de Spirit tells me ter 
 go an' seek out Bru'er Phillips. Dis county 
 es sho' in need ob de prahyers ob de faithful. 
 Yas Lord. Um-m-m!" and he ambled off, an 
 old muzzle loading shot gun slung over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Bill}^ Hoover watched his departure with 
 ever rising indignation, but at last he managed 
 to laugh a little. 
 
 "Blamed if he isn't scaredder than I am," 
 he said sheepishly. 
 
 Going into the cabin he locked the door of 
 the windowless storeroom carefully, took 
 down a small Winchester 22 — his own prop- 
 erty — and seating himself on the round log 
 that served for a doorstep, he scratched his 
 yellow head with nervous thoughtfulness, and 
 gazed down the dusty road toward the village, 
 the gun across his bare knees. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 "And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind 
 
 is through the trees 
 And the waves are like ghostly galleons, tossed upon 
 
 angry seas, 
 And the road is a ribbon of misty light, over the purple 
 
 moor, 
 A highwayman comes riding. 
 
 Riding, riding, 
 A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn door." 
 
 ALFRED NOYES. 
 
 "An' our skins went creepy-creep. 
 
 But we simply had to peep, 
 In that shadowed bastian — Hey, 'twas witches' noon! 
 
 Was he really darkly bad? 
 
 Or some sun-browned fisher lad? 
 Out standing in the shimmer of the moon. 
 
 Ah, that naked, boyish swimmer. 
 
 Flashing fairly in the shimmer. 
 Of a pathway to our tropic moon. — 
 
 'Hush ! 'Tis the Pirate's son !' we said : 
 'Quick, Service boys, race back to bed !' " 
 
 From "the saga of an unsung service/' 
 
 THE HIGHWAYMAN 
 
 Billy waited, nervous, but resolute, for some- 
 thing to happen, and of course nothing did 
 happen — it never does if you sit and wait for it 
 — then, as it was half-past six, he remembered 
 
 20 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 21 
 
 that his cousin, Frank HolHs, had expressed 
 a wish for chicken pie, and that he had care- 
 fully boiled the chickens in preparation for it, 
 the earlier part of that afternoon: 
 
 "Aw, Pshaw!" he grunted as he rose to his 
 feet, "I'm getting mighty scary in my old age! 
 If that highwayman should come here, he 
 couldn't do much to a fourteen year old kid, 
 and, anyway, that pie wont wait any longer. 
 Those fellow^s will want their *chow' at eight, 
 sharp. I've got the store-room key in my 
 pocket, so that's just about all I can do, 
 anyway." 
 
 Taking his rifle into the kitchen with him, 
 he laid it on the rough pine table, and then 
 went in quest of flour, cold water, salt, lard 
 and so forth for his pie. He was awfully proud 
 of his pies, was Master Billy! Getting down 
 a big, earthenware bowl, he sifted a quart of 
 flour into it, having first mixed in a teaspoon- 
 ful of salt. Then he dug out a cup full of lard 
 and set it in readiness on the table with a cup 
 full of cold water. Then he dug several dents 
 in the flour, and stuck a small piece of lard, 
 and about one third as much butter, into each 
 dent, after which he dived his tough, white 
 arms into the bowl, working the lard, butter 
 and flour together, adding just enough of the 
 water to make the mass adhere, and singing 
 lustily as he did so: 
 
22 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 " 'Things has changed about de place, de darkeys is no mo*, 
 Ah'll nebber hear 'em singin' soft again — 
 An' de only thing dats lef me am dat little dog o' mine 
 An' ma little ole log cabin in de lane.' " 
 
 He sang the negro dialect as easily and nat- 
 urally as only a southern boy can, the while he 
 took down a rolling pin and a smoothly planed 
 board of cedar, dusting both with flour. Then 
 he picked up the dough, in an elastic, solid 
 mass now, and laid it on the board, rolling it 
 out quite gently to about an inch of thick- 
 ness, after which he jabbed many holes in it 
 with his index finger, placing more dots of lard 
 in each hole. Then he dusted the whole with 
 sifted flour, rolled it up and began to work it 
 once more, for to make really good pie crust 
 you must be possessed of the patience of Job. 
 During the kneading process his voice dropt 
 to a soft hum: 
 
 " *Dar was an ole nigger, an' his name was Uncle Ned, 
 
 An' he libed long ago, long ago. 
 He had no hyar on de top ob his head, 
 
 In de place whare de hyar ought ter grow.' " 
 
 Once more he gently rolled out the dough, 
 and once more he prodded it with a stout fin- 
 ger, and added the lard, dusting it again with 
 flour, after which he rolled the whole mass, 
 now feathery and flaky, but quite firm, into a 
 wide slab, about one fourth of an inch thick: 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 23 
 
 " 'Hang up de shubble an' de hoe. 
 Hang up de fiddle an' de bow. 
 Fo' dars no mo' work fo' po' Uncle Ned, 
 He has gone whare de good darkeys go.' " 
 
 Scout Billy now became very brisk. Seizing 
 a porcelain lined pan, about four inches deep, 
 he lined it with dough, cutting off the over- 
 hanging edges with a knife and rolling them 
 out again on the board for an upper crust. 
 Then he took the chickens, two aged hens too 
 tough for any fate other than boiling, dis- 
 jointed them, and cut their meat into good 
 sized pieces, from one to two and a half inches. 
 After that he turned his attention to the stew 
 in which the hens had been cooked. To this, 
 after heating it on the stove, he added six 
 boiled potatoes, cut into small cubes, a bunch 
 of parsley, a teaspoonful of whole cloves, a 
 teaspoonful of dry mustard, salt and pepper, 
 and then thickened it all by adding a mixture 
 made by making a paste out of one third of a 
 cup of flour, a tablespoonful of butter, and 
 enough milk and water, in equal parts, to make 
 a thick, creamy substance. As he poured this 
 into the stew, he stirred the boiling mass 
 briskly, and sang an old deep-sea chantey, the 
 cheerful purport of which was to the effect that 
 he was "all among the dead men.'' Finally, 
 he placed the chicken, in a pile, in the pan and 
 pouring the thick, soupy mass over it he added 
 the top crust, and stuck little holes in it with 
 
24 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 a three pronged, steel fork. Gazing at his 
 handiwork with frank pride, his yellow head 
 cocked on one side, he picked up the pan and 
 slid it into the oven, which was only moder- 
 ately hot. 
 
 "I bet Cousin Frank will be tickled silly with 
 that pie," he exulted, "And if he aint, he ought 
 to be. It's just bee-yu-tiful ! For the rest I'll 
 give them hot Johnny Cake (any scout can 
 make that), a jar of that strawberry jam 
 Mamma sent me, the rest of the cold ham, 
 mashed potatoes, and coffee, and I'm sure 
 that's nice enough for the King of England." 
 Then, without a word of warning, his fists 
 clenched at his sides and he uttered a fright- 
 ened, breathless little scream, while a most 
 disagreeable amount of cold sweat broke out 
 all over his tough, satiny young body. 
 
 Clean and sharp in the growing dusk he 
 could hear the thud of a galloping horse, com- 
 ing nearer and nearer, and Billy's heart kept 
 accurate time to those beating hoofs. His 
 hands and arms still dusty with flour, he grab- 
 bed his small Winchester, and ran to the door, 
 lifting it to his shoulder as he did so, just as 
 the horse, a beautiful animal, swung into the 
 clearing about Camp Ross, and its rider 
 vaulted to the ground. 
 
 "Now you just stay right where you are," 
 the scout called, steadying his boyish voice the 
 best he could, and devoutly thankful it was a 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 25 
 
 contralto instead of a soprano, though a basso 
 profundo would have been still more to his 
 liking. ''If — if you come one jump nearer, 
 ril kill you, honest." 
 
 "Aw, what's eatin' you, anyway?" came 
 back a gruff response in a boy's voice, ''I reck- 
 on I can come to see you if I want to. That's 
 a nice way to treat a fellow^! pointing an old 
 gun at him!" 
 
 Billy Hoover, with a great wave of relief, 
 looked at his guest, and as he did so he lowered 
 his rifle, turned quite pink, and then grinned : 
 
 ''Yay, Wardy," he giggled, utterly abashed 
 at his mistake, "You just about scared this 
 Boy Scout to death." 
 
 "Huh," from Wardy as he trotted up to the 
 cabin and sat down on the single step, "Then 
 you're lots more scary than I thought, Billy 
 Hoover. I thought you scouts had some 
 
 spunk." 
 
 "We have got spunk," Billy flung back 
 stoutly, "but honest, Wardy Brown, I— I was 
 looking for a— a highwayman," and he burst 
 out into his own, good-natured laugh. 
 
 "Well, I'm sure I don't look like one, do I?" 
 Wardy demanded with a growing resentment, 
 "I may be pretty tough, but I'm not that bad." 
 
 He certainly did not look like a highway- 
 man. He was just Billy's age, but at least 
 three inches shorter, and as sturdy and solid as 
 a boy could be. He had a lot of fluffy, tow- 
 
26 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 colored hair, just now crammed under an old, 
 weather beaten hat of brown felt, stuck on the 
 back of a round head. Out of his sun browned, 
 jolly face, a bit sulky just now, looked a pair 
 of very big, practical blue eyes. With the tip 
 of his tongue just peeping from between the 
 lips of his wide mouth, he gazed on Billy sul- 
 lenly . 
 
 "Gee, but you're a nice boy, Billy Hoover,'* 
 he said. "I reckon if I hadn't of spoken when 
 I did I'd have gone^ back to the Folly Quarters 
 with a hole in my tummy from that old bean 
 shooter of yours." 
 
 Billy resented the disparaging remark about 
 his Winchester, but he kept his temper like the 
 good scout he was, for he was fond of Wardy 
 Brown, the little he had seen of him, and he 
 was sorry for him too, in many ways. 
 
 Warfield Edward Brown, for that was the 
 tow headed youngster's real name, was the 
 last of his family that was left. He owned the 
 big plantation that was called the Folly Quar- 
 ters, and lived there with his guardian, who 
 was also his tutor, and with a few of the old 
 servants that had belonged to his grandfather 
 before the Civil War. He had met Billy twice 
 before in Charleston, after Easter services at 
 the great Cathedral, and twice since the scout 
 had been a Service "Cookie." 
 
 "You can laugh at me, and guy me, all you 
 want, Wardy," Billy said, "but the Bode family 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 27 
 
 were here a while ago, with a kid they called 
 Gopher Bean — tough looking guy, but ever so 
 funny — and what they had to say about that 
 robbery over at Dolittle made my hair stand 
 right up on end." 
 
 ''Huh," Wardy grunted, though he grinned 
 too while he passed one hand up and down the 
 stout calf of his bare leg, 'T w^sh you'd tell me 
 when it ever did any thing else. You're just 
 crazy in the head with the heat, Billy, or you 
 wouldn't ever think of a highwayman clatter- 
 ing up the way I did. Gee, but I'm dirty, Billy. 
 I've been ploughing." 
 
 "Aw, don't let's talk about ploughing, boy," 
 Billy cried earnestly. "As to that highway- 
 man, you don't know just what a highw^ayman 
 might do. They don't always come sneaking 
 up on soft, little footsies, 'cause in Treasure 
 Island, when old Pew and that crowd attacked 
 the Inn, they made a lot of racket. Say, 
 Wardy, what you think of this robbery, any- 
 how?" 
 
 "I don't think any thing about it at all." 
 Wardy said crossly. "I wish you'd quit talk- 
 ing about it, 'cause I'm not one bit interested 
 in it myself." Then, looking at Billy with a 
 mighty scowl, he grabbed his gun. "I'm a bad 
 boy, I'm a bad boy!" he grinned cheerfully, 
 "And I'll show you how a highw^ayman can 
 carry on, if you want. See that old crow out 
 yonder? Bet you I can hit him first shot." 
 
28 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "Get out, Wardy!" Billy laughed. "You 
 couldn't hit him for anything." 
 
 "Watch me," was the cryptic reply, where- 
 upon Wardy blazed away at the crow several 
 times, until the magazine was empty, but the 
 bird hopped easily away, for not a shot came 
 near him. 
 
 "Some shot, Wardy!" the scout jibed good- 
 naturedly. "Now if I had any more cartridges 
 over here, which I have not, Fd show you how 
 to do it." 
 
 "Ain't you got any more?" Wardy asked 
 with interest. 
 
 "No, that is, not over here. There are some 
 in Dr. Iron's cabin — the Executive Building 
 we call it — but that's way over there under 
 those pines. Say," feehng in his pocket, "I 
 have got just one left." 
 
 "Then let me see you hit that old crow." 
 
 Billy took the gun, cuddling it to his should- 
 er with the skill that comes from long practice, 
 looked down the sights, re-aligned them a bit, 
 and then fired, and the crow toppled over at 
 once. 
 
 "O-o-oh!" from his tow-headed companion, 
 "If I'd known you could shoot Hke that I'd 
 never in this world have tried to — " then, 
 stammering and turning quite white under his 
 tan, he added "I — I mean I'd never have shot 
 at all myself. You're just a wonder, Billy. 
 Sure that's all the cartridges you got?" 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 29 
 
 "Sure thing. Why what's the matter with 
 you, anyway? You're as white as any thing. 
 Not feeHng sick, are you? What is the matter, 
 Wardy?" 
 
 **Nothin'!" Wardy laughed shakily, chang- 
 ing from white to a shamed red, ^'Thinking 
 about your old highwayman, I reckon," and he 
 whistled suddenly, possibly from a desire to 
 appear at his ease. 
 
 "Wardy! Quick! What's that?" 
 
 Turning a dismayed, startled face on his 
 companion, Billy grabbed him by the arm, and 
 as he did so a sturdy, youthful figure sprang 
 past him from the doorway, giving the scout a 
 swinging blow on the side of his head, and as 
 the boy stumbled and fell on his face, in a Httle 
 heap, the figure bounded over to Wardy's 
 mare, swung himself into the saddle and gal- 
 loped out of the inclosure and up the road. 
 
 "You're not hurt, are you Billy? Aw, Gee, 
 please say you're not much hurt, wont you?" 
 Wardy asked, as a big tear tumbled down his 
 straight nose, quite unheeded. He was any- 
 thing but the crying sort, and so Billy was 
 amazed. 
 
 "No indeed, old scout," he said quickly, as 
 he picked himself out of the dust, "I'm just 
 plain mad. Say, don't look at me like that, 
 Wardy. I'm not mad with you. That fellow 
 gave me a beautiful wallop, though, and my 
 head does ache some! Shall we chase after 
 
30 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 him? I've got my Winchester, you know." 
 
 "Sure I know/' Wardy answered very so- 
 berly, his round face very uncomfortable, "But 
 you haven't got any thing to load it with, not 
 here I mean. Anyway, he's on my Beauty 
 horse, and she's the best traveler in this 
 county." 
 
 "That's so," the scout cried contritely, more 
 distressed for Wardy now than for his own 
 bruised head, "I — I certainly am sorry, Wardy 
 boy. Here I've been thinking about this old 
 yellow head of mine — and it's had lots worse 
 knocks before — and yet you've lost your 
 mare." 
 
 "Y-yes, I'm just awful worried about it." 
 Wardy answered, but somehow he did not 
 seem to be worried about it at all, though he 
 was still very near crying. 
 
 "Wonder what he stole," Billy said briskly, 
 to give the other boy a chance to pull himself 
 together. "He couldn't get in the pantry, 
 'cause I have the key in my pants pocket. Food 
 is so awful high now that Cousin Frank and 
 the Chief told me to be mighty careful. Well, 
 I've got the key, and — " then he stopped dead, 
 his face quite blank, for, sticking on the out- 
 side of the store-room door, was the key. 
 "Gee!" poor Billy gasped, regaining his voice 
 at last, "The pantry's open, and — and I bet he's 
 taken most every thing!" 
 
 "No he hasn't, Billy," Wardy called from the 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 31 
 
 depths of the store-room which he had entered, 
 "He — he only took a ham." 
 
 "Then I bet it's the ham we bought from 
 you, doggone it," Billy growled. "And those 
 Folly Quarter hams are just splendid. I was 
 saving it for Buster's birthday. Is it that ham 
 from the Folly Quarters, Wardy?" 
 
 "Y-yes suh — Billy, I mean." Then, with a 
 sound very like a sob, Warfield Brown brushed 
 passed the scout, his childish face working 
 rather piteously, and muttering to himself, 
 these quite non-understandable words: 
 
 "Fm a bad boy! Fm a bad boy! It aint 
 never nothin' but a ham" (in his grief forgetful 
 of grammar). "It aint never nothin' but an 
 old ham, b-but Fm a bad boy. Fm going on 
 back to the Folly Quarters, Billy, and — and 
 Fll send Uncle Ned over here with a ham for — 
 for Buster's birthday party, you see if I don't. 
 You're the only kid around here that it's any 
 fun to play with. It must be great to be a Boy 
 Scout and have lots of chums, and live in a real 
 city like Charleston. Fm going on back to the 
 Folly Quarters, Billy. So long." 
 
 "Look here, Wardy," Billy struck in sturd- 
 ily, "What is the matter with you? There 
 isn't a bit of sense in your calling yourself a 
 bad boy — 'cause you're no such a thing. You 
 didn't hit me on the side of the head, and you 
 didn't take that ham. I'm tickled silly he took 
 nothing else. Why, Wardy, you lost your 
 
32 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 mare, and that's heaps worse. I reckon that's 
 why you're all worked up. You're such a lot 
 of fun, 'most all the time, that it sort of scares 
 me to see you like this. I wouldn't worry 
 about the mare. I bet we catch that thief." 
 
 "Gee!" from Wardy, his own tow head be- 
 ginning to bristle like a youthful hedgehog. 
 "D-don't you talk like that. 'C-course I hope 
 you do catch him, but as to my Beauty horse, 
 I reckon she'll find her way back to the Folly 
 Quarters all right. Good bye, scout. I'm aw- 
 ful glad you're not hurt much, and — and say, 
 I'll send you that ham, a real nice one, you 
 just see if I don't, so there won't be any use 
 talking about it, will there?" 
 
 He asked the question so wistfully that Billy 
 grinned in spite of himself. 
 
 "But we've got to tell the officers about it, 
 or they can't help to find your horse," he said. 
 
 "That Beauty horse'U come back home," 
 Wardy replied solemnly, "so just you please 
 shut up, Billy, and I'll shut up, 'cause there's 
 enough row at Dolittle already." 
 
 "Not a circumstance to what it'll be when 
 the federal authorities get on the trail of that 
 highwayman," Billy flung back cheerfully. 
 "I tell you, Wardy, robbing Uncle Sam's mail 
 isn't a joke." 
 
 "Robbin' the mail?" young Warfield wailed, 
 consternation on his smooth face, and utter 
 terror, too. "Who robbed the mail? It — it 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 33 
 
 was old Habakuk Meers' store that was rob- 
 bed. They — he — he stold a — a ham, only a 
 ham, Billy. Honest that was all. Where'd 
 you hear about the mail?" 
 
 "Why, Gopher Bean told about it," Billy 
 explained. 
 
 ''Then that Gopher Bean's sillier than I 
 thought he w^as!" Wardy grunted, a sudden 
 scowl on his nice face, and, doubling up his 
 fists truculently, he strode away, with only a 
 gruff "So long, Billy, Tm going back to the 
 Folly Quarters — but I'm going to punch some- 
 body's brown head for 'em, first. See if I 
 don't," and he looked sturdy enough, and mad 
 enough to do it, too. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 "Oh, weren't they the fine boys! You never saw the 
 beat of them, 
 
 Singing all together with their throats bronze-bare; 
 Fighting-fit and mirth-mad, music in the feet of them, 
 
 Swinging on to glory and the wrath out there." 
 
 ROBERT SERVICE. 
 
 "We cleared the Hook, we crossed the bar, 
 Each with his kit, his woes, his joys — 
 
 Ship Island, Naples, Panama, 
 
 It's all the same to Service boys." 
 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 THE "CHIEF" AND HIS "BOYS" 
 
 Six-thirty A. M. ! Breakfast should be nearly 
 ready, but it isn't! Squeals and whoops of 
 rapturous joy come from the kitchen, where 
 "Cookie", a big white apron, with a bib, tied 
 about his body, is deep in the first part of Ian 
 Hay's "The First Hundred Thousand." The 
 book is propped before him at one end of the 
 kitchen table, and as he reads he stirs, very 
 lamely, I am afraid, at something destined 
 eventually to become what he calls "batter 
 cakes", a simple batter made with four eggs, 
 the yolks and whites beaten separately, three 
 
 34 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 35 
 
 teaspoonfuls of sugar, one of salt, and one of 
 baking powder, the last mentioned mixed with 
 enough flour to make a thick, creamy batter, 
 after the yolks of the eggs, the sugar and the 
 salt have been stirred together with three cups- 
 full of very rich milk. Finally the stiffly beaten 
 whites are folded in, and there you are! All 
 now that is needed is a very hot griddle, 
 greased for each new batch of cakes with a 
 bit of bacon rind. 
 
 It seems doubtful, just at present, as to 
 whether the batter and the griddle will ever 
 meet, for Billy has been stirring the former for 
 the last half hour. 
 
 "Gee, but it's just great!" he chuckles, re- 
 ferring to the book, not the batter cakes, "I 
 bet Sub-Lieutenant felt ashamed, alright. I 
 know I would have been my own self." 
 
 He had been reading the account of the time 
 that an unfortunate subaltern, after a serious 
 discussion of when and where and how^ to 
 salute, held with two other young fellows of 
 the same rank, all equally in dead earnest, un- 
 wisely took the matter to one Captain Wag- 
 staffe, the humorist of his battaHon, and that 
 sportive officer said he would refer it all to 
 **the Deputy Assistant Instructor in Mihtary 
 Etiquette", as the matter was of the gravest 
 importance. Later, he presented the unfor- 
 tunate subaltern with a carefully typed report, 
 claiming to come direct from the Captain's 
 
36 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 mysterious official, and it was the reading of 
 certain extracts printed from this paper that 
 was the cause of the lateness of breakfast at 
 Camp Ross, and of Master Billy's joy, too. 
 The whole thing tickled him immensely — 
 
 " 'Special Cases,' " he read, a wide grin on 
 his mouth: " '(a) A soldier, wheeling a wheel- 
 barrow and balancing a swill-tub on his head, 
 meets an officer walking in review dress. 
 
 Correct Procedure. — The soldier will immediately cant 
 the swill-tub to an angle of forty-five degrees, at a dis- 
 tance of one and one half inches above his right eyebrow. 
 (In case of Rifle Regiments the soldier will balance the 
 swill-tub on his nose.) He will then invite the officer, by 
 a smart movement of the left ear, to seat himself on the 
 wheelbarrow. 
 
 Correct Acknowledgment. — The officer will comply, 
 placing his feet upon the right and left hubs of the wheel, 
 respectively, with the ball of the toe in each case at a 
 distance of one inch (when serving abroad at a distance 
 of 2^ centimetres) from the centre of gravity of the 
 wheelbarrow. (In the case of Rifle Regiments the offi- 
 cer will tie his feet in a knot at the back of his neck.) 
 The soldier will then advance six paces, after which the 
 officer will dismount and go home and have a bath.' " 
 
 "Wonder if that really happened?" Billy 
 muttered quite wistfully. "I sure hope it did. 
 I'll ask Buster about it, when I give him 'The 
 First Hundred Thousand' for his birthday. 
 He'll know all about it, even better than the 
 Chief, though the Chief just about knows 
 everything." Then, glancing at an Ingersoll 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 37 
 
 dollar watch, "Gee whiz! It's 'most six-thirty- 
 five, and I haven't sounded Reveille! Got the 
 flag up, though, an hour ago, thank goodness!" 
 Grabbing a battered cornet, that for six long 
 months had been the joy of his heart, he strode 
 to the open doorway (carefully screened with 
 fine copper netting, like all the log cabins), 
 and placing the instrument to his lips, let it 
 ring out the call, not the true Reveille, but 
 "Boots and Saddles", thinking the words of 
 the old cavalry jargon as he played: 
 
 "Come all that are able, 
 Go down to the stable, 
 
 And give your poor horses some fodder and com I 
 For if you don't do it 
 The Colonel will know it 
 
 And then you will rue it as sure as you're born 1" 
 
 A wiry, red-brown head, with the hair cut 
 "Teddy Bear", or, as the French put it "en 
 brosse", was poked out from the door of the 
 nearest cabin, to be followed promptly by its 
 owner, a tall, freckled face young fellow, bare 
 footed and in pajama trousers only, his lean 
 body, muscular and white below the bronzed 
 line of his throat and reaching in a sort of V 
 down his breast, flashing cheerfully in the sun- 
 light that sifted through the great pines. He 
 was a very young man indeed, in his earliest 
 twenties, and just how he had managed to get 
 an A. B. and an M. D., and to serve a whole 
 
38 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 year as an intern in a hospital, before getting 
 his commission, was one of the Seven Wonders 
 of the U. S. Pubhc Health Service. He looked 
 much more as if he should have been at prep, 
 school somewhere than to be a commissioned 
 officer, and this, added to his really tender 
 years, made his fellow officers call him "The 
 Boy", or just "Boy'', when they did not call 
 him "Pepper" — a fact attributable to his 
 freckled face. His name was Theodore Wil- 
 liams Sloan, known at home as Teddy, from 
 his crisp red hair as well as an abbreviation. 
 He was quite tall, very athletic, and was the 
 wag of the camp. 
 
 "Ah, have a heart, have a heart. Cookie!" 
 this slightly clad individual cried. "That's 
 just an awful awakening to give a fellow!" 
 
 The scout grinned. 
 
 "Thought you said *Boots and Saddles' was 
 such a pretty old tune," he jibed, leaning com- 
 fortably against the door casing. 
 
 "So it is a pretty tune, when you don't have 
 to tumble out of bed to it," Pepper answered 
 reproachfully. "I'm as sleepy as anything. 
 Had a beastly night, too. Dr. Neems tossed 
 about from one-thirty on, calling most fear- 
 fully upon the name of one Evelyn, and I hope 
 to goodness that Evelyn heard him, for I know 
 I did. Then Spot got to laughing, and I had 
 to sit on his golden head. It quieted him won- 
 derfully, you know. I was ever so pleased with 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 39 
 
 the result. I do wish you wouldn't wake the 
 others, to say nothing of my august self, so 
 very early in the morning, my dear scout." 
 
 "But it's not early, Dr. Sloan," Billy laughed 
 back. ''It's as late as anything, nearly quarter 
 to seven. You know I'd be tickled silly if I 
 could let you sleep, and I'd tote your break- 
 fast to you, at Buttercup cottage, anytime, 
 like I did the other morning, when the Chief 
 was at Mobile." 
 
 "Hold on there, Cookie" the cheerful Pep- 
 per smiled, "Since when has my official resi- 
 dence become Buttercup cottage? — It used 
 to be Spiders'-Rest when we Assistant Sur- 
 geons occupied it to ourselves. Has the advent 
 of Surgeon James Montgomery Neems altered 
 it?" 
 
 "Oh, no sir," the scout answered with an- 
 other grin. "Dr. Neems hadn't a thing to do 
 with it, honest. But you see, I've swatted all 
 the spiders, so it would be just silly to call it 
 Spiders'-Rest any more. Anyhow, I found 
 about nine buttercups under the eastern win- 
 dow the other day, so I thought Buttercup 
 cottage was as good a name as another. Had 
 your bath, doctor?" 
 
 "No, not yet, but I'll race down to the swim- 
 ming hole and be back by the time you have 
 breakfast on the table. Couldn't you delay 
 the meal, well, say for about ten minutes, 
 Billy?" 
 
40 THE LONE SCOUT , 
 
 "Sure I could/' from the friendly scout, who 
 was greatly attached to this young officer, "TU 
 see you're not one bit late, sir." 
 
 *'You are a good little sort, Billy," Pepper 
 flung back over a departing shoulder, "and 
 something of a brick, too. The Chief hates 
 us cubs to be late, he is so distressingly 
 punctual himself." 
 
 By this time other doors were opening and 
 the occupants of other cabins began to stroll 
 toward a large oak, beneath which the officers' 
 mess ate their meals in good weather, and 
 where the breakfast table was already set. 
 
 "Morning, Billy," called another young As- 
 sistant Surgeon, by name Spotteswood Wel- 
 ford, a Virginia boy, and already alluded to 
 as "Spot", "Breakfast ready?" 
 
 "N-not quite, doctor," Billy answered, re- 
 turning the officer's good-natured salute with 
 his scout's one — three fingers of his right hand 
 touching his forehead smartly, the thumb 
 within his palm, covering the little finger, sym- 
 boHc of the three parts of the Scout Oath, and 
 the knot of honor that ties them together). As 
 he made this reply he blushed guiltily, with a 
 hasty glance down the path that led from the 
 swimming hole. 
 
 "You are not nearly so good at bluffing as 
 our friend Pepper," Dr. Welford smiled. "You 
 are very good to that red headed scamp, Billy. 
 You spoil him." 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 41 
 
 "But he's so awful nice," Billy defended 
 loyally. "And he has promised me a bull pup." 
 
 "The regulations don't allow dogs on the 
 reservations, Billy," Dr. Welford smiled again, 
 "but maybe we can get special permission, as 
 this isn't exactly a reservation." (Billy 
 thought of the "Deputy Assistant Instructor 
 in Military Etiquette," and giggled.) "As to 
 Pepper being a nice chap," the officer contin- 
 ued, "I reckon I know that better than you. 
 When he and I were school boys together at 
 the old Episcopal High School, near Alexan- 
 dria, he was over three years my junior, though 
 he was up with me in my classes, and he made 
 me do every thing he wished, somehow. He 
 is the sweetest tempered boy I ever knew, and 
 lots of fun along with it, and I believe that is 
 the reason he makes every fellow he meets 
 love him. Here he comes, now — tan shoes, 
 leather leggins, olive drab riding breeches and 
 shirt, and all. Even got his bronze U. Ss. 
 on his collar, and his khaki uniform cap. Looks 
 nice, and awfully fit, don't he, Billy?" 
 
 Of the two officers. Spot had, in reality, a 
 far handsomer face, but nobody ever noticed 
 it as they did the other man's — for Pepper was 
 so boyishly exuberant and friendly, while 
 Spot was usually grave. 
 
 "Breakfast not ready yet, Billy?" Pepper 
 asked innocently, raising his voice for the 
 benefit of old Dr. Iron, who was pacing an- 
 
42 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 grily up and down the clearing. "That will 
 never do, my boy ! Hold still, child, hold still !'* 
 this last being added with sudden earnestness, 
 very real now. "There^s a mosquito eating 
 your left shoulder. Hold still, I tell you, like 
 a good boy, until I take a look at her and 
 classify her." 
 
 "Reckon I know a skeeter is biting me, Dr. 
 Sloan," Billy answered with some bitterness, 
 trying to hold his body perfectly still. "How 
 do you know she's a lady, though?" 
 
 "She wouldn't be eating you, if she weren't, 
 my son." Pepper laughed, focusing a small 
 reading glass on the boy's bare shoulder. "It's 
 simply beautiful. Spot," to his brother officer. 
 "I never gazed upon a fairer — not your 
 shoulder, Billy, but her ladyship. She's an 
 Anopheles all right. See how she stands on 
 her head and waves her hind legs in the air, at 
 about on angle of forty-five degrees from the 
 boy's skin. Furthermore, she's a Quad — the 
 Chief's pet name for Anopheles quadrima- 
 culatus, Master Scout — because I can see the 
 four spots on her wings (some of them have 
 five by-the-way). I can see them just as plain 
 as anything. She's a lovely object, Billy, and 
 any Boy Scout should be proud to make a 
 breakfast for her." 
 
 "Is she a malaria skeeter, doctor?" Billy 
 asked, squirming a bit, for his skin began to 
 itch and sting. 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 43 
 
 "Yes. All Anopheles carry malaria, but you 
 needn't worry your head about that, old fellow, 
 for the three grains of quinine that the Chief 
 makes all of us take three times a day just now, 
 will be pretty sure to keep you in fighting trim, 
 I think/' 
 
 "You know a lot about mosquitoes, don't 
 you?" Billy said w4th frank admiration, after 
 he had received permission to kill "her lady- 
 ship". This, he remembered, was Public 
 Health, and a knowledge as vast as Pepper's 
 would be sure to win that much coveted Merit 
 Badge. 
 
 "Not nearly as much as I'd like to," the 
 young officer smiled down at the boy. "But 
 any fellow picks up a lot, working with the 
 Chief. You can't help yourself. He explains 
 every thing so nicely, the three kinds of ma- 
 laria mosquitoes, for instance. Just like this, 
 you know. Anopheles quadrimaculatis (like 
 her ladyship) just now, with four or five spots 
 on her wings. The Anopheles punctipenis 
 the Chief calls them Puncs, by the way — with 
 a sort of yellow *bite' out of each wing, and 
 the Anopheles crucians, with three spots on 
 the sixth vein of their wings. You need a glass 
 to distinguish the little beggars, except that 
 all Anopheles stand on their heads like her 
 ladyship, when they bite, and other mosquitoes 
 sit parallel to the body." 
 
44 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "ril never remember those names, you 
 know," poor Billy sighed. 
 
 "Oh yes, you wilL Use the Chiefs pet 
 names. Quads, four or five spots on their 
 v^ings. Puncs, with a yellow bite out of each 
 wing. Crucians, three spots on the sixth vein 
 of their wings. And remember, all malaria 
 mosquitoes stand on their heads^ ivith their hind 
 legs in the air, when they bite a hoy. Really it's 
 not hard, and it is something that every Boy 
 Scout, particularly in the South, should know 
 like a book." 
 
 A perfect bellow from under the oak, pro- 
 ceeding from the mouth of Senior Surgeon 
 John Iron, a tall, fat old gentleman with white 
 hair and an energetically bristling, close crop- 
 ped mustache, stopped further talk. The afore- 
 said bellow containing the information that it 
 was "high time and over" for breakfast, and 
 this opinion sent Billy scurrying for his kit- 
 chen, while the cheerful Pepper and the solemn 
 Spot hastened toward the table, as did all the 
 others that were at Camp Ross, six or eight 
 of them. 
 
 "Don't wait for the Chief," sang out Mr. 
 HolHs as he hurried over from his cabin, khaki 
 clad but without the physician's insignia on 
 his collar, nor the grade marks on his sleeves, 
 and with a felt campaign hat instead of their 
 smart, olive drab Service caps, with the tanned 
 leather chin straps. 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 45 
 
 "And pray why not, Hollis?" in a ponder- 
 ous, grunting voice from Dr. Iron. 
 
 "Just because he said not to, Iron," Mr. 
 HoUis responded as he sat down. "Hope Billy 
 has something good for breakfast. He seemed 
 fearfully upset last night. Heaven and the 
 tribe of small boys alone know why. I say, 
 Neems, pass me the sugar and milk, like a good 
 chap." 
 
 "Here you are, Hollis." Surgeon James 
 Montgomery Neems replied — a stout, muscu- 
 lar man in his olive drab uniform, wearing his 
 coat (or blouse as it is called) and with his 
 cap on the back of his rather bald, red head, 
 his eyes blinking behind very thick eye glasses: 
 "Better than the evaporated cream we had at 
 Ancon, eh Holhs?" 
 
 "There were worse things in Panama than 
 evaporated cream, Jimmy Neems," Mr. Hollis 
 replied darkly, putting sugar and cream in his 
 cup, preparatory to the coffee that Billy, now 
 at his elbow, poured into it. 
 
 "Oh tut, tut, Frank," Dr. Neems laughed 
 shortly, as usual, missing the Engineer's point 
 entirely ; "You are always thinking of the row 
 you had with the Alcalde at Colon." 
 
 Frank Hollis laughed good-naturedly 
 enough. 
 
 "Meaning about *the naked brown babies in 
 Bolivar Street/ as 'Panama Patchwork' puts 
 it?" he asked. 
 
46 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "The same, my boy, the same. Glad old 
 Gilbert found poetry in them, for Fm blamed 
 if I ever could, nor you either, Hollis, from the 
 way you had 'em scrubbed. Speaking of those 
 Bolivar Street babies, though, how did you and 
 your school children up at Sago Branch come 
 along, Pepper? I'd have given fifty dollars to 
 have heard your maiden speech on mosquito 
 sanitation." 
 
 "I'd have made it a hundred, myself." Mr. 
 Hollis chimed in gleefully. 
 
 "And I'd have given one thousand dollars, 
 yes sir, one thousand dollars not to have heard 
 it," in strong tones from old Dr John Iron. 
 
 Pepper, otherwise Teddy, otherwise Assis- 
 tant Surgeon Sloan, dropped his brown eyes to 
 the table, while his smooth, freckled face 
 turned a deep pink. 
 
 "D-did you hear it, sir?" he asked, as shy 
 as a guilty small boy. 
 
 "Yes I did," the old gentleman flung back 
 grumpily, and then he began to laugh: "It 
 was too funny, Neems," he chuckled fatly, 
 "Too funny for anything!" 
 
 "It wasn't any fun for me, sir." Pepper 
 flushed, looking both young and sulky. "I — I 
 guess I did the very best I could, though. The 
 boys were all right enough, but the girls ! Gee ! 
 — Look here, fellows, there — there were some 
 big girls there, and — and they laughed 'most 
 all the time, you know." 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 47 
 
 "I wonder why on earth they did that, Pep- 
 per?" Mr. HolHs asked gravely, and the whole 
 officers' mess howled with joy. 
 
 "Oh, because — because they said my — my 
 uniform was pretty," the youngest officer 
 blushed, though he laughed at himself with the 
 others. 
 
 "Sure that that was all the big girls said, 
 Pepper?" Dr. Iron inquired with ponderous 
 jocosity. "Seems to me you are leaving out 
 the most touching part." 
 
 "Oh, but please don't !" from the wretchedly 
 embarrassed Pepper. 
 
 "Yes, I will, though. Master Pepper. You 
 see, gentlemen, these sunbonnetted young 
 ladies on Sago Branch said they thought the 
 uniform was pretty, but that the Service boy 
 in it was prettier still — 'cute' — was the exact 
 word, wasn't it Pepper?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know!" poor Pepper grinned 
 sheepishly. 
 
 "Must have been uplifting from a scientific 
 standpoint. Pepper." Dr. Neems struck in with 
 gusto, while Mr. HoUis expressed the opinion 
 that he had no doubt but that the children of 
 Sago Branch were greatly edified. 
 
 "It was the best I knew how to give 'em, 
 scientifically," the youngest officer defended 
 stoutly. Then he began to laugh. "How 
 would you feel if a bunch of girls were giggling 
 at you, Dr. Neems? Looking at you, right in 
 
48 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 your face, you know, all the time? It was the 
 awfuUest feeling." 
 
 "Oh, Fm used to girls looking at me. Pep- 
 per," Jimmy Neems replied, with such compla- 
 cency that the mess roared again, more joy- 
 ously than ever. 
 
 Gradually, however, the men one by one 
 stopped laughing, those who commanded a 
 view of the path leading from the swimming 
 hole stopping first. Then they rose to their 
 feet, rather embarrassed at the noise they had 
 been making, and, clicking their heels together, 
 saluted with sincere respect the advancing 
 form of their "Chief", Assistant Surgeon Gen- 
 eral Ian Whitlock. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 "And I called him a fool ... oh how blind was I ! 
 
 And the cup of my grief's abrim. 
 
 Will glory o' England ever die 
 
 So long as we've lads like him? 
 
 So long as we've fond and fearless fools, 
 
 Who, spurning fortune and fame, 
 
 Turn out with the rallying cry of their schools, 
 
 Just bent on playing the game." 
 
 ROBERT SERVICE. 
 
 "To me the straighter prison, 
 To me the heavier chain. 
 
 To me, Diego Valdez, 
 High Admiral of Spain." 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING. 
 
 "Drake sailed these seas a yesterday,^ 
 Full of the rapture of new world joys. 
 
 Faith, we are in good company. 
 
 He, the Arch Saint of us Service boys." 
 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 "BUSTER" 
 
 General Whitlock, after returning the salute 
 of his officers, replaced his right hand on the 
 broad shoulder of his companion, a fresh faced 
 youngster of seventeen, with an engaging 
 
 49 
 
50 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 smile and a lot of yellow hair swept smoothly 
 off his forehead in what the General, his father, 
 called his "plume". A year ago he had been 
 center on his prep, school eleven. He was 
 big and tall for his age, and had much of his 
 great father's graciousness of manner, though, 
 added to it was a shy boyishness that had a 
 charm all its own. 
 
 Both man and boy were in the olive drab 
 khaki of officers, though the General, like Dr. 
 Neems, wore his blouse, with the Eagles on the 
 collar to show his rank, while the boy, of 
 course, was without any insignia. 
 
 Dr. Whitlock was a slight, athletic man, a 
 little shorter than his school boy son, and thin- 
 ner, with closely trimmed, iron gray hair above 
 a tanned, clean shaven face, lean and very 
 clever, and behind the tortoise-shell rims of 
 his eyeglasses, with their long, black silk cord, 
 looked out a pair of shrewd, though very kind- 
 ly, gray eyes. In his tight fitting field uniform 
 he looked quite youthful, in spite of his fifty- 
 six years. 
 
 As to "Buster" — for, though his real name 
 was Robert, the Assistant Surgeon General's 
 son had never outgrown his small-boy name- — 
 he worshipped the ground the General trod on, 
 and only once in all their lives had they ever 
 had anything approaching a quarrel, and that 
 had been in the June of 1916, a year before. 
 
 While with his father at the U. S. Marine 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 51 
 
 Hospital at Stapleton, on Staten Island, just 
 after school had closed, Buster had gone with 
 him to his club in New York, and there he met 
 Richard Norton and his brother Elliot, the 
 former in charge of the American Volunteer 
 Motor-Ambulance Corps, on duty "somewhere 
 in France", the latter in charge of the organi- 
 zation work in the States. These two charm- 
 ing, quiet men, had talked much with the Gen- 
 eral over their after dinner cigars, while Bus- 
 ter, wide eyed and strangely moved, had lis- 
 tened in silence to their simple accounts of the 
 fine work of their corps in Europe, of wonder- 
 ful duties in "No Man's Land," done with quiet 
 steadiness, while the ambulances trembled in 
 the shock of the German guns. 
 
 After they were back at the station. Buster 
 asked his father to let him go over with Rich- 
 ard Norton for the summer, but the General 
 naturally refused. 
 
 "But ril be seventeen in August, Dad," the 
 boy begged, "and Tm ever so strong, you 
 know, and — and husky, and big and all that. 
 Lots of the fellows think Tm eighteen. I know 
 right much about a machine, too, and — " 
 
 But the General shook his head, though he 
 gave Buster full credit for his fineness in want- 
 ing to "do his bit". Then the boy got stubborn, 
 for the first time in his young life, and a little 
 savage, too, and said he would go, if he had to 
 run away. Whitlock senior, after days of care- 
 
52 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 ful thought, decided that he would have to do 
 one of two things; either lock his son up some- 
 where and guard him, with the chance always 
 of his getting away, or let him go over for the 
 summer in a proper way, sheltered with the 
 General's own reputation, and under Richard 
 Norton's sane control. He was worried and 
 distressed, but he was proud of the boy, too, 
 and at last he gave his consent, and as Buster 
 passed his physical examination with flying 
 colors, he sailed away at last, bound for the 
 French port of Brest, to return in the last part 
 of October, sun-browned, glad and modestly 
 proud of the work he had done at the wheel 
 of the American Pierce-Arrow, given to the 
 corps by one of the American founders of the 
 great w^ar hospital at Neuilly, just outside of 
 Paris. He also brought back the remains of 
 a hole in the flat arch of his tough young 
 stomach, now only a ragged scar, but which 
 had invalided him home, "]ust in time for 
 school, you know. Dad," as he explained with 
 a rueful grin. He had not been entirely a well 
 boy since. 
 
 With much glee he told his father, as pleased 
 as himself, if not more so, of his having been 
 one of the convoy that received the distinction 
 of being "cite" before the Corps d'Armee — the 
 equivalent to giving an individual the Croix de 
 Guerre, with the glorious right to paint that 
 much prized distinction on his car. 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 53 
 
 "And I used a paint brush for the first time 
 in my Hfe, Dad/' the boy exulted, "and — well 
 it looked right nice, a good deal like the Croix 
 de Guerre, anyhow. I was the one kid in the 
 crowd — lots of 'em in the trenches, of course, 
 French boys, you know — so the rest said that 
 if I didn't do the dirty work and paint that 
 war cross, they'd paint me — and they'd have 
 done it, too. Charley Penrose — he's a lean, 
 leather-faced old chap from Baltimore — and 
 Gee, Dad, his glasses are 'most an inch thick — 
 he started to pull off my shirt, so I got busy, 
 I can tell you. He's just the sort to paint a 
 boy's skin for a lark. He was always ever so 
 good to me, Dad. When I got that ball right 
 in the pit of my stomach, and when I was so 
 sick I was green, he carried me pick-a-back to 
 the little old Ford (not crazy about 'em for 
 ambulances, myself, none of us were) and was 
 as good and gentle to me as you would have 
 been, and rode with me all the way in to the 
 nearest poste de secour, and got a Croix de 
 Guerre for his very own. Gave me some of 
 the dandiest Edam cheese, once. Gee, but it 
 was good ! We ate it with some soggy crack- 
 ers, we and a brancardier, sitting on the 
 smashed up wheel of a caisson, somewhere be- 
 tween Dead Man's Corner and Shell Street. 
 That cheese was about the best thing I ever 
 ate. Honest it was. It was splendid work, 
 Dad, though I'll own up I used to get scared 
 
54 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 sometimes, and those other fellows in our Con- 
 voy were just wonderful, and spunky! Oh, 
 my! It was wonderful, specially old Charley. 
 He, and a little poilu whom we called Toto, 
 could find more good things in the way of eats 
 than anybody else — and we never asked where 
 they got 'em, either. 'Leave it to old Haws- 
 khaw. Buster,' he would say to me, looking so 
 solemn you'd never think he was joking, 'and 
 he will detect food for your youthful tummy. 
 Venez a moi, Watso,' that was his name for the 
 poilu at such times (after the pictures in the 
 funny paper, you know Dad). 'Buster wishes 
 food. Oh, la! la! We it at once get. Not?' 
 and he'd get it, too." 
 
 No wonder then, after all this, that Dr. 
 Whitlock rejoiced at having his son with him, 
 and when the youngster's health forced him to 
 leave school in February, neither the father 
 nor the son felt much regret at it, and Buster 
 had seen too much of real suffering on the 
 Verdun front not to know now how to be pa- 
 tient in his own pain, so that he improved very 
 well when once back with the General in 
 Washington, and both decided that, even in 
 this summer's field work, they would stick 
 close together. 
 
 No wonder, also, that Scout Billy Hoover 
 should be in a constant state of exalted hero- 
 worship, divided more or less equally between 
 his great Chief, who had served the round 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 55 
 
 world over, and his yellow headed, pleasant 
 son, who laughed and sky-larked with him, or 
 with the younger officers, even when he was 
 lying, rather pale, in a hammock — always jolly 
 and full of healthy, boyish fun, and always 
 good and kind and dependable, like the Chief 
 himself. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 "Author : — Hey ! hey ! What the deuce is all this ? Why, 
 'tis Ercles' vein, and it would require some one much 
 more like Hercules, than I, to produce a story which 
 would gush and glide, and never pause, and visit, and 
 widen, and deepen, and all the rest on't. I should be chin 
 deep in the grave, man, before I had done with my task ; 
 and in the mean while, all the quirks and quiddities which 
 I might have devised for my reader's amusement, would 
 lie rotting in my gizzard, like Sancho's suppressed wit- 
 icism, when he was under his master's displeasure. — 
 There was never a novel written on this plan while the 
 world stood." 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 "And then he laughed his dear old laugh. 
 And winked his dear old wicked eye: 
 
 'It's just my joke, my fun, my chaff, 
 Boys want me bold and bad, not I !' " 
 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 THE FOLLY QUARTERS 
 
 The upper heading to this chapter reminds 
 me, rather grimly, that I have strayed away a 
 bit from my story — though I am not so sure 
 about that, either, for I want you youngsters 
 to know the stuff of which the Service is made 
 — The boys manly, self-reliant, modest boys, 
 
 56 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 57 
 
 and the men manly, ever ready fellows, 
 schooled in the hard life of much work (very, 
 very great work from a humanitarian stand- 
 point) small pay and smaller recognition. 
 Like KipUng's account of ''Her Majesty's 
 Jollies", they are ''soldier and sailor, too", on 
 revenue cutters, sanitating military camps 
 for our Government, doing surgery in the 
 Marine Hospitals, lent to Russia in Cholera 
 times at Libau, on duty in Yokahama, or 
 Naples, ridding South America of its bondage 
 to Yellow Fever, the PhiHppines of its Bubonic 
 Plague, and giving up their home happiness 
 (home is an almost unknown word in the 
 Public Health Service) and often enough their 
 lives, so that other men, in this and in distant 
 countries, may live, and alw^ays modest and 
 quiet about it all, with the true spirit that their 
 Service inculcates. 
 
 And now, with your kind leave, we will re- 
 turn to the breakfast table at Camp Ross. 
 
 "Here is your chair waiting for you, Gen- 
 eral," was the ingratiating salutation of Dr. 
 Neems, showing a finely shaded mixture of 
 good-fellowship and ardent respect, which 
 called forth a growling whisper from old Dr. 
 Iron in which the only distinguishable words 
 were "Humbug" and "Official toady". 
 
 "Glad of it, Neems," the Assistant Surgeon 
 General smiled, seating himself opposite Dr. 
 Iron, at the head of the table. "Fm hungry. 
 
58 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 I've been up Bull Creek as far as Sago Branch, 
 and I find any number of breeding places for 
 Anopheles, and larvae a-plenty. I crossed the 
 divide to the Folly Quarters, and Heavens and 
 Earth! over on the Big Bear River, almost in 
 front of that beautiful old house, a bit to the 
 left, is a cistern of the most awful antiquity, 
 of an age with the Gainsborough and Kneller 
 portraits within, I guess, and packed with 
 larvae and mosquitoes in every stage of de- 
 velopment. Awful, wasn't it Buster?" 
 
 "And then some. Dad," in cheerful reply 
 from the boy. "Honestly, Dr. Neems, I never 
 saw such a lot of wiggle-tails in my life. And 
 as Dad says, the eggs were ever so thick, worst 
 bunch of larvae going, I bet." 
 
 "Buster bears me out, you see," the General 
 laughed. Then to the boy, "Buster, sit down 
 and have your breakfast. That stomach of 
 yours must be woefully empty." And he laid 
 one hand invitingly on the chair at his left. 
 
 "Not right now, Dad," Buster smiled back. 
 "Tm going to lend our official Cookie a hand." 
 And he raced off to the kitchen, a murmur of 
 admiration, voiced by Dr. Jimmy Neems, fol- 
 lowing in his wake. 
 
 It was said in Service circles that Dr. Neems 
 was in a constant fervor of admiration over 
 every thing that his superior did, or said, or 
 owned, and that the General's shoes, as well 
 as the General's young son, were objects of his 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 59 
 
 groveling adoration — the cynical Pepper, 
 speaking for the younger officers, giving the 
 opinion that the shoes rather got the best of it, 
 Dr. Neems having some ambitious thoughts 
 of wearing them himself some bright day in 
 the future. 
 
 "Yay, Billikin!" Buster called as he shot into 
 the kitchen. "Dad v^ants some hot cakes. 
 My, but they smell good ! If we'd had you at 
 Verdun we'd have voted you a Croix d'Hon- 
 neur, and you could have sported the little red 
 ribbon of the Legion in your button hole." 
 
 "What would I have done with it now, 
 then?" Billy grinned. "Undershirts don't have 
 button holes. Buster." 
 
 "Right you are, my son," Buster flung back 
 laughingly, "So it's just as well that you 
 weren't there. Now trot out those cakes to 
 Dad, and I'll fry some for myself." 
 
 "Oh, Buster!" from the scout, "Don't you 
 worry about that. That's my work. I'll be 
 back in a second and cook you up all the batter 
 cakes you can eat." 
 
 "Oh, get out, Billy Hoover!" Buster grinned 
 widely, "I fried cakes before you were born. 
 You've got a lot too much to do, anyhow. Dad 
 was talking about it this morning. He wants 
 you to quit this galley for the rest of to-day, 
 and come over with Pepper Sloan and me to 
 the Folly Quarters to see about draining a cis- 
 
6o THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 tern. You'll like that, won't you? We'll see 
 Wardy." 
 
 "You just bet I will!" the scout answered 
 with fervor, and dashed out of the door with a 
 plate of cakes. 
 
 Left alone for a moment. Buster poured 
 some of the smooth batter onto the griddle, 
 and then sent his eyes over the table, where 
 they promptly fell upon "The First Hundred 
 Thousand." 
 
 "Hul-lo!" he exclaimed, as he picked the 
 book up. "Haven't seen you for three months. 
 Bet I remember two thirds of you, though. 
 You're such a jolly old fellow, you know!" 
 then, idly glancing at the first page, he read 
 and a pleased, quick smile crossed his face, 
 the statement in Billy's round, school-boy 
 hand, to the effect that the book was "For Bus- 
 ter, to wish him many happy returns," etc., 
 
 "Now that's mighty nice of the kid," he said; 
 "and I mustn't let him know I've seen the book. 
 He's the right sort, is our Cookie." 
 
 He shoved the book under a newspaper, and 
 as he did so, Billy returned. 
 
 After breakfast, in spite of the scout's pro- 
 testations to the contrary. Buster helped him 
 to "wash up", and so, by the time that Pep- 
 per Sloan sauntered up, they were nearly ready 
 for him, the only cause of delay being the 
 couple of minutes it took Billy to slip into his 
 scout shirt, after which the three set out up 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 6i 
 
 a path by the creek, soon to cut across country 
 for the Big Bear river and the Folly Quarters. 
 
 By the time they had climbed the divide be- 
 tween the two water sheds, they were all very 
 hot, and the prospect of the cool shade at the 
 Folly Quarters lent wings to their dusty feet, 
 so that when they at last cut across a field of 
 pink clover and came in sight of the house. 
 Pepper let out a cheer. 
 
 It was a very lovely place, the Folly Quar- 
 ters. The big Georgian house, with its bricks 
 brought over from England before the Revolu- 
 tion, was at the edge of the sixteen-hundred 
 acre plantation, the grounds sloping down to 
 the river in a series of three terraces, at the 
 bottom of which was a small boat-landing, set 
 among willows, their pale green sprays just 
 sweeping the brown, leaf be-speckled water. 
 It was a three storied house, the upper floor 
 being in "dormer" style, and the facings were 
 of white marble, with slender, Ionic columns 
 supporting the roof of the porch. Above the 
 fan shaped glass over the double doors at the 
 front, and on the very top of the house itself, 
 were carved wooden pineapples, dating back 
 to the quaint colonial symbol of welcome. To 
 one side stretched meadow after meadow, and 
 at the other side was the big, old fashioned 
 flower garden, set among thick hedges of Eng- 
 lish boxwood, all closely clipped, as was the 
 velvety grass of the yard. Young Warfield 
 
^2 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 Brown had not a lazy bone in his small, com- 
 pact body, and in spite of his few years, he 
 loved his home as only a southern plantation 
 boy can, and he worked from half past four in 
 the morning to sunset, so that it might look 
 pretty. 
 
 As he was expecting their visit, he came 
 down the wide, shallow steps to meet them, 
 dressed in an old, carefully brushed Norfolk 
 jacket of blue serge, the collar hidden by the 
 wide, soft roll of the collar of his white sport 
 shirt, thrown wide open in front over his 
 breast. He also wore white duck knickers, his 
 only pair, carefully laundered for the occasion 
 by Mammy Lou, and his bare legs and feet 
 were scrubbed aggressively clean, if somewhat 
 brown and scratched. 
 
 He shook hands all round, a little flushed and 
 breathless with the doctor, who rumpled his 
 tow head Hke the big, good-natured boy he 
 was, but Wardy spoke to him with a shy dig- 
 nity that showed him at his very best. With 
 Buster he was cordial and frankly admiring, 
 while upon Billy he bestowed a most friendly 
 grin. A very different boy from the dusty, 
 dirt smudged youngster in overalls and an old 
 felt hat, who had been at Camp Ross the after- 
 noon before. 
 
 "Cousin Byrd is in the study, suh," he said 
 to the doctor, referring to his guardian, "and 
 he's not feeling very well, so he asked me to 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 63 
 
 invite you inside. You fellows want to come 
 in, too, or will you wait for me out on the 
 porch? I've got the cutest white rabbit over 
 in the stables that you ever saw. His — his 
 name's — Buster," and he blushed and grinned 
 apologetically up at the Assistant Surgeon 
 General's son. 
 
 The boys laughed, and decided to wait on 
 the cool porch, so Warfield led the doctor 
 through a great, oak paneled hallway, with a 
 ceiling that went to the very top of the house, 
 in a sort of rotunda, and containing a winding 
 staircase of carved wood that was the most 
 perfect thing of the sort that the young man 
 had ever seen, through a doorway hung with 
 curtains of faded green brocade, and into the 
 study, a big room, the walls lined with books. 
 The small paned windows were wide open, 
 and a breeze from the river billowed the cur- 
 tains of white muslin into the room, but in 
 spite of that the interior was rather dark, so 
 the doctor stood on the threshold, looking 
 about him a little uncertainly, from the soft 
 reflections in the polished floor, to the dim out- 
 line of a most delightful oil portrait, life size. 
 It was of a young boy, tow headed and plump 
 like Warfield, and dressed as a French Pierrot, 
 in baggy, pajama-like clothes of white linen, 
 with red spots all over them, and three huge 
 red buttons down the front of the jacket. He 
 had a stiff, close fitting Elizabethan ruff about 
 
64 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 his short neck, and a black skull cap on the 
 back of his head, quite rakishly over the left 
 ear, too. The very mischievousness of the 
 rather tanned face v^as an almost exact repro- 
 duction of his young host. 
 
 A low, jolly little chuckle from Warfield 
 made the man look up. 
 
 "Here's Cousin Byrd, suh," he said, leading 
 the doctor forward. 
 
 Seated before a great, flat topped table, of 
 very old rosewood, in a deep leather armchair, 
 was a tall, very thin old man, with such an evil, 
 waxey hued face, clean shaven, harsh, and 
 most awfully clever that Pepper promptly 
 wished himself any where but at the Folly 
 Quarters. But when the old gentleman spoke, 
 there was another surprise, for his voice was 
 soft, and cultured and very lovely. 
 
 "Cousin Byrd," Warfield said, raising his 
 voice just a little, and looking straight at the 
 old man, "This is Dr. Sloan, one of the officers 
 from over at Camp Ross, you know, suh. Dr. 
 Sloan, this is my guardian, Mr. Byrd Raven- 
 elle." 
 
 Gathering the folds of a handsome, quilted 
 dressing gown of dark blue silk about his lean 
 figure, the old gentleman rose to his feet, and 
 held out one hand. 
 
 "I am so very glad to meet you, doctor," he 
 said graciously. "You must touch my hand 
 first, for I am quite bhnd." 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 65 
 
 "Oh, Vm so sorry!" Pepper blurted out, very 
 boyishly, and the next moment he could have 
 bitten off his own tongue, for the remark made 
 him feel woefully young. 
 
 "That is a kind, pleasant thing for you to 
 say, doctor," Byrd Ravenelle said in his lovely 
 old voice, and with a smile that sent cold chills 
 down young Pepper's tough back. "I appre- 
 ciate it because, well, because your voice 
 showed me that you really were sorry, my boy. 
 You must forgive me but you are just a boy 
 to me, almost as much of a boy as my dear 
 Warfield. Come closer to me, Wardy — that is 
 my pet name for him, doctor — and let me see 
 you with my hands." 
 
 His body held very straight, his abdomen 
 rising and falling, boy-like, in quick little pants, 
 and with a slight flush on his face, not as if he 
 were embarrassed, but scared, Warfield walk- 
 ed at once to the old man's side, and the doc- 
 tor noticed a slight shiver pass over the sturdy 
 body as Mr. Ravenelle's small hands passed 
 over the bare chest and throat, and at last 
 rested against the youngster's cheek. 
 
 Warfield noticed the quick lift of Pepper's 
 eyebrows, a trick that youthful officer had 
 when surprised, and he at once lifted one of 
 his own work toughened hands and laid it 
 gently over his guardian's, his skin rather 
 pinker than before. 
 
 "He is a good boy, doctor," Mr. Ravenelle 
 
66 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 said with his crooked smile, "and we love each 
 other like father and son. We only have each 
 other to love, eh Wardy?" 
 
 "Yes, suh," in a low voice from the boy. 
 "I — I left General Whitlock's son and — and 
 another boy, outside, Cousin Byrd. May I go 
 out and play — I mean, may I go out to them?" 
 
 "Certainly, my dear," from the old gentle- 
 man, and Pepper noticed at once the relief on 
 the boy's face as he trotted from the room. His 
 whoop once outside in the yard, was as jolly 
 as a boy's could be. Then the two men sat 
 down, and the doctor explained about the 
 cistern. 
 
 "Why, of course it must be attended to, doc- 
 tor," was the prompt response. "It is a favor 
 to let us know of such things, for with our lack 
 of your technical knowledge, we might pass 
 them over. One of my, I should say one of 
 Warfield's, tenants, is supposed to attend to 
 such things, but he is an idle, worthless crea- 
 ture, is Henry Bode. We are to be rid of him 
 very shortly, however, very shortly indeed. If 
 my poor boy's estate was not incumbered, I 
 would gladly spend any amount of money on 
 its proper sanitation. We are a rough, crude 
 people, down here, my dear doctor, but indeed 
 we mean well by our fellow men, I assure you." 
 
 He looked and spoke so smoothly and 
 suavely as he said this, that the discomforted 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 67 
 
 Pepper greatly doubted his roughness and 
 crudity. 
 
 So they talked on for awhile, but as the old 
 gentleman, though always courteous, seemed 
 to be very tired, the young officer rose to go. 
 
 ''I nearl}^ forgot to tell you, Mr. Ravenelle," 
 he said suddenly, ''that the Chief, General 
 Whitlock, I mean, asked me particularly to 
 tell you that he would have come to see you in 
 person about this sanitary business, only he 
 had to go to Washington, under telegraphic 
 orders, this morning. He also said to tell you 
 that he should be glad to have one of the order- 
 lies at Camp Ross stop by for your outgoing 
 mail each day, if you wished. He doesn't like 
 to use the Dolittle postoffice, since that rob- 
 bery, so we got a wire from the Postmaster 
 General this morning, in reply to one he sent 
 last night, authorizing us to open a post office 
 of our own at the camp." and, with a rather 
 shy laugh, "I'm postmaster." 
 
 "Now that is awfully kind of the General," 
 Mr. Ravenelle smiled, at once producing fresh 
 chills all over the body of poor Pepper, "and 
 I appreciate it immensely, particularly from a 
 man like General Whitlock. Still I have no- 
 ticed that those great men, the really great 
 ones, always think of the smallest details. 
 Since you mention it, I must tell you that I 
 accept the offer gladly, for, just between our- 
 selves, (pardon a sick old fellow's confidence) 
 
68 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 I feel very strongly about this robbery at Do- 
 little. I — well, to be quite frank, there was a 
 small mortgage on this place, that is small to 
 anyone but Wardy and me, and I sent the 
 money to clear it, to Senator Cubb. I have the 
 receipt, for I sent it in ten one hundred dollar 
 bills, registered, instead of by check, and the 
 letter was among those that were stolen, in 
 the Washington bag. 
 
 "Oh, that's awfully tough, sir," Pepper be- 
 gan earnestly, but the old gentleman laughed 
 softly. 
 
 "You are delightful, doctor," he said smooth- 
 ly, "as fresh as a nice boy like you should be. 
 But I assure you, my dear fellow, it might be 
 worse, it really might. If Warfield and I had 
 been dealing with a hard man, things would be 
 different, but Jonas Cubb is as soft hearted as 
 he is fat, a really dear old fellow, and he wired 
 back in answer to my telegram to him at 
 Washington, that we must not worry, for he 
 would not think of foreclosing until we had 
 given the federal authorities ample time to 
 catch the thief. You see, therefore, that I have 
 good reason to be glad to accept the General's 
 offer. Poor little Warfield is a pugnacious 
 urchin, and he was in a great rage about it all 
 last night. I quieted him after a while, though 
 I could not blame him for being distressed, for 
 the money was really his, as is the whole ex- 
 tent of the Folly Quarters." 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 69 
 
 "Well, I bet they catch that thief, sir," Pep- 
 per cried truculently. 
 
 "I do not doubt it, I cannot allow myself to 
 doubt it, you see," Mr. Ravenelle answered, 
 gazing steadily at the young fellow out of his 
 sightless eyes. 'Good-bye, my dear doctor. I 
 hope you and any of the other officers at Camp 
 Ross, will make the Folly Quarters a sort of 
 bachelors' hall while you are in South Carolina. 
 You will be always most welcome, I assure 
 you," and sinking back in his deep seated chair 
 he waved one small hand pleasantly at the 
 doctor, smiling his crooked smile. 
 
 Just as he was leaving the room, repressing 
 a desire to run, Pepper w^as startled by a faint, 
 malignantly evil chuckle, but it couldn't have 
 been from the old gentleman, for he was lying 
 back in his chair, his eyes closed. 
 
 "That — that was me you heard laugh," came 
 the voice of young Warfield at his elbow. "I — 
 I do that sort of thing sometimes, you see. 
 Cousin Byrd, he — he is just always getting 
 after me about giggling when I ought not to, 
 but I — maybe I can't help it. That — that was 
 me you heard laugh, doctor. H-hon-est !" and 
 he scratched his tow head nervously, a scared, 
 worried look on his round, healthy young face. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 "When the Tower o' Babel had mixed up 
 
 men's bat, 
 Some clever civilian was managing that ! — 
 Not one of the Royal Engineers, 
 Her Majesty's Royal Engineers, 
 With the rank and pay of a Sapper." 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING. 
 
 "And I wish I was back on my cutter again, 
 I would give all a full surgeon's wealth — 
 
 To be killing mosquitoes, or out on the main. 
 With the 'Live Ones' that do Public Health !" 
 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 WHICH IS ALL ABOUT WORK 
 
 "If a hungry ant, in search of a breakfast, 
 should come across the brains of some of the 
 sanitary Engineers of the Service that I hap- 
 pen to know, he would pass them by as a mor- 
 sel unworthy of his notice, and would go in- 
 dustriously in quest of the dried hind leg of 
 an Anopheles." 
 
 Thus speaks our freckled friend, Pepper 
 Sloan, as he glares over the clearing at Camp 
 Ross. 
 
 It is a couple of weeks later, and July is well 
 advanced, and Camp Ross has been thrown, 
 
 70 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 71 
 
 quite suddenly, into a state of consternation 
 and confusion, energetic, bewildering and very 
 thorough. A deep ditch is being dug for drain- 
 age, to empty the little pools that stand in some 
 low ground near-by, marked by Mr. Hollis as a 
 breeding place for the festive malaria mosqui- 
 to, and nobody seems able to cross it. People 
 are constantly falling into it and, once in, they 
 seem at some difficulty in getting out. There 
 is much mud, much sarcasm, and a little 
 swearing. 
 
 A very dirty young man, who in brighter 
 times is a sanitary "dipper" — that is he goes 
 about after the Assistant Surgeon General, 
 dipping up mosquito larvae in a tin receptacle, 
 — but now busy with a pick-axe, scowls upon 
 another man, armed with a long handled 
 shovel, and inquires what sort of a blithering, 
 double-barrelled fool survey Hollis expects to 
 carry out now. The man wath the shovel, 
 speaking from the bottom of the ditch, gives it 
 as his opinion that "somebody higher up" had 
 better try digging in this blamed clay, and just 
 see how his hands feel. He exhibits certain 
 blisters on his own hands, and the sight of 
 them makes him very, very angry. Then a big, 
 curly haired young man, very muddy as to 
 shoes and leggings, and much excited, comes 
 up to them, waving his arms, and informs them 
 both that what he says goes, and furthermore, 
 
^2 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 that if anybody wishes to know who is bossing 
 this job, they had better just start something. 
 
 The Hvely Pepper now takes a hand, and 
 pours a quantity of metaphorical oil on the fire, 
 by remarking very clearly that if he falls into 
 that silly ditch once more, he will be only too 
 glad to comply with the curly-head*s request, 
 and will start something "right'\ His smooth 
 jaw squares very perceptibly as he says it, too. 
 Then Buster and Dr. Jimmy Neems appear on 
 the scene, their hands deep in their pockets, 
 and laugh immensely at the others, which quite 
 maddens them, after which the two aforesaid 
 return to the cabin that is known as the Exe- 
 cutive Building, deep on some work of their 
 own. Much sarcasm, of a biting nature, is 
 now tossed from both sides of the ditch, the 
 man with the shovel, and he of the pick, at 
 once allying themselves, soul and body, to the 
 young engineer. Finally Pepper, more pugna- 
 cious than ever since their desertion to the 
 other side, voices his remark about the hun- 
 gry ant, whereupon the curly one advances 
 upon him — and tumbles into the ditch. This 
 at once puts every one else in the best humor 
 possible, and Pepper helps him out quite mag- 
 nanimously. 
 
 "I say. Lake," he says with a grin, "Here's 
 a letter for you. See? Mr. Lake W. White, 
 just as plain!" 
 
 The letter is from a young lady in Boston, 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 73 
 
 dear to the heart of the sanitary engineer 
 since his days at the "Tech", so it is received 
 with enthusiasm, and the recipient becomes 
 very gracious. 
 
 "Thanks, Mr. Postmaster," he says, blush- 
 ing a little. "This is great. Fifth one in six 
 days. I — " but he stops short, for Mr. Hollis 
 is sighted swinging over the clearing in khaki 
 shirt and riding breeches, a pipe in the corner 
 of his mouth, and humming dolefully: 
 
 " 'Oh, the Isthmus, oh, the Isthmus, 
 
 How we love its sunny clime! 
 M'laria and Yellow Fever, 
 
 Skeeter oil — sulphate quinine.' " 
 
 He is quite cheerful, his song to the contrary, 
 and he doesn't fall into the ditch, which is felt 
 to be a personal affront to every one else. 
 
 "That's not deep enough. White," he says 
 briskly. Then, to Pepper, "Where's Billy?" 
 
 "He's entertaining a guest, sir," Pepper re- 
 plied. 
 
 "Wardy, eh? Good! Chief back from 
 Miami yet?" 
 
 "Yes, he is," from Pepper, still eyeing the 
 ditch wistfully. "He's in the kitchen, too. 
 Spot's on his way back to Nakokok, to address 
 a farmers' meeting on malaria prevention; 
 Fred and Joe are out in the jungle, Dr. Iron 
 is in Dolittle; Dr. Neems and Buster are in the 
 
74 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 office, working over some dictation for a re- 
 port to the Bureau on this Bull Creek work; 
 Lake White has been in that ditch, but you can 
 see him for yourself now; Grant and Charlie 
 are working before our eyes there; Uncle Pete 
 is driving old Ironsides; Archie Kemp and 
 Smith are talking sanitation in Charleston and 
 Bluits Falls, respectively; and I'm here." 
 
 "A good, thorough report, Master Pepper," 
 Mr. Hollis laughed. "Think I'll step over to 
 the regions of Cookie and see what is going 
 on." And he walked briskly away. 
 
 At the door of the kitchen he stopped, for 
 the Chief was talking, and he did not want to 
 interrupt either him or the two eager-faced 
 boys that were listening. 
 
 "It is all sorts of a pity, Billy," he was say- 
 ing, "that those Boy Scouts of yours should 
 have run off to the Virginia mountains. They 
 could have been doing such splendid work 
 right here at home. No fuss about it — I hate 
 fuss — it's not a part of the Service — but good, 
 big, man's size work for every mother's son 
 of them, if they had stayed here to do it. Why, 
 the Surgeon Gener;al of the Army, Gorgas, you 
 know, told me that the EngHsh scouts were 
 the right hand of the Government in sanita- 
 tion, when he was in South Africa, and Ho- 
 ward told me, speaking of Langford's work 
 at San Antonio in nineteen-four, that the 
 youngsters in San Antonio did wonders. I 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 75 
 
 saw a lot of it myself, too, in that part of Texas. 
 It was really splendidly inspiring work. They 
 had aquariums in all the schools, with eggs 
 and wrigglers, so the pupils could watch them 
 develop into mosquitoes, with the help of 
 large magnifying glasses. There was all sorts 
 of rivalry among the boys in the matter of 
 finding and reporting to the Health officers 
 the biggest number of breeding places found 
 and destroyed. There would be a Public 
 Health merit badge as well worth the earning, 
 Billy, as w^as the Croix de Guerre on Buster's 
 motor-ambulance." 
 
 ''Did those kids really help, though, w^hen 
 it came to a show down?" the scout asked 
 doubtfully. 
 
 "I should say they did! The first year the 
 death rate, which had been from fifty to sixty 
 cases a year from malaria troubles, was re- 
 duced seventy-five percent, and in the second 
 year there was not one death due to malaria 
 in San Antonio." 
 
 "But those kids would have scuttled off like 
 bunnies, if there'd been any real scary stuff 
 'round, like the Yellow Fever you told us about 
 in Havana and on the Isthmus ! I just bet you 
 they would," Wardy struck in, with all the 
 moodiness of his rather doubting young nature. 
 
 "You are wrong there, old man," the Assis- 
 tant Surgeon General laughed, looking down 
 at the towseled tow head good-naturedly, 
 
76 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "There was an epidemic of Yellow Fever in 
 the part of Texas near the Mexican border — I 
 had charge of it, so I ought to know — back in 
 nineteen-three, and the ways and looks, and 
 the whole pathology of the Stegomyia faciata, 
 as the Aedes calopus, or the mosquito that 
 conveys Yellow Fever, was then called, were 
 burning questions among all the school boys of 
 San Antonio, just as Buster tells me First Aid 
 is with the lads of Paris now-a-days. As to 
 this war we're at last in, thank heavens! 
 I firmly believe that if the Boy Scouts will only 
 stay at home and help the United States Public 
 Health Service, and their own State Boards of 
 Health, to clean up the country so that our 
 Army training camps can be on a thoroughly 
 sanitary basis, they will be doing as much to 
 help lick Germany as the men in our sister ser- 
 vices are doing on land and sea. Those Vir- 
 ginia scouts, mostly from Richmond, I believe, 
 are of course doing an excellent thing by go- 
 ing to Accomac and Northampton Counties, 
 and helping the farmers gather in their enor- 
 mous potato crop, but if you fellows will take 
 my advice and learn what Anopheles look like, 
 and all about the destruction of the breeding 
 places of these malaria conveyors, you will be 
 doing your bit in the war as well as the best. 
 Remember, old man, that it is the field ivork, 
 field work, field work that counts in malaria 
 sanitation, and that the applied knowledge of 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 77 
 
 what you read in books is the only real use, 
 and you Boy Scouts can do as much as any- 
 body in its application. If I were a Boy Scout 
 commissioner, I would preach "stay at home 
 and help there" until I dropped, or until you 
 poor youngsters did." 
 
 "But we've planned this big hike for a whole 
 year. Chief," Billy explained, a bit crest-fallen. 
 "Our troop never has been anywhere to have 
 adventures, and — and we felt we'd be just sure 
 to have lots of them if we could only get far 
 enough from home." 
 
 The Assistant Surgeon General smiled 
 broadly. 
 
 "That so, Billy? Well, have they had many? 
 Have you heard from any of them?" 
 
 "Oh, yes sir. I got a letter this morning 
 from my chum. Tod West. Like to see it?" 
 
 "Certainly I would, if I may read it out loud 
 to Wardy, too. May I?" 
 
 "Why, sure," from Billy; so the General 
 took the letter and read as follows: 
 
 "Dear Billy: 
 
 I am having a right nice time of it up here, but I miss 
 you a lot. Wish you were along. I have caught a good 
 many fish, perch I guess, and a turtle. We've got a good 
 swimming hole. We did a lot of flag, wig-wag practice 
 yesterday, and it was awful hot. No scraps so far, but 
 some rough house at nights. 
 
 Your chum, 
 T. 
 
78 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "Huh!" rather ungraciously from Wariield 
 Brown; "I don't see much adventure in that, 
 Billy Hoover! Caught some fish, and don't 
 know whether they are perch or not, as if any 
 boy couldn't tell those flat little beggars, and 
 rough-housed some at night. Gee, but that's 
 a great life ! Why, you and me catch fish every 
 other day in the Big Bear, and they're bass, 
 too, and I bet we know it all right enough ! and 
 I bet two boys just couldn't rough-house more 
 than we do when we're in the swimming hole." 
 Then, beginning to chuckle, "I say. Chief, I 
 ducked Pepper — I mean Dr. Sloan — three 
 times yesterday." 
 
 "Good for you, Wardy!" spoke out Mr. 
 Hollis, as he now entered, " 'Morning, Chief, 
 glad to see you back! Good trip, eh?" 
 
 "No, it was not, Hollis," the Chief responded. 
 "It was abominably hot in Miami, and we had 
 an off shore breeze that brought out every mos- 
 quito for miles around, to say nothing of sand 
 flies, and when I got to Tallahassee, (had to 
 run over there for Cuthbert's report) the heat 
 among those red clay hills was fearful. It 
 rained a bit, too, one of those nice, sticky, semi- 
 tropical down-pours like New Orleans. It was 
 worse than Dry Tortugas, and I sighed for the 
 cooling trade winds on the Caribbean side of 
 the Isthmus. Met Senator Cubb in Tallahas- 
 see, by the way, down there on business with a 
 member of the House, He expects to be up 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 79 
 
 this way in a day or two. His grandson, a 
 handsome, snlky-faced young cub of fifteen, 
 was with him. It is plain that the old fellow 
 adores him, and spoils him disgustingly. The 
 lad's parents are both dead, though, so I guess 
 there is a good deal of excuse on the Senator's 
 side, and he is a dear old fellow himself, and a 
 good friend of the Service, too." 
 
 "The Lord preserve us, man!" in a dismayed 
 groan from the tall engineer. 
 
 "I say so, too !" Wardy flung out, his temper, 
 never of the best, much ruffled. "Cousin Byrd 
 ^ot a letter from him, the Senator, you know, 
 last night. He's going to stay with us." 
 
 "Oh, he will be at the Folly Quarters, will 
 he, Wardy?" Mr. Hollis asked with a sigh of 
 relief, "that is too good to be true. Our guard- 
 ian angel is still with us, Chief." 
 
 "Oh, Tm ready for both of them," Wardy 
 grunted. "Let 'em come, 'specially that Van, 
 the kid's name is Van Lear Cubb, Cousin Byrd 
 told me." 
 
 The sweet-tempered scout misunderstood 
 him. 
 
 "Yes, I know you are all ready for them, 
 Wardy," he said. "Mammy Lou told Uncle 
 Pete that she and you had fixed up two awful 
 nice rooms for them." 
 
 "Did she tell you which two?" young War- 
 field inquired darkly. 
 
 "Why no, she didn't," Billy replied simply. 
 
8o THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "Well," with grimness, "the Senator's room 
 isn't so bad, only eight Browns and three 
 Ravenelles have died in that bed, but Van's 
 room is a hummer! It's had twenty-two 
 deaths in it, and one suicide, and one murder. 
 Honest it has. Gee! I wouldn't want to curl 
 up in that old four-poster my own self. No 
 suh ! There's a real, sure-'nough ghost in there 
 too, the guy that was murdered. That's a por- 
 trait of him in the study, by Sir Joshua Rey- 
 nolds, and they say it looks a lot like me. I ain't 
 a bit crazy about it, myself. He was just aw- 
 ful, and Cousin Byrd says I've got some of his 
 temper. Reckon I have, too, 'cause I'm just 
 always getting mad. He beat a slave to death, 
 or something dreadful like that, and then an- 
 other slave smashed in his tow head, that's 
 just like mine, too, and so he goes round in that 
 old room at night, screeching like time, laying 
 for anybody that hasn't got any more sense 
 than to sleep in his blamed old four-poster." 
 
 "You don't believe one half of that, you 
 young scamp." The Assistant Surgeon Gen- 
 eral laughed. 
 
 Wardy grinned. 
 
 "Well — I don't know," he said impishly. 
 "Hope Van Cubb will beheve it, anyway. So 
 long, Billy Scout, I've got to trot back to the 
 Folly Quarters. Cousin Byrd will give me 
 Billy Blue Hill if I'm late for dinner. Good- 
 bye, General. Good-bye Mr. Hollis." 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 8i 
 
 "So long, Wardy," from the scout. ''Say, 
 Buster told me to tell you he was ever so 
 tickled with that ham you sent him for his 
 birthday party. We're going to celebrate on 
 the first week in August, instead of waiting to 
 the twenty-fifth when he'll really be eighteen, 
 'cause we don't know where any of us may be 
 by that time. Us Service fellows change around 
 so" — this last with some pride. 
 
 ''But look here, Billy," the Assistant Sur- 
 geon General interupted, "I thought I bought 
 a ham for Buster's party, some weeks ago." 
 
 "Oh, great day!" in a wail from Warfield. 
 "He — he did buy a ham, from the Folly Quar- 
 ters, too, but he (I'd like to punch your head 
 for you, Billy Hoover!) he- — well — I gave Bus- 
 ter one, too. Aw, Gee, I've got to go, and — 
 and. Good-bye everybody." And he dashed 
 out, bestowing a sulky scowl on the round- 
 faced scout. At the door he collided sharply 
 with the incoming Pepper, dodged under his 
 arm, and then disappeared. 
 
 The three men and the boy gazed after his 
 sturdy, indignant small figure, and then at each 
 other, in surprise. Finally Pepper spoke, 
 scratching his red head thoughtfully, his cap 
 pushed over his left ear. 
 
 "Why, he's a regular young man-eater, when 
 he gets mad," he grinned, carefully pulHng off 
 one legging and examining a good sized bruise 
 on his shin. Then, replacing the legging and 
 
82 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 strapping it, he handed the Chief a letter, sa- 
 luted, and strolled out, humming cheerfully a 
 most pathetic ditty, containing a request for 
 exact information as to the whereabouts of 
 "The Boys of the old Brigade, so sturdy, so 
 staunch and so true," after which, being once 
 more in the open, he proceeded to fall again 
 into the ditch. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, 
 He rode between the barley-sheaves 
 The sun came dazzUng through the leaves, 
 And flamed upon the brazen greaves. 
 
 Of bold Sir Lancelot. 
 A redcross knight forever kneeled 
 
 To a lady in his shield, 
 That sparkled on the yellow field. 
 
 Beside remote Shalot/' 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
 "Fisher boy, your bait be throwing, 
 Drowsy swells about you flowing, 
 Swift your sturdy arms their rowing. 
 Draw you, lifting, t'ward the bar." 
 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 Two days later, having seen nothing of 
 Wardy since his pugnacious departure from 
 Camp Ross, Billy Hoover decided to look him 
 up. After he had finished his work with the 
 noon-day dinner dishes, he went into his own 
 cabin, took out from among his carefully folded 
 duffle the small compact roll of khaki-covered 
 fishing tackle that every good scout should 
 
 83 
 
84 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 have, and, after examining it, to see that all 
 the joints of the light steel rod were in place, 
 and that his spin-reel, both on catch-lock and 
 relief, worked smoothly, he strapped it shut 
 again and fastened it to the pommel of his 
 saddle; for the Assistant Surgeon General had 
 lent him his own horse, Toby, to ride over to 
 the Folly Quarters. 
 
 Billy was in the best of humors, for not 
 only was this the afternoon that he and Wardy 
 usually appointed for fishing, but he was be- 
 ginning to feel really satisfied with his knowl- 
 edge of malarial transmission, thanks to his 
 kindly Chief. With pardonable pride, the scout 
 realized that he was no longer content to class- 
 ify a biting mosquito, standing on its head, 
 with its hind legs waving in the air, as a mem- 
 ber of the Anopheles family, but that he must 
 make sure, by the four or five spots on its 
 wings if it was a "Quad", or, seeing the yellow 
 "bite" in its wings, to put it down promptly as 
 a "Punc"; or (which was harder for him) to 
 count the spots on the sixth vein of an Ano- 
 pheles crucians. He was in dead earnest on the 
 subject, for it meant that much coveted merit 
 badge in Public Health, one of the two remain- 
 ing stepping-stones toward a Life Scout, so, 
 before mounting Toby, he filled the older of 
 his two canteens with kerosene (fresh water 
 was already in the other one) and setthng the 
 cord of his scout hat on the back of his yellow 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 85 
 
 head he rode away, taking a bridle path to- 
 
 -li SriS^atHre^: old plantation house, 
 he was met by Mammy Lou, trouble clearly 
 showing- on her round, kindly black face and, 
 toZs utter horror, she at once conducted him 
 
 ^ Poor*^ Billy fidgetted unhappily, turning his 
 scout hat round and round by its broad brim, 
 or plaving nervously with the ^^dllte tape an- 
 ^ard of his Patrol Leader's whistle. How glad^ 
 y would he have put it to his mouth and 
 sounded the three short blasts, followed by a 
 on J one, that means "Patrol Leaders come 
 herl " if only his assistant m the Patro , Tod 
 West, had been near enough to respond ! i he 
 
 oom'was quite empty, ^f^^^V^'v smiline 
 furniture, the books, and the funny smiling 
 
 face of the black-capped *,T'^''h hnv seem- 
 bv the ereat Sir Joshua, the life-sized boy seem 
 h g dmost to step out of the ^duU goW ot the 
 frame, ready to give a jolly, Yay, Billy, m 
 
 Wardy's own voice. t^mner 
 
 "Who'd ever think you had such a temper, 
 old scout!" Billy smiled, still a little nervous, 
 fnd speaking aloud. "You're jusnuU of fun- 
 when you don't go and get mad! ^^ 
 
 "He has a dreadful temper, my dear, came 
 the lovdy old voice of Mr. Byrd Ravenelle 
 Jhereipo^n the scout jumped and looked about 
 him uncertainly. 
 
86 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 Then he saw Warfield's guardian, again in 
 the blue silk dressing-gown, standing by a 
 door, let directly into the oak pannehng of 
 the room. 
 
 "Good afternoon, Billy," the old gentle- 
 man said, with his crooked smile, his tall figure 
 appearing more gaunt than usual; "I am so 
 glad to see you, my dear boy. That uniform is 
 charming. I do wish that my darling Wardy 
 was a Boy Scout like you." 
 
 "Wish he was too, sir," Billy answered, most 
 horribly ill at ease. 
 
 "I am sure you do, my boy, I am quite sure 
 you do," Mr. Ravenelle assented. "It is such 
 a delicious thing for a lad to be — speak the 
 truth, do a good turn daily, and so forth. 
 Charming, quite!" 
 
 Drawing a deep breath, Billy plunged into 
 his mission, explaining that this was the day 
 he and Warfield usually went fishing, dividing 
 the catch between Camp Ross and the Folly 
 Quarters. 
 
 "Well, I am most terribly sorry, you know," 
 Mr. Ravenelle said with soft urbanity, "but 
 Wardy cannot go with you this afternoon. 
 Poor Wardy! He has a headache and is in 
 bed at this very moment." 
 
 "Why, I never knew he was sick in his life," 
 the scout blurted out. "He looks as husky as 
 anything. I'm awful sorry he's sick, sir. May 
 I — may I go up and see him?" 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 87 
 
 "Oh dear me, no," from Mr. Ravenelle, with 
 his widest, most hair-raising smile, ''Wardy is 
 much too wretched to see anyone, except my- 
 self. It is so good of you to want to cheer him, 
 however, most brotherly and — oh, dear me, so 
 like a Boy Scout ! I adore Boy Scouts, they are 
 so — so subtle!" and he laughed for about the 
 only time the scout could ever remember. 
 
 '*Yes sir," he said shyly. "I'm just awful 
 sorry Wardy is sick. And FU leave part of 
 my catch, if it's a good one, as I go back to 
 camp." 
 
 "And that makes another good turn to your 
 daily account, my dear Billy." Mr. Ravenelle 
 smiled. "Oh, dear me, dear me, why isn't my 
 poor, little Warfield a Boy Scout?" and in 
 quite a transport of admiration apparently, he 
 gently pushed Billy Hoover from the room and 
 out of doors, the scout being only too glad to 
 get into the warm sunshine. 
 
 Remounting his horse, a well built chestnut 
 cob, he trotted out of the grassy yard and fol- 
 lowed the low bank of the Big Bear, stoutly 
 whistling "under all circumstances," as even 
 a much harrassed scout should do. 
 
 At a certain point, where the river narrowed, 
 he sw^ung himself out of the saddle, and tied 
 Toby to the low limb of a live-oak, whose gray 
 beard of Spanish moss helped to sweep off the 
 lazy flies. Then, untying his roll of fishing 
 tackle, and slinging both canteens across his 
 
88 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 tough body by their wide canvas straps, he 
 walked briskly along the bank, determined to 
 do his bit of sanitation before he fished, and 
 remembering a tiny pond of back water that 
 he and Wardy had found on their last trip, and 
 that was quite full of mosquito larvae 
 and wrigglers, or "wiggle tails," as the boys 
 preferred to call them. 
 
 He found the bit of marshy ground with 
 very little trouble, for he had blazed a tree or 
 two, making his small notches low down, by 
 way of a trail, and had carved an arrow, with 
 a box at the feathered end, to show the near 
 presence of water— though he had his own 
 doubts as to the goodness of it. Removing the 
 metal cap of his old canteen he made a cup out 
 of one of his hands — the folding cup that hung 
 from one of his belt hooks was respected as 
 a conveyor of drinking water — and began to 
 throw oil over the still pond, first toward the 
 center, some five feet away, and then up close 
 to the shore, watching the smooth film that 
 formed with satisfaction, knowing very well 
 that, when the wrigglers rose to the surface 
 for air, the oily blanket would smother them. 
 As he was attending to this work very earnest- 
 ly, crouched at the edge of the little pond on 
 his haunches, a low, good-natured laugh made 
 him look over his shoulder quickly, to find the 
 brown-headed Gopher Bean near him, resting 
 lazily against a willow. 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 89 
 
 "You all beat anything in creation," this 
 young gentleman remarked, smiling down at 
 the squatting scout. "Bet you're lookin' fo' 
 skeeter aiges. Say, how do they taste? Any 
 good?" 
 
 Billy grinned. 
 
 "We don't eat them," he explained. "We 
 just try to destroy them, so you folks 'round 
 here won't have any more malaria." 
 
 "Shoo!" the Gopher chuckled, "thet so? My, 
 ain't that nice of you, though!" 
 
 Billy flushed, but he kept his temper the best 
 he could. 
 
 "Well, I don't know how nice we are," he 
 said stoutly enough, "but I reckon we do the 
 best we can — all the Service do that, you know. 
 If these eggs hatched, they'd all be wiggle- 
 tails, and then miosquitoes, and as they are all 
 malaria carriers 'round here, they'd make you 
 mighty sick sooner or later. That's honest, 
 Gopher." 
 
 "Well," from the Gopher, responding quick- 
 ly to the scout's good-natured friendliness. 
 "That's all right, I reckon. I'll tell you some- 
 thin', though, Scout. Ef you tote a hoss-chest- 
 nut in yo' pants, you won't never have no fever. 
 Not never. Granny Wilks tol' me that. She's 
 the Wise Woman up on Sago. It's a fac', too." 
 
 "Is that straight?" Billy asked politely, 
 though he didn't at all believe it. "She must 
 
90 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 be all sorts of a wise old lady, I should think. 
 Ain't she, Gopher?" 
 
 *'She sho' is wise. She charmed Jim Bode's 
 warts away, an' she cured my black eye fo' me 
 in jest no time, after Wardy Brown got 
 through with me. He's the all-firedest, tough- 
 est, funniest li'l cuss when he gets mad — 
 which is jest 'bout three times a day, I bet — 
 thet I jest can't do nothin' but laugh at him. 
 That's how he licks me." 
 
 "He gave you a black eye, did he?" the scout 
 asked, laughing in spite of himself, for War- 
 field was much smaller than the easy-going 
 Gopher. 
 
 " 'Cose he did. Scout," Gopher Bean grin- 
 ned. "Et were after that time we stol' yo' 
 ham." 
 
 Billy Hoover sprang to his feet, his body 
 very straight, his fists doubled up. 
 
 "You mean to tell me that Wardy Brown 
 ever stole anything?" he glared. "You've got 
 all sorts of a nerve ! I won't stand for anybody 
 calUng Wardy a thief, so shut up. If he wasn't 
 sick in bed just now, he'd lick you himself." 
 
 "He ain't in no baid. Scout," the Gopher 
 flung back quietly, though he stood his ground. 
 "He was jest a-hidin' from you. There ain't 
 a mite o' use fo' you ter git mad at me. I — 
 why I — I," a dull blush spreading over his tan- 
 ned skin, "I like you right now, when you're 
 wantin' to fight me, better'n any boy I know. 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 91 
 
 You're so blamed straight, an' — an' sorter 
 clean, an' sech a good-tempered, tough young 
 hustler! Blamed ef you ain't. Scout. Over at 
 Henery Bode's we talk 'bout you a heap. But 
 honest Injun, me an' Wardy Brown stol' that 
 ole ham. Jest like we stol' et from ole Haba- 
 kuk Meers sto' the night befo' General Whit- 
 lock bote et. We've made a heap o' money 
 offen thet ole ham. Stol' et, an' sole et, nigh 
 on twenty-one times, twenty anyhow. Et 
 cost fo' bucks, you know, an we made two hun- 
 dred apiece — Wardy allays divided up real 
 honorable. Et helped him to raise the money 
 to pay off thet thousand dollar mortgage on 
 the Folly Quarters, to Senator Cubb. I got 
 mine still, 'cause — 'cause I thought the kid 
 mought need et, someday." 
 
 '*Well-ril-be-hanged !" the scout flushed, 
 feeling as ashamed as if he had himself done 
 something disgraceful. "That's just awful! 
 It's tough!" and he scratched his crisp yellow 
 head in distress. "Are — are you still stealing 
 stuff. Gopher?" 
 
 "No indeedy we ain't," very emphatically 
 from the Gopher. "We're too skairt, both of 
 us. You see ef this ever gits out, everybody 
 will be a-hollerin' an a-bawlin' thet we all stol' 
 the Washington mail bag, because et were on 
 the same night we busted into ole Habakuk's 
 sto', but honest, Scout, we never tetched the 
 blamed thing. We never took no money, nor 
 
92 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 nothin' like that, Wardy an' me, jest the ole 
 ham. Now we're plum skairt to death." 
 
 "Yep," very crisply from the Boy Scout, 
 looking squarely at the disconsolate Gopher, 
 "I bet you are scared. Why the dickens did 
 you want to go and tell me about it? Hully 
 Gee, man! I — I sure wish you hadn't. I don't 
 know what to do. I wish you'd never told me 
 a thing." 
 
 "Well, I don't. I been a-wantin' ter tell you 
 fo' a long time, 'cause I knew you wouldn't 
 tell nobody else, but Wardy, he said I mustn't, 
 thet you'd jest naturally hate him fo' ever ef 
 you knew. You see, Scout, Wardy planned to 
 give everybody back their fo' bucks — he'd kep' 
 a list of et all — jest as soon as he'd paid off 
 the mortgage, from the money he'd git from 
 some timber on the land. He jest couldn't 
 tetch no timber, you see, long as the place had 
 a mortgage on et. But now the money's gone 
 in thet ole mail bag, and — well, we're plum 
 skairt to death. I can't look no hog in the face 
 now-a-days. So 'long. Scout, you ain't a-goin' 
 ter tell nobody, are you? I jest had ter tell 
 somebody, 'cause we been so skairt." 
 
 "N-no, I won't tell on either of you. Gopher," 
 the scout sighed, his dark eyes troubled. 
 "Poor, old Wardy! Poor, old Wardy! He's 
 just a kid, and — I say. Gopher," his round face 
 brightening, "if we could only catch the guy 
 that stole the mail bag, and if we could make 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 93 
 
 him hand over the money, out of that regis- 
 tered letter, everybody would just know you 
 two hadn't robbed the post office. And say," 
 very gently, and feeling most awfully clumsy, 
 "if we did do all that, would you be willing to 
 give back the two hundred dollars you — you 
 took, if Wardy gave back his — and — and own 
 up to the thing you — you did? I say, w^ould' 
 you do that. Gopher? I know it would be awful 
 spunky, but if ever they do start a troop here 
 (and the Chief wants Pepper Sloan to do it) 
 it would show that you had the right stuff in 
 you for a Boy Scout. Tve done some pretty 
 tough things my ownself, Gopher — n-not just 
 like that, of course, but — but I'm a Boy Scout, 
 and a Patrol Leader, and Pm not such an aw- 
 ful bad scout. We fellows aren't one bit dif- 
 ferent from other boys, only, well — we do try 
 to be straight, and we ain't scared to own up 
 when we are bad ; or if we are scared, we own 
 up anyhow. Gee, I bet I'm making an awful 
 mess of what I want to say, but it's sort of 
 tough on a fellow to explain things, and to 
 live up to his oath, too, when he's a Lone Scout, 
 like I am now^-a-days. The rest of the patrol 
 buck a boy up, some how. You'd make a first 
 rate Patrol Leader, Gopher, so would good old 
 Wardy, if — if you'll just pay back, if you can, 
 and own up. I — I don't know, I doubt if any 
 fourteen-year-old would know, though heaps 
 of them have more sense than me, but I think 
 
94 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 Wardy was all wrong about doing something 
 dirty and then making it up when things came 
 his way. It — it don't sound square to me, and 
 I don't believe it's right. But, Gopher, if dear, 
 old Pepper Sloan does start a troup of scouts, 
 you're the very kid to be at the head of your 
 eight, and a Patrol Leader just has to be 
 straight, so won't you please help us to trail 
 that mail thief, and then tell. Better wait till 
 then to say something, I reckon, but — but be 
 ready to own up any time — right now if you 
 had to. The Chief has written to Mr. Living- 
 stone, he's the President of the Scouts, in 
 Washington, though of course Woodrow Wil- 
 son is the official Commander-in-Chief, and I 
 reckon Pepper will get his commission as a 
 Scout Master any day, so we've all got to get 
 out of this mess, you and Wardy and me, just 
 as soon as we can. If you'll let me, I'll talk to 
 the Chief about it all, and he won't tell any- 
 body he shouldn't. Gopher, and I reckon I'll 
 just have to talk to Wardy, too, but, Gee! I'd 
 rather take a licking any day. You'll let me 
 tell the Chief, won't you, old Scout, and you'll 
 own up when your time comes, won't you?" 
 and he placed one dirty brown hand with a firm 
 affection on the other youngster's bowed 
 shoulder, the old, friendly grin on his mouth. 
 "I'll own up, honest injun I'll own up. 
 Scout!" the Gopher said brokenly. "I jest 
 can't do nothin' less Wardy owns up too. 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 95 
 
 though, 'cause I won't tell on him, any more'n 
 he'd tell on me. You said a while ago that you 
 done bad things — why, boy, you ain't done no 
 sech a thing, yo' heart's jest as clean as yo' 
 body. You're good, an' you're all sorts of a 
 man, too, even ef you are only a kid. Gosh, I 
 thought you was a sissy once ! Wish every kid 
 'round heah, was half as good as you, Lone 
 Scout ! I'll own up jest whenever you say, ef 
 Wardy's willin' o'cose, an' you can tell yo' 
 Chief jest what you please. I jest know et'll 
 be all right. So 'long!" And he disappeared 
 noiselessly among the undergrowth, leaving 
 a deeply worried Boy Scout, scratching his 
 yellow head thoughtfully, but with his young 
 jaw squared with a big hearted purpose, sturd- 
 ily bent on doing as a Boy Scout should. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "Just for a handful of silver he left us ; 
 
 Just for a riband to stick in his coat — 
 Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, 
 
 Lost all the others she lets us devote. 
 They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, 
 
 So much was theirs, who so little allowed. 
 How all our copper had gone for his service! 
 
 Rags — were they purple, his heart had been proud!" 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 "So much impress these Coast Guards free, 
 (They greatly love to bandy boys !) 
 
 And let those 'Jackies' know that we, 
 We Service chaps, are handy boys." 
 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 TWO YOUNG CUB(B)S 
 
 After Billy, his catch divided into two 
 strings, had returned to camp, having left one 
 bunch of fish at the Folly Quarters, he went 
 straight to his Chief and told him, very hon- 
 estly, all that he and the Gopher had said. 
 General Whitlock was thoroughly pleased at 
 the stand the boy had taken, and told him so, 
 and, with a quickness that was a part of his 
 trained mind, he at once grasped the situation 
 
 96 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 97 
 
 from more angles than the puzzled scout had 
 believed could exist, for he was famous, was 
 the Assistant Surgeon General, as the most 
 thorough detail man in the Service. 
 
 Pepper, who had received his Scout Master's 
 commission that same afternoon, was also con- 
 sulted, and the outcome of this official high 
 court was the finding that all agreed that Billy, 
 much to his relief, had best leave the aforesaid 
 details to his elders, the cheerful Pepper taking 
 it upon himself to interview Wardy and "bring 
 the poor little tow-head to his senses, for he'll 
 be one of my Boy Scouts, you know, Chief." 
 It was further decided by this same court, the 
 Chief acting as Judge Advocate General, that 
 Billy should make another trip to the Folly 
 Quarters just as soon as a proper opening pre- 
 sented itself, so that Wardy could be given a 
 fair chance to tell him in a straightforward 
 way, boy to boy, about his unhappy escapade, 
 should the Gopher have already consulted him 
 about his own wish to "own up." If Wardy 
 said nothing, then the matter was to be left in 
 Scout Master Pepper's energetic young hands. 
 They let no one else into their secret, not even 
 Buster, for the Chief objected to worrying the 
 boy, still half sick from his old shrapnel wound, 
 unless he could be of very definite use. 
 
 An excellent excuse for a visit to the Folly 
 Quarters presented itself some three or four 
 days later, when Pepper burst into the kitchen 
 
98 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 where the Cookie was industriously sheUing 
 peas. 
 
 "Can you make a cherry pie, Billy Boy, Billy Boy, 
 Can you making a cherry pie, charming Billy?" 
 
 the exuberant young officer sang out, his eye- 
 brows arched very high with excitement. 
 
 "Sure," from the always practical scout. 
 "You want one?" 
 
 Pepper burst out laughing, and, grabbing 
 the youngster, waltzed about with him several 
 times. 
 
 "Aw, quit — please !" Billy giggled, ducking 
 out of the Assistant Surgeon's grasp. "What's 
 it all about, anyway? What you want a cherry 
 pie for, doctor? It's lots too late for them 
 down here, you know — but maybe we've got 
 some canned ones." 
 
 Then Pepper seated himself on the edge of 
 the kitchen table and explained that he had 
 been speaking in metaphor, and that all he 
 wanted was to tell Billy that he must have a 
 very good supper ready for the next night, as 
 the Chief was going to invite the Hon. Joshua 
 Cubb and his grandson over to *tiffin' with the 
 officers, and he wanted his mess to 'do itself 
 proud.' 
 
 "And he's written the invite, my cream-puff, 
 and here it is, and 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 99 
 
 'So I laugh and blush, Mamma, 
 And that's the reason why.' " 
 
 Pepper quoted gaily. Now's your imperial 
 chance to see Wardy — doggone it, for two pins 
 I'd kiss you, Billy — you're such a good little 
 scout ! Don't worry, you're too muscular to be 
 my fairy princess, though you may prove to be 
 one, or at least a fairy godmother, to our tow- 
 headed friend." 
 
 Behold, then, First Class Scout Billy Hoo- 
 ver, with his best olive drab shirt, a new white 
 and black Patrol handkerchief knotted about 
 the open V over his breast, his tan shoes care- 
 fully cleaned (I defy anyone to polish a real 
 scout shoe!) and with his gilt insignia, double 
 Patrol Leader bars of green felt, and merit 
 badges displayed on his sturdy person, stand- 
 ing in the shade of the avenue of great live oaks 
 leading up from the side of the Folly Quarters, 
 in a wide sweep, to the river front of the house, 
 his brown felt hat set very exactly on his head, 
 its cord carefully adjusted over the back of his 
 yellow^ hair. He was quite well contented with 
 his appearance, for he looked trim and natty, 
 and — though he did not know this last — very 
 manly, too. 
 
 Master Warfield Brown, in a brand-new pair 
 of white duck knickers, a white sport shirt, 
 thrown deeply open from his brown throat, his 
 legs encased in stockings, his feet in white 
 
100 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 sneakers, suddenly appeared on the front steps 
 and waved to him, really very glad to see him, 
 it seemed, for he raced down the steps and up 
 to him and proceeded to punch him in the 
 stomach, a sure sign that he was in a most 
 comrady spirit. 
 
 "Yay, Billy!'' he grinned. 
 
 "Yay, Wardy!" from the scout. ''How you 
 feeling?" 
 
 "Fine." Then his tanned skin grew deeply 
 pink. "Tm all right now, I mean." Then, be- 
 coming excited, he added the following strange 
 remark, as they sauntered toward the house 
 together. 'Tf fellows just let me alone," he 
 said darkly, "I'm the easiest boy to get along 
 with you ever saw, but if a kid tries to get fresh 
 and begins to butt in on my business — why, 
 I'm pretty sure to get mad, and start some- 
 thing." 
 
 The Boy Scout felt at once that all was not 
 well with his tow-headed friend, that the "En- 
 tente Cordiale" between them was apt to be 
 all too brief. 
 
 "Who's been making you mad, and troub- 
 ling you, old scout?" he asked in the most pla- 
 cative manner he could assume, thoroughly ex- 
 pecting an explosion. Wardy's reply brought 
 instant relief, however. 
 
 "Why, you know Gopher Bean, don't you?" 
 he asked pleasantly. "Well, he and me had 
 
THE LONE SCOUT loi 
 
 a — a sort of a secret, and — and he wants to 
 tell." 
 
 'That so, Wardy?" Billy asked mildly, a 
 most disagreeable little perspiration springing 
 out all over his tough body, and not daring to 
 look at his short friend. 
 
 ''Yep. But don't let's talk about it. It 
 makes me too mad. Say, Billy, I sure am glad 
 to see you. That's straight." 
 
 "Well, you don't ever come over to Camp 
 Ross any more, so I just have to come here to 
 see you," Billy flung back good-naturedly. 
 "By-the-way, I got a letter here for Senator 
 Cubb. It's for you and your guardian too, sort 
 of. The Chief wants the lot of you to come 
 over for tiffin tomorrow night at seven o'clock. 
 We're going to have all sorts of good things 
 for eats, so you better come, Wardy. Oh yes, 
 and Buster said to tell you that if you didn't 
 come he'd ride over here on Toby and spank 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, I'll come all right, if Cousin Byrd says 
 I may," Wardy cried happily, his face bright- 
 ening all over. "I love it at Camp Ross. It's 
 lots more fun than here at the Folly Quarters. 
 The Chief asked Van, too, didn't he Billy?" 
 
 "Of course he did. Say, Wardy, w^hat sort 
 of a boy is Van Lear Cubb ? As tough as you 
 thought?" 
 
 "Tough?" in quick admiration. "He's not 
 one bit tough. He's great ! He's got an allow- 
 
102 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 ance of a hundred and fifty dollars a month! 
 and a pony, and a motor boat and even a Path- 
 finder runabout of his own. What you know 
 about that, Billy Scout! He's going to give 
 me a shotgun, too. A Remington, sixteen — 
 and I've only known him for two days and a 
 piece. He's just ever so nice, Billy — and rich ! 
 Great day!" Billy Hoover opened his eyes 
 very wide and looked at Warfield squarely. 
 
 "He must be nice, to want to give you that 
 gun," he said steadily, "but I don't see why his 
 being rich has anything to do with it." 
 
 "But it has a lot to do with it," Wardy 
 flushed, resenting Billy's tone. "Why, we're 
 going to be partners. Van and me, and have 
 the Folly Quarters between us some day. He 
 says he can get me another thousand dollars 
 easy, and I bet he can, too." 
 
 "You must be crazy in the head, Wardy 
 Brown!" the scout blurted out, very nearly 
 losing his temper. "Two kids can't play around 
 with a thousand dollars, just like it was a white 
 guinea-pig; and that's all there is about it," 
 and in his troubled heart he at once saw that 
 Wardy was determined to say nothing about 
 his late badness, since he would depend on Van 
 Lear to clear the mortgage, and to settle things 
 with the Senator. 
 
 "Say, Wardy," he continued evenly, his dark 
 eyes narrowing a bit, "is that Remington six- 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 103 
 
 teen to help pay for the Folly Quarters, for 
 Van's share, I mean?" 
 
 Wardy's attitude at once became truculent 
 in the extreme and his browned skin flushed 
 deeply, while the scout stepped quickly back 
 a pace or two, his own fists doubled up, but a 
 boyish voice near at hand interrupted what 
 might have been a fight. 
 
 "What's the row, Wardy? Need any help? 
 Oh, look who's here? A little Boy Scout! Gee, 
 those bare knees look funny. Say, kid, why 
 don't you pull down your pants or pull up your 
 stockings, one or t'other? Your name's Gwen- 
 dolyn, isn't it, kid?" 
 
 ''My name's Billy Hoover, if you want to 
 know%" the scout blazed, sw^inging around on 
 the new comer, mad to the heart of him. "I'll 
 punch it into your head, if you like." 
 
 "Aw, shut up, Billy," Warfield cried sudden- 
 ly, as he stepped resolutely between them. 
 "Let him alone. He's just teasing you some. 
 This is Senator Cubb's son. Van Lear," with 
 an emphasis that w^ent straight to the scout's 
 big, tender young heart, "he's the best friend 
 I've got. Van, this is Billy Hoover, one of the 
 Service boys over at Camp Ross. Aw, go on, 
 you two. Shake hands. Please." 
 
 Billy, greatly hurt as to his feelings, and still 
 pretty mad, complied none too graciously, 
 while the other boy, a dark, handsome, sulky 
 faced lad of fifteen, took his hand carelessly, 
 
104 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 with a slight shrug of his broad shoulders that 
 made the scout most eager to slap his face for 
 him. The two scowled at each other in the 
 way boys of a certain age have when very mad, 
 so poor Warfield felt that he must say some- 
 thing and say it quickly. 
 
 "Van," he began, with his most engaging 
 grin, ''General Whitlock has asked all of us 
 over to Camp Ross for supper to-morrow night. 
 It'll be no end of fun, honest it will. Eating 
 out of doors, with a big old camp fire, and all 
 that, and Billy is a swell cook, he — " 
 
 "Is that so?" Van cut in with a short laugh. 
 "I thought so. He's the cook, is he? Well, 
 that's just like a Boy Scout. The Nation's ser- 
 vants, I call them. Say, you've got a nice bunch 
 of friends, I must say, Wardy! A farm hand, 
 and an officer's servant, I — " 
 
 "Aw, Gee, Van!" from the horrified Wardy, 
 but Billy, pushing him aside, promptly took a 
 hand himself. 
 
 "Look here," he said steadily, flushing with 
 righteous anger, "the sooner you shut up with 
 that sort of talk, the better. I don't want to 
 fuss with you, but you've been trying to start 
 something ever since you showed up. If you 
 want to fight, it's all right, you know, but I 
 haven't done a thing to you, and you've talked 
 as tough as you could to me. I tell you right 
 now, I won't stand for any more of it; so if 
 you want to fight, say so." 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 105 
 
 Van made no reply whatever, but he slapped 
 the scout squarely across his face, and Billy, 
 every muscle at once hard and running 
 smoothly in his firm body, sprang at him, 
 knocked him down and plumped down on top 
 of him on his knees, after which they began 
 to roll and tumble about on the ground, for 
 Van, though not so skillful, was bigger and a 
 little stronger. 
 
 "You get right off him! Hit him, Van! 
 You get right off my brother!" 
 
 An excited whirlwind, in the shape of a 
 small, red-headed boy, with a pink and white 
 face rather freckled as to the bridge of the 
 snubbed nose, here suddenly rushed upon the 
 other three youngsters, his white Norfolk suit 
 flashing in the sun, like the most pugnacious 
 of the members of the famous Table Round of 
 Arthurian legends, his fists doubled up. He 
 was only twelve, and short and slight for his 
 age, and he looked not unlike a small, very 
 plucky bantam as he hurled himself at once 
 upon the astonished Scout, throwing one mus- 
 cular arm about his neck in a strangle hold, 
 that proved him to have some knowledge of 
 
 wrestling. 
 
 "Oh, please, you two quit," came the implor- 
 ing voice of Wardy at the same moment, and 
 as Billy did not want to hit the small boy, and 
 as, at the same time he felt his flat stomach 
 rising and falling in the quick pants of a deep 
 
io6 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 breathing boy, he scrambled to his feet, and 
 Van did the same. 
 
 ''Why can't you ever mind your own busi- 
 ness, you little runt?" Van growled. "Go on 
 back to the house, or I'll spank you right be- 
 fore these other kids, see if I don't. Now, 
 trot!" and the pugnacious small knight of the 
 white duck Norfolk suit, who had had plenty 
 of spunk to tackle a boy at least thirty pounds 
 heavier than himself, and much taller into the 
 bargain, wiped his dusty hands on his baggy 
 knickers, looked at Van for just a moment out 
 of his brown eyes, just now as big and round 
 as coffee cups, and then turned very quickly 
 and ran toward the house, stumbling a little, 
 now and then, for his small shoulders were 
 bowed with grief, and his face was buried deep 
 in the up-lifted crook of one of his arms, big 
 tears tumbling down his freckled nose. 
 
 ''Who's he, Wardy?" the scout demanded, 
 as he dusted his uniform, sulkily enough. 
 
 "Oh, that's just Don Cameron," Wardy an- 
 swered quickly. "Van's half brother, you know. 
 I — I'm awful sorry you two got mad with each 
 other. Maybe you'll like each other lots better 
 after awhile. You — you going right back to 
 camp, Billy? Aw, Gee!" 
 
 "You bet I am," the scout flung back. "And 
 — and — and," then, getting a hold on his tem- 
 per, he continued with more of his usual, sweet 
 tempered friendliness, "and say, Wardy, I 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 107 
 
 hope you'll come over to-morrow, and be sure 
 to bring that red-headed kid, with the turned 
 
 up nose." 
 
 "You mean Don Cameron? He's not invited, 
 
 is he?" 
 
 "That's just who I do mean. Don's a gentle- 
 man, and spunky! Gee! He's just all right, 
 Don is, and I'm going to ask the Chief to in- 
 vite him specially, you see if I don't. So 'long, 
 Wardy. See you to-morrow," and the scout 
 trotted off, not even looking at Van Lear Cubb. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 "The tumult and the shouting dies. 
 The Captains and the Kings depart. 
 Still stands thine ancient sacrifice, 
 An humble and a contrite heart." 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING. 
 
 "His fairest wish, in peace to lie 
 
 'Under the wide and starry sky,' 
 
 Sang out his song with a will. 
 
 Surely we, too, hold a share in his joys, 
 
 Loved so his choral of tears or of toys. 
 
 Glad in his far distant haven, my boys. 
 
 Dear Hunter home from the hill." 
 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 CONCERT PITCH 
 
 "If you go around here much longer with 
 such a world-weary expression in those darkly 
 violet eyes of yours, Master Scout, you'll put 
 Dad's party to-night on the Fritz." 
 
 It was the next morning and Buster deliv- 
 ered himself of the above opinion with its end- 
 ing of trench slang, while he tied mosquito net- 
 ting over the wide mouth of one of many squat 
 glass jars, in which the Chief had placed 
 enough water to about half fill them, and, also, 
 
 io8 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 109 
 
 some larvae that he wished to see develop into 
 Anopheles by and by. Just at present General 
 Whitlock w^as over at the head v^aters of Bull 
 Creek, his lean length stretched flat on his 
 stomach, peering through his eyeglasses into 
 the thick, dank grass about him, while he ex- 
 plained to a much discomforted Pepper that 
 Anopheles quadrimaculatis had more hiding 
 places than one. After Billy's account of his 
 pugilistic encounter at the Folly Quarters the 
 previous day, the Assistant Surgeon General 
 had decided to take Buster into their confi- 
 dence, rather against his will, be it added, and 
 so Buster had been trying, more or less unsuc- 
 cessfully, to cheer the scout the entire morn- 
 ing. Finally, even his sweet temper became 
 worn, for w^hen a good-natured boy like Billy 
 Hoover does once become worried and sulky, 
 he makes up for lost time. 
 
 "Gee, Billy,'' Buster continued, as he gath- 
 ered the tiny square of bobbinet about the 
 neck of the jar and slipped an elastic band over 
 it, "You're having all sorts of a tough time 
 trying to find the silver lining to that cloud of 
 yours!" 
 
 The scout began to grin, although somewhat 
 shamefacedly. 
 
 "I reckon the trouble is that I'm not looking 
 for it so very hard," he said. "Gee, Buster, 
 I never did have the blues this way before! 
 I've made an awful mess of things, haven't I?" 
 
no THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "Not that I can see, unless for the fact that 
 you might have tried to give Wardy an easier 
 opening to own up. Still, the chances are that 
 he wouldn't have taken it, for the whole trouble 
 is that he is just scared to death — in a regular 
 man's size panic about his adventures as a 
 house breaker, and he thinks that he has found 
 a solution to all his troubles in making friends 
 with this rich boy. Poor little kid! I think 
 he'll find himself neck deep in trouble if he 
 gives Van Lear Cubb the upper hand so much." 
 
 "You're right, Buster," the scout assented. 
 "Wardy's scared, he's so rattled that he 
 doesn't know what to do — just like a bunny 
 with a lot of beagles after him. He don't know 
 which way to go. By-the-way, I've got to ride 
 over to his place right now, for your father." 
 
 An hour later he had ridden up to the Folly 
 Quarters with a note written on the official 
 stationery, the seal and insignia of the U. S. 
 Public Health Service (an anchor and chain, 
 crossed with a winged Mercury staff) in the 
 upper left hand corner, the whole being ad- 
 dressed to Donald Cameron. It was written 
 in the Assistant Surgeon General's own hand, 
 a pleasant, cordial little note, apologizing 
 gracefully for not having included him in yes- 
 terday's invitation, and asking the boy, as an 
 especial favor, to be the great sanitarian's 
 guest that evening. 
 
 "Gee whiz!" the enraptured Don cried, after 
 
THE LONE SCOUT in 
 
 reading the note, "He — he treats me just like 
 I was a grown-up." 
 
 ''Will you come, Don?" the scout smiled 
 down from his saddle. He had refused to dis- 
 mount. 
 
 "You just bet I will," in fervid response. 
 "Ought I to write an answer? I hate like any- 
 thing to write notes, 'cause my letters are so 
 awful fat, you know." 
 
 "He said I needn't w^ait for an answer," 
 Billy laughed, "so if you'll say you'll come, I 
 reckon that will be all right. Mind, the whole 
 officers' mess will be mad if you don't show 
 up, Don," and he galloped off, most uncom- 
 fortably aware of a pair of sullen, but deeply 
 longing, blue-gray eyes set in a touseled tow- 
 head, that gazed at him from behind one of 
 the oaks. 
 
 "Well, it's all in Pepper's hands now, thank 
 goodness," the scout sighed as he galloped 
 along, "so I needn't worry a bit," but he did 
 worry all the same. "I'll do just what Buster 
 says, though. I'll try to have all the fun I can 
 to-night, for after Pepper talks to Wardy, I 
 bet it will be all up with our friendship." 
 
 Following this resolve, he flung himself into 
 the other boys' sports that afternoon with 
 more than his usual energy, that this, their last 
 play time together, should be their very joUiest, 
 but he went through his part rather mechanic- 
 ally, and was really glad when, at six o'clock, 
 
112 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 he had to leave them and go into his kitchen 
 to see about supper. 
 
 The three boys had ridden over from the 
 Folly Quarters at four o'clock, in Van's Path- 
 finder, but the Senator and the blind Mr. Rave- 
 nelle v^ere not due until six-thirty, so the 
 guests were left to the mercies of Buster. 
 
 That young gentleman was particularly ra- 
 diant and agreeable, but in an offhand, imper- 
 sonal way that rather hurt Warfield's feeHngs, 
 since he had bragged a good deal to Van of 
 his intimacy with this good looking lad from 
 the Verdun front. 
 
 "I say, Buster," he said at last, with a shy 
 little grin, "your namesake over at the Folly 
 Quarters is doing fine. You ought to come 
 over and see him." 
 
 "That so, Wardy?" Buster laughed easily. 
 "Glad to know it, but I think 'most any other 
 name would have suited that bunny better. 
 How about it, Van?" 
 
 "I don't see it that way," the Senator's 
 grandson replied warmly. "Any boy would 
 want to name his favorite pet after a fellow 
 that's seen real service on the other side, like 
 you have. I know I would." 
 
 "Oh, I haven't done anything, man," Buster 
 flushed, a bit disconcerted by Van's frank ad- 
 miration. "That's straight. I just happened 
 to play in luck and get with the crowd in our 
 Convoy which was the first to win a Croix de 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 113 
 
 Guerre for themselves. The other men, the 
 grown-ups, did most of the work, Van." Then 
 he promptly changed the subject, as was his 
 quiet way w^hen anyone tried to talk with him 
 about his own bravery. "Let's start the camp 
 hre," he suggested. 'Tt's ever so jolly to have 
 one, particularly when the mists begin to creep 
 up like now." 
 
 "Bet you had some great camp fires over in 
 France!" young Van Lear cried reverently, his 
 dark face glowing w4th all a boy's hero wor- 
 ship, his eyes big and entirely without their 
 usually pert expression as they watched every 
 change in the tall Buster's face, very earnestly. 
 
 "Like fun we did," Buster laughed back, as 
 he began to lay his fire carefully, "our camp 
 fires were usually little, half grown things be- 
 hind the VN^heel of a motor-ambulance, with 
 three or four of us squatting 'round it making 
 tea, and scared silly all the time for fear Fritz 
 would see our smoke and get the range on us. 
 I'm not nearly so good at this fire stunt as our 
 friendly scout over there in the kitchen. Wish 
 he could come out and show you chaps how to 
 light a fire, the way he does, Indian fashion, 
 with a leather thonged w^ooden bow, a bit of 
 soap stone and friction, instead of using 
 matches like I do. Gee, I'm clumsy! If only 
 I'd known that scout stunt when we were out- 
 side Verdun, I'd have been a sure-'nough hero, 
 for one time Grandpere Joffre inspected our 
 
114 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 Convoy, and Mr. Norton gave him a cigar, and 
 blamed if there wsls a dry match in the lot of 
 us so he could Hght it. It rained all the time 
 the good old Field Marshall v^as with us. 
 Nov;^, if I had been a Boy Scout myself, like 
 Billy, rd have been just ten times more handy 
 with the trench boys, and heaps more efficient 
 in my own corps, too. There was one little 
 poilu, a Parisian, who had been a Boy Scout, 
 and he was pretty near as much use 'round 
 camp as Billy Hoover would have been, though 
 he didn't know as much general scoutcraft. 
 Wardy can tell you even better than I, how 
 much Billy knows about the woods, for they 
 have often been out together practicing wig- 
 wagging and whistle signals. They used to 
 tramp around here a lot, among 'the silent 
 places,' didn't you Wardy?" 
 
 "Uh huh!" young Warfield grunted, his 
 head a little bowed. 
 
 "Lost your tongue, Don?" Buster demanded 
 cheerfully, quite satisfied that his praise of 
 Billy Hoover had sunken deep in Wardy's 
 heart, and so turning the talk to the youngest 
 of the boys. "You haven't opened your mouth 
 for twenty minutes." 
 
 "But I've had lots of fun listening, you 
 know," Don answered with a shy glance, an 
 echo of his browned-skinned half-brother's 
 worship. 
 
 Buster blushed slightly. 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 115 
 
 "You and your big brother like to hear about 
 the war, don't you?" he smiled. 
 
 "You bet we do," Van cut in, "and it's the 
 wonderfullest thing that's ever happened to 
 either of us, ain't it, Don?" some of Buster's 
 persistent kindness to the small boy reflected 
 in his own voice, "to hear about things from 
 a boy that's been doing his bit." 
 
 "You must have had such great times in 
 France," from Don. "I wish I could go over 
 there. I've read about a bugler boy in a book 
 Grandpa has, called 'Mr. Brittling Sees It 
 Through,' and he was just a young kid. He 
 used to swipe fish from a private pond that be- 
 longed to an English M. P., while his company 
 were billeted at 'Hatchings Easy', where Mr. 
 Brittling lived. And say, he had freckles and 
 a turned-up nose, too. Honest he did, 'cause 
 the book says so." 
 
 Buster burst out laughing. 
 
 "Why, I tell you what you do, Don," he ad- 
 vised. "Join the Boy Scouts. If you are going 
 to be over with Wardy at the Folly Quarters 
 for long, join our troop. Pepper Sloan, he's 
 an assistant surgeon on Dad's staff, has been 
 commissioned scout-master, and we're all 
 mighty keen over it, for Dad thinks that the 
 boys around here, properly organized, can help 
 the Service ever so. Then you can be sure 
 to do your bit for the war right here. You 
 see, when I went to Europe, Don, the States 
 
ii6 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 had not entered the war. If they had been in 
 it then, Fd have most certainly gone with my 
 own colors. Now that Vm invalided at home 
 here, I just can't go. You be a Boy Scout, old 
 fellow, and it will be the bulliest sort of an 
 Army training. They are the stuff of which 
 true soldiers and sailors are made; Lord Kit- 
 chener said so in the first year of the war, in 
 an address down in Derbyshire, after a review 
 of the 'Notts and Derbys', as we used to call 
 His Majesty's Nottingham and Derbyshire 
 Rifles." 
 
 *'You think a heap of the Boy Scouts, don't 
 you Buster?" Van Lear said, his brown skin 
 flushing so that his few freckles disappeared in 
 the blush. 
 
 "Sure I do. Don't you?" 
 
 "No I don't!" the Senator's grandson cried, 
 a rather piteous break in his voice. "I know 
 a troop in my state, near one of Granddad's 
 summer plantations, and — and I hate the lot 
 of them." 
 
 "Why on earth do you hate them. Van?" 
 Buster asked, amazed at the other lad's serious, 
 greatly hurt manner. "Aren't they square? 
 Don't they play fair, or — " 
 
 "How do I know how square they are in 
 their games," from the much tanned Van, his 
 eyes wide and sulky, "they never play with me. 
 Not a one of 'em," and his eyes dropped sud- 
 denly to the ground. "Course I don't care 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 117 
 
 whether they come around to play or not," he 
 added, but rather wistfully at that. 
 
 "Well, if you knew more Boy Scouts you'd 
 like the breed as much as I do," Buster said 
 firmly. 
 
 "Saying a good word for the Scouts, are you 
 Buster?" came the pleasant voice of the Assis- 
 tant Surgeon General, as he walked briskly up, 
 w^ith Pepper at his heels, buttoning his uni- 
 form blouse as he came. "Glad to hear it. 
 They are a fine lot, if our own Cookie is an 
 example. Need them particularly in these 
 times of war. This troop that Dr. Sloan is 
 going to organize will be of help to all the Ser- 
 vices, for I have to start to-morrow to make 
 surveys all through the south for sanitating 
 our naval stations and our training camps for 
 the army, too. It's a big piece of work, and the 
 Service will need the help of every boy that 
 they can lay hands on, and a wide awake, trust- 
 worthy bit of Young America like Billy will be 
 worth his weight in gold to us, for he is par- 
 tially trained already. Yes sir, we need the 
 scouts. 'Maxima reverentia debetur pueris.' 
 eh, friend Pepper? Van, you'll be a taller, 
 huskier fellow some day than either your 
 Grandfather or myself, for, by the look of 
 them, those white knickers of yours are hiding 
 about as sturdy and straight a pair of legs as 
 I ever saw in a fifteen-year-old. Don, my party, 
 as Buster calls it, would have been a dismal 
 
ii8 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 failure without your august presence, and I 
 thank you a lot for coming. Buster, your 
 *plume' is much awry. Trot over to our cabin 
 and brush your hair. Observe the olive drab 
 splendor of Pepper and myself, combining ele- 
 gance with activity! Been polishing these 
 leather leggins of mine ever since we got back 
 from field work," and he laughed as he quickly 
 walked away, to welcome the Senator, who 
 was just stepping out of his big touring car. 
 
 He was a short, fat old fellow, was the Sen- 
 ator, with a lot of wavy white hair under his 
 soft gray felt hat, and he was as jolly as he 
 was plump. 
 
 "Hel-lo, General!" he cried heartily, as he 
 waddled toward the lean, clever-faced officer 
 who advanced to meet him with one hand out- 
 stretched. "This is delightful. Beats Talla- 
 hassee to a standstill, don't it now?" 
 
 "My dear man," the Chief smiled back 
 smoothly, "It is always good to entertain an- 
 gels, unawares or otherwise. Personally, I 
 have always thought it would have been far 
 more delightful had our Biblical friends known 
 the angelic character of their guests before- 
 hand. What have you done with Mr. 
 Ravenelle?" 
 
 "Oh, he couldn't come, Whitlock," the old 
 gentleman chuckled, "and between ourselves, 
 I'm not exactly broken hearted over his ab- 
 sence. He is the human personification of an 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 119 
 
 eel. His ward is a dear little fellow, though, 
 with that tow head of his. He and my dear 
 Van hit it off from the start. Van has already 
 worried me out of sixty dollars to get Warheld 
 a ^Remington — something', the young scamp! 
 Isn't he a handsome fellow. General? Even 
 his freckles are attractive, I think. Sort of 
 funny and jolly in that tanned skin of his! 
 Buster as stunning as ever? Shame to waste 
 a complexion like that yellow headed young- 
 ster's of yours on a boy. A girl ought to have 
 had it, sir. I knew Van would like him, but 
 I wasn't so sure about Warfield's reception. 
 Luckily, he told Van, some way or other that 
 he'd never had a real present in his life, poor 
 little chap, and that went right to my boy's 
 heart. Hence the Remington what-do-you- 
 call-it, and the request for my sixty dollars. 
 Always after the old man's pocket book, bless 
 his heart." 
 
 "That so? Must be a delightful boy!" rather 
 dryly from the Assistant Surgeon General, 
 settling his cap on his iron gray head. "And 
 Warfield is willing to take such a costly pres- 
 ent, is he?" 
 
 "Why shouldn't he be willing, Whitlock? 
 Van has plenty of money, and Warfield has 
 none, so there you are. Why, those young 
 monkeys want to go into partnership with the 
 plantation! Funny, for Van hasn't got many 
 boy friends. Good blood in Wardy, you see, 
 
120 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 and Van appreciates it. Boys around my 
 country place are a common lot, not fit for 
 his associates. Boy Scouts and all that sort 
 of tumpty-tum. Very well for a certain class, 
 I reckon. Think of a partnership between a 
 fourteen and a fifteen-year old. Droll, isn't it?" 
 
 *'Quite," with particular suavity from the 
 Assistant Surgeon General, as he led the way 
 to the supper table, at which his staff officers 
 were already standing, while Billy's cornet 
 rang out the staccato notes of the mess call. 
 
 After the introductions were over, every- 
 body more or less helped themselves, standing 
 or sitting just as they choose, for the Chief, 
 with the kindly courtesy that was a part of 
 him, had insisted that the scout should not 
 serve them, when the other boys were on hand, 
 but that they should have a sort of English 
 buffet meal, so that Billy would be free, once 
 the food had been placed on the table, and, 
 even in this, the Assistant Surgeon General 
 and his brother of^cers helped, much jocosity 
 being caused by the discovery on the part of 
 Surgeon James Montgomery Neems that the 
 artless Pepper had dishonest intents upon the 
 breasts of some cold fried chicken, so that he 
 consumed them rapidly behind doors instead 
 of placing them on the table. Old Dr. Iron, 
 also, performed prodigies of skill and dexterity 
 in the way of balancing cold veal pies, several 
 at a time. The officers did their work with 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 121 
 
 great gusto, any appearance of boisterousness 
 being quite eradicated by the suave gracious- 
 ness and easy courtesy that the Chief's manner 
 contained as he tossed remarks to the Senator, 
 humorous and otherwise, always with the ut- 
 most urbanity and with the undercurrent of a 
 dignity that nothing known on earth could ever 
 undermine. 
 
 "You fellows can serve yourselves,'' the As- 
 sistant Surgeon General called to Mr. HolHs 
 and his engineers, as he served out chicken 
 salad. "I've only one real guest to-night. We 
 have both grown gray in the service, eh. Sen- 
 ator? So you are one of us. Don is my social 
 lion this evening. Here, Don, try this, and 
 tell me if the cuisine of this green-roofed hos- 
 tlery isn't quite as good as you and your 
 Grandfather find it at the Ritz?" and he hand- 
 ed the enraptured Don a plate piled so high 
 with salad that the youngster's brown eyes 
 fairly danced. 
 
 After supper, they all sat about lazily, some 
 in the rough, homemade deck chairs of canvas, 
 but more on the grass about the fire, watching 
 the bubbling of the resin as it oozed and sput- 
 tered from the pine boughs. Buster, sitting 
 crossed legged, his back resting against the 
 comfortably curled-up Wardy, began to tune 
 a samisen that he and his father had picked 
 up some years before when the latter was on 
 duty at Yokahama, and cuddling his softly 
 
122 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 pink cheek against its long neck he swept his 
 fingers quite expertly over the strings above 
 the box-like square head. 
 
 "Somebody sing something. Please!" 
 "Ohe, ye sportive Geisha!" came the prompt 
 response of Pepper Sloan. "If you want a real 
 treat, I'll sing you Jolly Boating Weather, 
 with the slight assistance of the alto soloist 
 from the Cathedral of the Incarnation, Charles- 
 ton. Oh, yes, I'll let you sing this once, Billy 
 Scout," then, beginning to beat loudly on the 
 trunk of a tree with his riding crop to attract 
 the attention of everybody, he added cheer- 
 fully, "of course you must all join in, whether 
 you know it or not! Ready, Billy?" and on the 
 crisp reply of "Shoot!" from the scout, they 
 both tilted their heads close together and be- 
 gan, the boy's contralto, low and smooth and 
 creamy, singing in thirds below Pepper's light 
 baritone, while the rest, taking the young of- 
 ficer's advice, gradually added their voices in 
 the old Eton boating song. Suddenly above 
 the rest, a full octave higher, there swept up 
 the gusty shout of a boy's soprano, powerful 
 and robust, but cultivated to the last degree 
 of sweetness : 
 
 "Twenty years hence, fair weather, 
 
 May tempt us from office stools. 
 We may be slow on the feather, 
 
 And seem to the boys old fools — 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 123 
 
 But we'll still swing together, 
 
 And swear by the best of schools — 
 
 Swing, swing together. 
 And swear by the best of schools." 
 
 "Great day! Who did that?" the amazed 
 Pepper demanded ecstatically. "It's just about 
 the loveliest boy's voice I ever heard." 
 
 "Oh, that's just Don/' Van Lear ansv^ered, 
 looking up in surprise. "He's soloist at the 
 Cathedral of St. John the Divine, in New York, 
 you know. Say, kid, don't make such a racket." 
 
 "Racket!" Pepper growled. "You call that 
 a racket? Why, I bet the choristers up in 
 heaven can't do any better. How about it, 
 Billy?" 
 
 "We never had a voice like that at our Ca- 
 thedral," the scout said at once. "Sing some- 
 thing by yourself, Don. You're a wonder." 
 
 "Sort of a musical cookie, huh?" Van 
 grunted. 
 
 "For two pins I'd slap that brown freckled 
 face, you know!" young Pepper muttered to 
 his neighbor and chum, Spotteswood Welford. 
 
 "For why, Pepper? You better behave 
 yourself." 
 
 "Oh, I'll be a good boy, old son. Only, he 
 looks on our scout like—" and he hummed 
 softly : 
 
 "He, humble, poor and lowly born, 
 The meanest in the port division. 
 
124 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 The butt of epuletted scorn, 
 
 The mark of quarter deck derision." 
 
 It makes me so jolly sick, you know, Spot. Say, 
 Don, do sing us something, as Billy says. 
 Chief, you ask him to sing." 
 
 "Oh, he'll sing if I tell him," Van Lear struck 
 in surlily. "Sing, kid!" and Don at once 
 cocked his red head on one side, chorister boy 
 fashion, and began, Buster catching up with 
 him almost at once on the samisen: 
 
 "By yon bonnie banks, and by yon bonnie braes, 
 Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond, 
 
 Where me and my true love spent mony happy days, 
 On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond." 
 
 and almost unconsciously, the deep throated 
 chorus of the men's voices sung out the old 
 refrain : 
 
 "O ye'll tak' the high road, 
 
 An' I'll tak' the low road, 
 
 An' I'll be in Scotland before ye: 
 
 But trouble it is there. 
 
 An' mony hairts are sair. 
 
 On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond." 
 
 The childish soprano that had so often filled 
 the vastness of the great northern Cathedral, 
 now rang out in golden clarity among the green 
 tapestried beauty of God's silent places, carry- 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 125 
 
 ing the rest along in a glorious sweep of sound 
 — Boy, only, but a very, very great artist. 
 
 "There the wild flowers spring, and the wee birdies sing 
 
 And in sunshine the waters are sleepin', 
 But the broken hairt it kens nae second spring, 
 
 Though resigned we may be while we're greetin' " 
 
 Through the silence that followed, Buster's 
 voice broke suddenly, high and full of a deep 
 hurt: 
 
 ''Oh, Dad — if I hadn't been shot and could 
 go back to the other side! I'm ever so strong 
 and husky, and — Oh, Dad, I want to go back 
 
 so!" 
 
 "Yes, I know, old man," the Assistant Sur- 
 geon General said at once, as he stepped over 
 to his son's side and laid one hand on his bowed 
 head, "I understand." 
 
 "It's — it's that song, you know, sir. I heard 
 the Black Watch sing it, miles and miles and 
 miles of them, swinging along the road south, 
 and — oh Dad, I want to go back so, I want 
 to go back!" 
 
 "Yes, you told me about hearing that old 
 song," the General said quietly, "It was just 
 before you got hurt, wasn't it?" 
 
 "Yes sir. It was a regular nightmare, that 
 night. The Germans had been sending a lot 
 of lacrymose shells ©ver the French lines all 
 the afternoon, and some of the men's gas hel- 
 
126 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 mets didn't work right, so we chaps in the Sec- 
 tion Sanitaire Automobile Americaine, No. 7, 
 had our hands full. Four of us, Charlie, Hol- 
 linsworth, McKay and I, were squatting over 
 a little fire, trying to boil some water for tea, 
 and I remember Vd had my first bath for ten 
 days, and felt just 'in the pink' as Tommy At- 
 kins says. Then we got word from Mr. Nor- 
 ton to bring our car (it was the only one not 
 in service) into Verdun. We'd been working 
 all the afternoon, 'most, with those gassed fel- 
 lows, and that's the worst sort of work for a 
 Red Cross man, and I'd made nine trips back 
 and forth between the trenches and the nearest 
 'poste de secour.' The blamed machine had 
 skidded and had two wheels in a ditch, for I'd 
 scooted as hard as I knew how on the last trip, 
 thanks to the lively Boches over the way, hav- 
 ing got the range on Red Pepper Alley, but 
 the four of us got her out onto the road some- 
 how, and off we sailed, in high. We passed the 
 Black Watch well behind the French lines, 
 singing their Loch Lomond, and we cheered 
 them like we were crazy. Think we were, sort 
 of." 
 
 '*Wish you'd tell us all about it, my dear 
 boy," the Senator cried, eagerly as a boy, but 
 Buster blushed and shook his head. 
 
 "There's really nothing to tell, sir," he said 
 shyly. 'T don't remember much, I'm afraid. 
 I know after a while, I had hold of the back 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 127 
 
 end of a field stretcher, with Hollinsworth in 
 front, and a French poilu, just a kid, on it, 
 when one of those Hght-you-up star shells 
 burst right over us, and then the shrapnel 
 opened like fun. Hollinsworth was an old fel- 
 low, from Anne Arbor, I think, a professor at 
 the University of Michigan. 
 
 "Feel a bit funny. Buster?" he called to me 
 as he grabbed his end of the stretcher poles. 
 
 "Fm scared, if you want to know," I yelled 
 back, for the guns were making the w^orst sort 
 of a row. "Evidently you're going to run, 
 aren't you sir?" for he was already doubling 
 over the rough field at a trot, with me doing 
 my best to follow. 
 
 "Run?" he grunted without looking back. 
 "Run did you say. Buster? Why, boy, we're 
 going to fly!" and we did, too, until poor old 
 Hollinsworth camiC down with a tear through 
 his thigh: "Take that poilu on your back, you 
 young husky," he gasped, spitting blood as he 
 spoke. 
 
 I looked at the French kid, but he wasn't 
 in nearly as bad shape as Hollinsworth, so I 
 made him as comfortable as I could, then I 
 knelt down by Hollinsworth and gave him the 
 best first aid I knew how with the help of my 
 small field kit, and he says I cried all the time, 
 though Fm blamed if I remember it. I man- 
 aged to get him on my back somehow — used 
 your fireman's hold, Billy — and started in 
 
128 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 with him, and we made it, too, with the old 
 boy cussin' me all the way for not leaving him 
 and taking the Frenchy first. When I'd left 
 him with Dr. Lhoste, I beat it back for my 
 poilu, but I never got to him, for the next thing 
 I remember is looking up at a fat old Fritz who 
 tapped me on the head with his rifle barrel as 
 soon as he saw my eyes open, so that I went 
 to sleep again real quick. The next time I 
 got conscious, I can tell you I just peeped a 
 little, and there was Fritz with another 
 Dutchy, looking at me awful hard. 
 
 "He looks like one of those English swine!" 
 he said. 
 
 "Then I'll just drop my butt down on his 
 pretty face," Hans, that was the other chap's 
 name, grunted. I didn't know what to do, 
 'cept to say my prayers, so I said 'em to my- 
 self. Then I thought of something, so I began 
 to mumble the greatest lot of junk you ever 
 heard, "Czestochowa", "Przemysl," and some 
 more jaw-breakers like that. 
 
 "Ach Gott, er ist ein Russlander, Hans!" 
 fatty grunted. "Let him be. The Russians are 
 fools, not enemies like the English. He'll rot 
 out here where he is, without our help, and 
 save you from getting your dear gun all 
 bloody. Hein?" and he lumbered off, Hans at 
 his heels "straffing" the English to beat any- 
 thing I ever heard. 
 
 "My heart was going wallopy-bang-thump 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 129 
 
 and the pit of my stomach felt all caved in, 
 even without the shrapnel tear in it, and I was 
 so thirsty I just wanted to cry, but at that I 
 was awful grateful to God that they'd let me 
 alone and hadn't smashed my face in. Then I 
 fainted again and then Charlie got me, and 
 there you are!" 
 
 "And do you mean to tell me you got no war 
 decoration?" the Senator cried indignantly. 
 
 " 'Course I didn't," Buster smiled. "Not 
 for myself. All us boys were doing that same 
 sort of thing whenever we got the chance, and 
 unless a French officer happened to see us, we 
 never liked to mention it. The only reason 
 Charlie got his Croix de Guerre was 'cause Dr. 
 Pinel saw him bring me in, with a rifle fire at 
 his heels that must have been awful. None of 
 us ever talked, 'cause there was so much rot in 
 the papers over here anyhow about the French 
 decorating an American for any old thing, that 
 we'd have died before we bragged. It used to 
 make Mr. Norton just hopping! Any way our 
 Convoy got *cite' for that night's work for the 
 second time, and that was just great. We did 
 have good team work in our Convoy, and we 
 were all proud as Punch of it, too. Downright 
 chesty, Mr. Norton said. Same sort of thing 
 as school spirit. Same ^esprit de corps' that 
 you have in a good Scout troop, Billy. Keep 
 clean, be man enough to say your prayers, 
 
130 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 have as much fun as you can if you get the 
 chance, and don't talk about it." 
 
 "Oh, get out," quite sullenly from Van, 
 "You're a million times more worth while than 
 a boy scout! You've done real things, you 
 know, and not just played soldier like they do." 
 
 "Scouts don't play soldier, as you call it, 
 Van," Buster retorted. "They are more like 
 our Service than the Army. Just do things 
 and don't talk afterwards," and, in a lower 
 voice, "they're very much like Billy Hoover 
 over there, the best of them. Husky and clean 
 in body, clean in thought and in talk and try 
 to travel with a clean crowd. I believe it would 
 just about kill Billy to know that any boy he 
 really liked wasn't straight. Haven't you 
 found him that way, Wardy? Lots of fun, but 
 clean all through?" 
 
 "I dunno," Warfield answered in a strange 
 voice and, getting to his feet, he walked away 
 from the rest, until he got among the dusky 
 silent places of the great pines, where he stop- 
 ped and rested his arms against the kindly 
 rough bark of a big tree and, burying his hot 
 face in them, began to cry. 
 
 A soft little breeze had sprung up, clearing 
 the mists away so that a big, copper moon 
 could smile down through the pine boughs, 
 and it kissed the rumpled tow head kindly, 
 while through the soft, southern night the vel- 
 vety sounds of the scout's contralto pulsated 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 131 
 
 with a grave tenderness, that was a part of his 
 low voice, singing an old thing of Gounod's; 
 a thing loved on all the battle fields of life, 
 whether at the distant Verdun of Buster's 
 dreams, or across the bruised plain of a young- 
 boy's aching heart. 
 
 "There is a green hill far away, 
 
 Without a city wall, 
 Where the dear Lord was crucified, 
 
 Who died to save us all. 
 
 We may not know, we cannot tell. 
 
 What pains He had to bear, 
 But we believe it was for us 
 
 He hung and suffered there." 
 
 Not the childish gorgeousness of Don's so- 
 prano, but the sweet, earnest song of the south- 
 ern chorister boy, manly and simple in the 
 well-trained tones that had sung the old 
 maitre's song in his home cathedral, a sturdy 
 confession of the scout's own simple, big 
 hearted faith, young and boyish in voice, but 
 as manly as a youthful St. Paul. 
 
 *'He died that we might be forgiven. 
 
 He died to make us good, 
 That we might go at last to heaven 
 
 Saved by His precious blood." 
 
 "Oh, God, please — a fellow just can't know 
 all he ought to do, when he's fourteen years 
 
132 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 old. I — I dunno how to say my prayers, like — 
 like Billy, and Buster, and — and good boys — 
 but you helped Buster out on that battle field 
 in France — and so won't you please help me 
 now? Oh, I know Tm a bad boy — but I want 
 to get straight — and be a scout — and — oh, 
 please, I'll be a good boy, an' tell — everything 
 — yes I will — but. Oh Gee! I'm scared, I'm so 
 scared! Won't you please help me? Please, 
 please, please — for Christ's sake. Amen." 
 
 "Oh, dearly, dearly has He loved! 
 
 And we must love him, too, 
 And trust in His redeeming blood, 
 
 And try His works to do." 
 
 Then all quiet, for the boys were to spend 
 the night at camp, and, a Httle later, just as 
 Warfield walked sturdily back to the others, 
 out rang the last message for the day, Taps, 
 with it's caution, "Lights are out", a word of 
 rest for all tired, battle weary men wherever 
 a hard fight is fought the great world over. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "He loves to be little, he hates to be big, 
 'Tis he that inhabits the cave that you dig; 
 'Tis he, when you play with your soldiers of tin 
 That sides with the Frenchmen and never can win." 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 
 "Prince Henry: What man? 
 
 Sheriff : One of them is well known, my gracious lord; 
 
 a gross, fat man. 
 Carrier: As fat as butter.'' 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 "It's the play-time port for Service boys to go." 
 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 CbNTAINING A BRIEF CONSTRUCTIVE INTER- 
 VIEW, OF OFFICIAL CHARACTER, WITH 
 SCOUT MASTER PEPPER SLOAN 
 
 "Oh, Gee! Here comes the Bum-boat boy!" 
 It was very early the next morning, and 
 Billy Hoover, stretching his pajama-clad body 
 sleepily, tumbled off his army cot and out of 
 the cabin, the dew-wet grass of the clearing 
 feeling pleasantly cool to his bare feet. 
 
 Standing at the side of the roadway was a 
 huckster's wagon, pulled by two small, very 
 
 133 
 
134 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 sleek mules, and piled high with every sort of 
 article from the vegetable kingdom that hap- 
 pened to be in season at the time. Sitting on 
 the seat, in overalls and a sleeveless under- 
 shirt, v^as the seller of these wares, his white 
 feet swinging comfortably over the side. He 
 was known to the buying world about Doo- 
 little as Coonie Black. 
 
 He was a fat boy, or at all events a very 
 chubby one, but as strong as a young ox for 
 his fifteen years. He had light brown hair, a 
 jolly, impudent face of the "shining morning" 
 variety, and blue eyes that crinkled about their 
 corners with suppressed fun. He hailed orig- 
 inally from Howard County, Maryland, and 
 held the inhabitants of Dolittle, both the 
 workers in the cotton mill and the near-by 
 farmers, in cheerful contempt, as lazy, shift- 
 less people, quite out of his own energetic 
 world. His idea of Heaven was the Lexington 
 Street market, Baltimore, and his notions 
 about the other place were, as he expressed it, 
 "just like Dolittle, only maybe a Httle bigger.'' 
 As to Coonie Black, himself, his worst enemy 
 could never have accused him of laziness, for 
 he was busy every minute of his day, and you 
 could see him, almost any time from four 
 o'clock in the morning on, working sturdily 
 in his big brother's truck farm. A young cab- 
 bage was to him as the fairest of roses, and a 
 head of lettuce, particularly if out of season. 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 135 
 
 filled his plump heart with an ecstacy that no 
 orchid ever grown could have equaled. He 
 was an ambitious youngster, and studied, as 
 the scout used to say, "like the dickens", and 
 you were always certain to find a book thrust 
 in his hip pocket, anything from an Appleton's 
 Speller, to a Bennett's Latin, or a Gilder- 
 sleave's Greek Grammar, or possibly a Went- 
 worth's School Algebra. Billy studied con- 
 scientiously, because he felt that a good scout 
 ought to do the best he could with his lessons, 
 but the fat boy actually got fun out of it. Any- 
 thing that "helped him along" was a joy to 
 him. So he and Billy often got in an hour's 
 work together, while the latter was helping* 
 Coonie with his butter beans, and many a page 
 in English History was read aloud by the one, 
 while the other hoed sugar corn, taking turn 
 and turn about. The dream of Coonie Black's 
 young life was for him and his brother Philip, 
 to save up money enough to buy their small 
 truck farm outright, for at present they rented 
 it from the Folly Quarters, and so he saved his 
 spare money as carefully as the scout did his; 
 though w4th less anguish, for Billy had a weak- 
 ness for candy that amounted to a passion. 
 
 "Say, Coonie," Billy said reproachfully, after 
 fifteen minutes of the most spirited haggling 
 over various bits of food produce, "It's just 
 scan'lous to ask thirty-five cents for those 
 peaches ! They're runts, that's what they are." 
 
136 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "Why, I think they're lovely," Coonie grin- 
 ned. "If you hit 'em with a potato masher, 
 they squash — just as easy! Honest they do. 
 But Vm going to give you a whole peck of 
 them, for helping me work those tomatoes last 
 Tuesday. I'd been hoeing yet if you hadn't 
 answered my S. O. S. Say, those scout signals 
 come in fine, don't they?" 
 
 It was Billy's turn to grin now% and he did 
 so, most broadly. 
 
 "Sure," he assented. "When ever I hear 
 you whistle 'Patrol Leaders come here', I know 
 those three short blasts and one long one mean 
 more than the Handbook ever says, 'cause they 
 mean Tatrol Leaders come here — and bring 
 a hoe along, too.' " 
 
 "That's nothing!" from the placid Coonie. 
 "When Wardy Brown gives that whistle from 
 the back porch of the Folly Quarters — he 
 knows the signals as good as you, now — 
 it means Tatrol Leaders come here — and bring 
 the rent along!' Say, Billy, when do we start 
 that troop? I'm in on that, if I can only get 
 the time, and if Dr. Pepper will have me." 
 
 "Jabber, jabber, jabber! Talk, talk, talk!" 
 came the voice of Pepper Sloan, as he emerged 
 from his cabin, a Greek athlete from the neck 
 down, a fuzzy bath-towel about his thighs. 
 "How do you expect a long suffering chap to 
 get any sleep, you kids? 'Morning, Coonie! 
 Chin, chin. Scout!" 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 137 
 
 •Both youngsters drew themselves up and 
 saluted, Boy Scout fashion, and Pepper, with 
 a grin, returned the salutation twice, once with 
 the Service, once with the Scout salute. 
 
 "When you going to organize. Doctor?" the 
 Black boy asked. 
 
 "Now, if not sooner, Scout Husky," the 
 cheerful Pepper flung back. "It will be loads 
 of fun. I feel like a kid about it, honestly I 
 do. Haven't been as thrilled since I got my 
 commission. We organize this afternoon. 
 Time, five-thirty. Place, your brother Philip's 
 farm. The other boys all know about it, and 
 so do you now. I'd have sent you word, only 
 I knew you'd be around here with the bum- 
 boat — that's Navy slang for the little harbor 
 craft that come along side of a battleship to 
 sell stuff, Coonie." 
 
 "Sure, I know. Billy told me. Phil says I 
 must'nt let up in my work when I join the 
 Scouts," this last with some gloom. 
 
 "Huh!" from Billy. "You wouldn't be a 
 real scout if you did. Would he, Pep — I mean 
 Dr. Sloan?" 
 
 "Of course not. We're organizing this 
 troop for work. Farm work, field work, mus- 
 cle work and brain work — heart work too, I 
 hope. All Governmental work, too, with the 
 august eyes of the S. G. and our own K. O." 
 (Service slang for Surgeon General and Com- 
 manding Ofiicer, respectively) upon us. The 
 
138 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 K. O. is with us, and as to the S. G., why, boys, 
 Washington has a chronic hypermetropia (far 
 sightedness, you know) that would make de 
 Schweinitz green with envy, a boon to any 
 eye cHnic in the world. Washington sees near 
 and far, I can tell you." 
 
 "List to my tale, old son. Once upon a time, 
 about eight months ago, just after I was in 
 the Service, Spot Welford's papa sent him a 
 great big check, and so he and I clubbed in 
 together and bought a flivver runabout. We 
 were stationed at San Francisco at the time. 
 You'd have thought that was a good, safe dis- 
 tance from Washington, wouldn't you? Not 
 so, for the Surgeon General's eye was upon us, 
 A chap named Tuft, a P. A., was in on the deal, 
 too. Washington squints Frisco-wards, and 
 grins an official grin. *Huh!' it grunts, 'those 
 boys must think they are going to live at the 
 Pacific station, buying automobiles that way. 
 What ho ! my jolly head of the Personnel, show 
 them their proper places, and strafe them like 
 the foolish young cubs they are. Just like an 
 Assistant Surgeon's nerve, to say nothing of 
 a Past Assistant's, isn't it. Mister Personnel- 
 man?' Well, what happened? The P. A. is in 
 Honolulu, I got New Orleans, and Spot came 
 across to Delaware Breakwater, where he 
 joined his ship, the revenue cutter Onandaga. 
 Now, we are here on field work, Spot and I, 
 and the P. A. has moved on to the Philipines — 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 139 
 
 and the flivver? Well, the flivver may be back 
 with Papa Ford in Detroit, for all I know." 
 
 "But what about our sanitary work, and all 
 the rest of the scout stuff?" Billy asked, laugh- 
 ing, but a bit impatient. 
 
 "It is humming, old son, like the merriest of 
 Maeterlinck's bees," Pepper replied. "It's just 
 "bee-yu-tiful", to use your own words, Billy. 
 The Chief tells me that the Honorable, the Sec- 
 retary of War, to say nothing of the Honor- 
 able, the Secretary of the Navy, (jolly good 
 friends to our Service, the Navy, especially 
 their S. G., Dr. Braistead) is at this moment 
 wailing most dismally for properly sanitated 
 training camps for the men who come in on 
 that June Registration Act, willy nilly, and I 
 have no doubt that General Pershing, and 
 General Sibert — the man that built the great 
 Gatun dam on the Isthmus, Coonie — are 
 calling lustily over the waves for more troops, 
 and more troops, and more troops." 
 
 "Gee, but it'll be big work, won't it?" the 
 scout cried proudly. "Bet our South Carolina 
 camps won't have any of the malaria-typhoid 
 disgraces in 'em that they had during the Span- 
 ish-American war back in '98! Golly, but we're 
 lucky to have a world famous sanitarian, like 
 the Chief, to show us things — and such a peach 
 of a Scout Master to boss us!" this last with 
 a funny little grin, half impish and half shy. 
 
 "Thanks for them kind words, Billy Scout," 
 
140 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 Pepper laughed, though he blushed a little too, 
 for Billy's open adoration for this pink and 
 white, freckled young officer was an open fact 
 in camp that touched the very nicest side of 
 Pepper's character, though he felt a little 
 teased about it, too. "We'll all do our best to 
 make the camps that will make the men that 
 will make Pershing's soldier boys. Won't we, 
 Scouts all?" 
 
 "You just bet we will!" from Coonie Black, 
 with enthusiasm. "Good-bye, Scout Master. 
 I got to hustle. So long, Billy!" and once more 
 saluting, he drove off, whistling cheerfully. 
 Suddenly he pulled up. 
 
 "Whoa!" he called. "Yay, Scout! Ain't 
 that Van Lear Cubb a nice little boy? Told 
 Phil yesterday morning that *hoi polloi' bored 
 him — that's Greek, but I bet a jit Van' don't 
 know it. I'm just crazy about that kid myself!" 
 
 Billy laughed. 
 
 "Crazy in the head with the heat, you mean! 
 Isn't he. Dr. Sloan? Why that boy just don't 
 care what he says! Look out, or Van Lear 
 may lick you, Coonie, old Scout!" 
 
 "Like fun he will !" the chubby huckster boy 
 flung over his shoulder as he drove off. "Say, 
 Scout, give Van my love, will you?" and he 
 disappeared in a cloud of dust, while Pepper 
 raced off toward the swimming hole, Billy 
 Hoover at his heels, stripping as he ran along. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 "Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set 
 
 And blew — 'Childe Roland to the dark tower came.' " 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 **Weary among the Arctic storms, 
 On gallant Grenfell's service lent — 
 
 Those were big times, a brave heart warms, 
 To think of all our Service meant." 
 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 FIRST AID 
 
 Immediately after breakfast, or "Coffee" 
 as the Chief loved to call it, after his many 
 years in the tropics, and while Billy was busy 
 washing the dishes, young Van Lear walked 
 into the kitchen and at once began to talk bel- 
 ligerently, his face so flushed that the freckles 
 quite disappeared. 
 
 "I heard what you and that vegetable pedlar 
 said about me," he flared angrily. 
 
 *'0h, I'm sorry, honest I am," the scout cried 
 sincerely, though he stood his ground sturdily 
 enough. "Indeed, Van, we didn't mean to hurt 
 your feelings, and — " 
 
 141 
 
142 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "Well, you're a fresh lot. Like all Boy 
 Scouts, and you just watch me get even, that's 
 all. That fatty's not worth a licking, but I bet 
 I get even, all the same." 
 
 "Now look here," the scout interrupted still 
 patient, though his eyes narrowed dangerous- 
 ly. "I guess we were sort of fresh, and pretty 
 unkind too in what we said, but you've been 
 ever so rude to us. Van. Downright tough, I 
 call it. It w^asn't very nice of you to tell Phil 
 Black that 'hoi poUoi' bored you, and a real 
 boy's got no business getting bored anyway." 
 
 "Why, he didn't know who hoi polloi were, 
 not for a minute." 
 
 "No, but Coonie did — he can read Theocri- 
 tus some, which is more than I can do." 
 
 "Well, I'll be durned !" Van flushed uncom- 
 fortably. "I never had an idea of that, but," 
 doggedly, "I'll get even," and he marched out 
 looking very sulky. 
 
 Wardy came in just then, and walking 
 straight up to Billy, told him like a man, of 
 his escapade with Gopher Bean, while the 
 scout's hand rested firmly on his shoulder with 
 all his old affection, as he talked, so that he 
 felt comforted and, for the first time in months, 
 entirely at peace. 
 
 "I think you're just splendid, Wardy," Billy 
 said admiringly, "and I hope I would have been 
 man enough to do like you have done, and own 
 up, if I had been in your place. It's just great 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 143 
 
 you told me this morning, 'cause you'll feel 
 lots more like getting down to scout work this 
 afternoon. Gee, you old tow-head, you'll make 
 a dandy Patrol Leader. I'm going to ask Pep- 
 per to let me be in your Patrol, as Assistant 
 Patrol Leader, if you want to have me." 
 
 "Billy!" Wariield's eyes wert big and misty 
 with all the old friendliness. "You must think 
 I'm crazy. You be Assistant Patrol Leader, 
 under me! Why, fellow, you've taught me all 
 I know about the Scouts, and — and — ," a break 
 in his voice, "about being a man, too. A — a 
 boy just has to be decent if he chums with you, 
 Billy. You've got to be Senior Patrol Leader 
 of our Troop, and — and just you let me be in 
 your Patrol, you dear old scout, won't you?" 
 
 "Oh, now, Wardy," Billy smiled, "I'm Pa- 
 trol Leader in the Bull Dogs, when I get back 
 to Charleston this Fall, but you're the boy that 
 Pepper has had his eye on for Senior of his 
 troop for ever so long. I — I don't want to 
 hurt your feelings, Wardy, but Pepper said 
 that if you could go through a trial like this, 
 and be man enough to own up you — you stole 
 something, and were sorry for it, when you 
 had a way out through Van's help, that he'd 
 just know you were spunky enough for any- 
 thing, from a Boy Scout to a Field Marshal. 
 You're not mad, are you Wardy?" for the 
 smaller boy's face had flushed deeply w^th 
 shame. 
 
144 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "Yes, I am, but I won't let go," he flung back 
 sturdily. Then he grinned a little. "A Boy- 
 Scout ought not to be getting mad all the time, 
 like I do. You hold on a lot, Billy, though I 
 have seen you mad once. I'm through with 
 Van. He's a cad, and he can keep his Rem- 
 ington sixteen. I — I sure did want that gun, 
 though. Honest I did, Billy. But I'm through 
 with Van." 
 
 "Well, I'm not, and I don't believe you are 
 either. Buster and Pepper Sloan talked to me 
 about him, down in the swimming hole this 
 morning, and they say we ought to make a 
 scout out of him. He's got a dandy body for 
 a scout you know. Tough as anything all 
 over." Then with a sigh, "I think he's the 
 freshest thing I ever saw in knickers, myself, 
 but — well, we've got to give him a chance, 
 scoutlike. It would be heaps more fun to punch 
 his head for him, though. It needs punching, 
 Wardy. Came in here just now and read the 
 riot act. 'Course he had a right to be mad, 
 'cause Coonie and I did talk pretty rough about 
 him this morning, but he must have been spy- 
 ing around, or he'd never have heard it. I 
 wouldn't hurt any fellow's feelings, if I could 
 help it, but I never knew that Van was out of 
 his bunk at the time." 
 
 Wardy's was a tough, rugged small nature, 
 that hated a compromise of all things on earth 
 — "Off with the bad, and on with the good" 
 
THE LONE SCOUT I45 
 
 being his motto, and the idea of helping the 
 bad to become good was hard for him to un- 
 derstand, but he was too fond of the scout just 
 now not to be wiUing to help him to his utmost. 
 Anything to be one with the clean, jolly life 
 of the Service fellows at Camp Ross! 
 
 About ten o'clock, therefore, he climbed into 
 Van's Pathfinder along with Don and its 
 owner, and waved a friendly good-bye to the 
 only two olive drab figures left at the camp, 
 Buster and the scout. 
 
 Van Lear, at the wheel, brought the car out 
 of the clearing and into the road in a short, 
 skilful sweep and then, yelHng a hearty, "So 
 long, Buster!" to the Assistant Surgeon Gen- 
 eral's son, and ignoring the scout all together, 
 threw his gear into high, and sped away in a 
 cloud of dust. 
 
 After a few minutes they swung around a 
 curve and saw in front of them, about half a 
 mile off, a huckster's wagon, drawn by two 
 small, very sleek mules, moving at a slow trot. 
 
 "Hullo, that's Coonie Black!" Warfield 
 laughed. "The old boy's making f or^ over on 
 Sago, I bet, to finish selHng his stuff." 
 
 "Oh, that's Coonie Black, is it?" Van asked, 
 his eyes narrowing vvnth anger. "Watch me 
 scare the life out of him." 
 
 'You'll have the toughest job you ever tack- 
 led, if you try it," Wardy jibed, but the next 
 second he turned very white, and looked 
 
146 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 scared, for the car, in answer to a light pres- 
 sure from Van's foot, began to shoot through 
 the short space between the car and the wagon 
 at a speed that sent the breeze whipping 
 around the windshield in a gale. 
 
 "Oh, I say. Van — Sound your horn! Van! 
 Quick!" Wardy cried in dismay, reaching over 
 Don, who was in the middle, for the automatic 
 button. 
 
 "Oh, sit still, Wardy," Van laughed. "I'm 
 just going to whiz by his old mules and graze 
 them a little. I won't hurt anything, only scare 
 him to death. A brute like that needs to know 
 his place. I — " 
 
 A scream from Don, a quick exclamation 
 from the huckster boy as he tried to pull his 
 team to one side of the road, and then a splin- 
 tering, tearing sound, mingled with the shat- 
 tering of glass and the crushing of metal and 
 then stillness, for Van, in trying to keep 
 Wardy from sounding his horn, had thrown 
 his stearing gear a little too far to the left, so 
 that the on-rushing car had struck the wagon 
 at its front, killing one of the poor, little mules, 
 while the other plunged to get free of its har- 
 ness, dragging the broken wagon and the 
 crushed machine for some distance, until he 
 stumbled in the tangle of harness and fell. 
 
 Warfield, with a long cut in his scalp, and 
 with a burning pain in his shoulder that made 
 him gasp, but otherwise unhurt, was the first 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 147 
 
 to get to his legs, and with the quickness of a 
 farm boy, his first act was to run to the wagon 
 and cut the leather traces, so that the frightened 
 mule could be free and would stop kicking, for, 
 crumpled up at the side of the wagon, one foot 
 caught in the break-jam, and hanging head 
 downwards in a forlorn heap, was the stout 
 huckster boy, his eyes closed, his face chalky, 
 under his dusty, blood-matted brown hair, 
 from a cut he had got as his head struck on 
 some stone while he was being dragged. He 
 adored his little mules, poor boy, and he 
 had tried to jump out to save them. 
 
 Wardy tried to lift him, but he was much 
 too heavy for the tow-headed youngster to 
 handle alone, so the best to be done was to 
 loosen the break-jam, and let him slip gently 
 to the roadside, Wardy's arms supporting his 
 weight. Luckily for all concerned. Mammy 
 Lou, had supplied her darling "Li'l Marse" on 
 the previous day with no less than three clean 
 handkerchiefs and, though no longer clean, 
 with the exception of one, they were at least 
 bandages of some sort. Taking the best of the 
 three, Wardy folded it, rather clumsily, but 
 the very best he knew how, and pressed it in a 
 sort of pad over the cut in the hucksters boy's 
 head. He wished most awfully that he knew 
 more about First Aid, but it was one branch 
 that his young instructor in scoutcraft, Billy 
 Hoover, avoided as the devil does holy water. 
 
148 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 Still, with his small knowledge taken into con- 
 sideration, Warfield was doing the best he 
 could. He was coatless, but he managed to 
 slip out of his sport shirt, during which pro- 
 cess his shoulder muscle felt as if the ghost of 
 the departed mule was tugging at it, and folded 
 it, and slipped it gently, if awkwardly, under 
 the other boy's head. Then he began to look 
 for the other boys. 
 
 He found Van standing in the road behind 
 his crushed Pathfinder, crying silently, not 
 even raising his hands to his face to hide the 
 big tears that tumbled down it. In fact, he 
 was too shaken and too unhappy just now to 
 know that he was crying. He was trembling 
 a little, and looked ill, but beyond many 
 bruises, he seemed quite unhurt. 
 
 "Are you hurt. Van?" Wardy demanded 
 breathlessly. 
 
 '1 don't know, but I hope so. I ought to be 
 dead." 
 
 "Where's Don?" 
 
 "He is dead, I think. There, way across the 
 road, in that ditch, where the car must have 
 tossed him. And — and I killed him — Oh, God 
 help me, God please help me!" 
 
 "He's— he's not dead at all!" Wardy 
 grunted, without being at all sure he was right, 
 and, after a look at the Httle heap of a red 
 headed small boy in a white Norfolk suit, he 
 felt so scared that he shivered as a great wave 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 149 
 
 of nausea swept over him. "Come on and help 
 me Hft him out of that ditch, Van. Aw, wake 
 up, for goodness sake.'' 
 
 "I — I can't go over there, Wardy," Van 
 blurted out miserably, a big sob breaking from 
 him, though he was trying hard now not to 
 cry. "I — I killed Don — and I've been so mean 
 to him! so mean to him!" 
 
 "You make me awful sick!" Wardy flared, 
 loosing his temper promptly. "What's eating 
 you, anyway? Gee, I wish you were a man. 
 Van Lear Cubb! Come on, I tell you!" Wardy 
 ran to the other side of the road and flung him- 
 self into the ditch, on his knees, lifting Don's 
 head onto his lap. "He ain't dead, no such a 
 thing," he said, quite crossly. "But there's 
 something wrong about him. Something 
 busted inside, I reckon. Hold on, Donny, you 
 know old Wardy wouldn't hurt you. Don't 
 look so funny. Please don't, Don. GoUy-day 
 man ! I b'lieve he is dead, after all. Why he's 
 as white as Billy Hoover in swimming!" 
 
 "I said I'd killed him," Van whispered brok- 
 enly, gazing down at them from the top of the 
 ditch. 
 
 "Shut up, or I'll climb right out and punch 
 your head!" Wardy blazed, mad all over, as 
 he glared up at the older lad above him and 
 tenderly wiped the sw^eat off Don's face at the 
 same time. "I want to get hold of my scout 
 whistle, but my — my blamed arm, or shoulder, 
 
150 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 or something hurts so bad I — I just can't make 
 it. Come on down here before I lick you, and 
 reach it out for me. It's on the inside of my 
 undershirt, right next to my skin, and all you 
 have to do is to pull it up by that lanyard 
 'round my neck." 
 
 Van jumped down into the ditch and got the 
 whistle, and Wardy, gripping the flat metal 
 mouthpiece between his white teeth, sent out 
 a shriek of sound over the warmness of woods 
 and meadows about him, first the three short 
 blasts followed by the one long one, for "Patrol 
 Leaders come here," and then the agitated, 
 staccato screams of alarm, very short, loud 
 blasts, the call of a scout who begs for imme- 
 diate aid — "Rally — Come at once." 
 
 Far away, and so faint that it sounded like 
 a dream whistle, came back two short, clear- 
 cut blasts from the direction of Camp Ross, 
 the sign that a whistle message has been re- 
 ceived and understood, and Wardy, taking 
 Van's coat and rolling it into a pillow for Don, 
 climbed heavily from the ditch, and pressing 
 his last handkerchief over the cut on his own 
 head, he grinned rather shakily. 
 
 "Billy's coming. Van! So I don't care. 
 We're all right. Now, help me with Don when 
 I tell you. Aw, if I got as scared as you do, 
 I'd get me a nurse. Honest I would. My 
 Buster-bunny's got more nerve than you! 
 Great Scots, you're crying again! Can't you 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 151 
 
 quit for five minutes ? Well, holler away, then ! 
 Fm going to see if I can do anything more for 
 poor old Coonie. Oh, I wish I really knew 
 something about First Aid! Me and Coonie 
 would have been scouts together this after- 
 noon, if — if — gee, I could lick you good. Van!" 
 
 He stumbled over to the wrecked wagon and 
 dropped on his knees at the huckster boy's side, 
 finding him just as he had left him, huddled in 
 the dust, a dreadful little pool of blood at his 
 head; much more blood than had been there 
 before. Wardy lifted him a little, and the boy 
 moaned with pain. 
 
 "Come here, you lummox!'' Wardy cried, 
 angry and frightened. "Come here, Van, and 
 just take a look at some more of your day's 
 work!" 
 
 "Fll stay by my kid brother, Warfield," Van 
 called back, his voice at last perfectly steady. 
 
 "Well, I don't care much where you stay!" 
 Wardy growled. "You talk about killing Don. 
 Well, I believe you have killed this kid, and if 
 you have, Fll punch your head, see if I don't. 
 Aw, Gee ! What's happening now," for he had 
 removed the pad of handkerchief, now very 
 wet, from the older boy's head, in order 
 to replace it by the one from his own, and he 
 saw very red blood spurting up in little jets, 
 with the exact precision of a watch's tick, so 
 he slapped his own pad over the cut quickly. 
 
 He w^as badly scared now, but he felt he 
 
152 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 must do his best until Billy should arrive with 
 his small Red Cross kit, that all properly equip- 
 ped scouts have v^ith them all the time, so he 
 pressed the handkerchief tightly over the 
 other boy's wound, only stopping now and 
 then to glare under the wagon body at Van, 
 or to raise one arm to brush away the drops of 
 blood that now and then trickled in a dull stain 
 from his own tow head over his forehead and 
 into his eyes. 
 
 At last the far off "chug" of a motorcycle 
 could be heard, and, a couple of minutes later, 
 it swept into sight, around the curve. On the 
 seat sat the scout, his face white and set anx- 
 iously, his scout hat crammed on the back of 
 his head, and, better sight still at this time, 
 was Buster, clinging cheerfully on the extra 
 seat behind, his "plume" fluffing like a golden 
 oriflame as the wind played through his un- 
 covered hair. He did not look at all anxious, 
 and was as pink and wholesome as usual, but 
 he did look deeply interested and efficiently 
 purposeful — every inch of his hard training 
 showing in his cheerful coolness — a real Red 
 Cross man. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 "In drippin* darkness, far and near, 
 
 All night I've sought them woeful ones. 
 Dawn shudders up, and still I 'ear 
 
 The crimson chorus of the guns. 
 Look ! like a ball of blood, the sun 
 
 'Angs o'er the scene of wrath and wrong . . . 
 'Quick ! Stretcher-bearers, on the run !' 
 
 Prince of Peace! 'Ow long/ow longT' 
 
 ROBERT SERVICE. 
 
 "All that was truest, kindest, best he gave us. 
 
 Shared his few joys. 
 Always his wise, paternal arm to save us 
 
 All we, 'his boys.' " 
 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 THE RED CROSS MAN 
 
 "Anybody hurt?'' was Billy Hoover's first 
 remark, to be followed by "Gee! It's First 
 Aid work!" with the most wretched gloom, as 
 he and Buster flung themselves from the 
 motorcycle and hurried toward the wreckage 
 of the machine. 
 
 "All of a bit of a mess, isn't it?" Buster re- 
 marked cheerfully, as he strode forward, past 
 the scout. "Hello, this does look bad, though!" 
 
 153 
 
154 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 becoming grave, as his eyes fell upon Wardy, 
 with the huckster boy's head in his lap. "Poor, 
 old Wardy! Pretty badly shaken up, old 
 fellow?" 
 
 "Yes, I am, Buster," Warfield answered, his 
 eyes filling for the first time. "It's been — just 
 awful. You see it happened this way. That 
 idiot of a Van — " 
 
 "I don't care how it happened, Wardy," Bus- 
 ter interrupted, as he knelt down by his side. 
 "French or Hun, all one, you know. Take 
 off that pad from his head, please. Easy, easy ! 
 Hot dog! He's bleeding like the dickens, but 
 I never saw a wound about the head yet, that 
 wasn't a perfect slop! You poor, little kid, 
 your own head is bloody, too. I'll take a look 
 at it in a second. There's some little artery cut 
 in two in Coonie's scalp. Blood's too red for 
 anything else, and look how it spurts! Hi, 
 Billy, bring me that First Aid kit. On the run, 
 old Scout." 
 
 "I can't come. Buster," in a perfectly steady 
 voice from Billy. "I'm busy over here. Van, 
 take this kit to Buster, right quick, please." 
 
 "Thanks, Kamarad!" from Buster, as he 
 took the small package, already opened. "Now, 
 where the dickens ! — Oh, here you are !" pick- 
 ing up a fold of sterile gauze at one corner and, 
 with an expert shake, whipping it out into a 
 flat pad. "Just what I want. God bless the 
 women that fold this stuff for immediate use! 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 155 
 
 Now, Wardy, reach in my hip pocket and you'll 
 find a clean handkerchief. A nice, big one, too. 
 That's it. Soon as I get this bleeding stopped, 
 I want you to help me strip him off so I can see 
 if he's hurt anywhere else, externally. Inter- 
 nal injuries are not for a Red Cross man to 
 play with. That's the doctor's business. Never 
 try to do too much. Van, take that flat leather 
 seat out of the wagon, and put it on the ground 
 here. I can't help either of 3^ou, for I've got 
 to keep up this pressure, you see. Good boy. 
 Van. Now, Wardy, open my handkerchief, 
 and then fold it once, to make a triangle, so 
 the point is toward you. See that straight 
 line, at the base, away from the point? Good. 
 Fold her over in a two inch hem. Fine ! Now, 
 fold the point of the triangle, opposite the hem, 
 about five inches, underneath, and lay it on our 
 sick boy's head, with the hem just above his 
 eyebrows." Slipping his hand from under this 
 homemade bandage, where he had been press- 
 ing the sterile gauze pad in place, he squinted 
 at the two ends of the handkerchief that hung 
 down over the huckster boy's ears, and care- 
 fully pleated them into four neat little folds 
 that lay quite smoothly, as he brought the ends 
 around the head, crossed their points at the 
 back and brought them at last to the front, ty- 
 ing them firmly in the middle of the boy's fore- 
 head. "Now, that ought to hold that pad good 
 and firm underneath, and control the bleeding 
 
1S6 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 until we can get him into camp. Let's see if 
 he's hurt anywhere else." 
 
 After stripping off the unconscious boy's 
 clothes, and looking him over carefully, Bus- 
 ter grunted his satisfaction that he was, "quite 
 in the pink," except for a bruised, and slightly 
 bleeding right foot, w^here the break-jam had 
 caught it. 
 
 *'We'll just leave that foot alone," he said. 
 "Better not bandage it, even, for there's very 
 little bleeding, and whenever you can leave a 
 wound open to the air, do it. That's how they 
 are treating all sorts of wounds over in France, 
 and Pepper says it's the same way in Great 
 Britain. He was over there, inspecting base 
 hospitals for our Government just before he 
 was ordered on field work with Dad. He said 
 the surgical hospitals looked more like our 
 tuberculosis camps than anything else. Wide 
 open to the south all the time, and when pos- 
 sible, open on all sides, with the wounds 
 dressed to let them get the air as much as they 
 could. Sterile gauze padding around them, 
 held in place as a rule with strips of adhesive, 
 but only one layer of gauze over them, nary 
 a bandage anywhere. No, we'll let that foot 
 alone. Just lift up his leg. Van, and rest the 
 heel on that wagon hub so it will stay elevated. 
 That's the boy. Of course if there is lots of 
 bleeding, like this scalp wound here, you've just 
 got to pack it and keep it covered. I crammed 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 157 
 
 the palm of my hand, one time, dirt and all, 
 into a gap in a German Uhlan's neck, to keep 
 him from bleeding to death. Have to do it 
 in a case like that. Don't worry about bring- 
 ing our boy to, Wardy. He's just fainted, and 
 he'll suffer lots less this way. Now, how about 
 3^ourself. Anything except that head? That's 
 clotted of itself, and I'd rather leave it for one 
 of the doctors to fix properly. Always do just 
 as little as you can get along with in First Aid. 
 That's one big thing w^e learnt in the trenches. 
 Leave it to the M. D. at the nearest "poste de 
 secour" — at Camp Ross, I mean. You say 
 your shoulder's hurt? Let's take a look at it. 
 Let me slit that gauze shirt with my knife, and 
 it won't hurt you getting it off. Huh! 
 Sprained, I guess, or something like that. The 
 two shoulders look as square and jolly as 
 usual, you young husky. Same length, and all, 
 so nothing is out of place. Mighty glad, old 
 man." 
 
 "Please — Buster — if — I mean will you please 
 look at Don now?" 
 
 "Sure, Van? Is he hurt much?" 
 
 "I— I think he's dead." 
 
 "Shoo-00! Get out! A twelve-year-old's 
 got a bulldog grip on life, boy. Where is he?" 
 and, getting to his legs, he followed Van Lear 
 quickly, wiping the blood from his hand quite 
 calmly on the leg of his olive drab pants. 
 
 Once at the bottom of the ditch, he took a 
 
158 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 quick look at the small boy, now naked to his 
 waist where the scout had stripped off his 
 white Norfolk jacket and shirt with the help 
 of the knife that always hung from one of his 
 belt hooks. 
 
 ''Why — what the dickens!" he frowned. 
 Then he laid one hand over the child's breast, 
 to the left, and gave a big sigh of relief. Plac- 
 ing the same hand now on Billy's olive drab 
 shoulder firmly, he spoke again. "You're all 
 sorts of a trump, Billy Hoover," he said with 
 the proud aft'ection of a father. "Keep your 
 hand right where it is, close up under his arm- 
 pit. Got anything between it and his skin? 
 And say, could you see what sort of a wound 
 it was, or was there too much blood?" and to 
 himself, "Why, the kid isn't even pale now, 
 he's as interested as — as I am." 
 
 Billy, his arms bare to the elbow, and the 
 right hand and wrist smeared with as much 
 blood as a surgeon's, looked up gravely, and 
 smiled his relief at seeing Buster at hand. His 
 mouth was set, his round face very earnest, but 
 his whole heavy set body was perfectly quiet 
 and stolid. 
 
 "It's a gash, a tear, very jagged you know, 
 running right under his armpit, and half way 
 down his right side, between the armpit and 
 his breast," he explained, looking up at Buster 
 and passing one hand across his hot face, quite 
 careless of the bloody smudge it left on his 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 159 
 
 cheek. "See, all there where his right side is 
 smeared. I got some gauze stuffed in it, and 
 some laid over it, but I guess it ain't very ster- 
 ile, 'cause I don't know^ hov^ to open those pads 
 like you do. I'm ever so clumsy at it. Buster. 
 I have to have my hand on it, with the palm 
 out this way, to make pressure, 'cause he's 
 bleeding so terribly. I'm bearing down with 
 my other hand, the left one you see, 'cause I 
 can feel the artery, or something, jumping and 
 throbbing under my thumb, and every time it 
 jumps it means another spurt of blood." 
 
 "Oh, it's a severed artery, all right," from 
 the perfectly cool Buster. "This boy would 
 have bled to death, I believe, if you hadn't 
 had the sense to strip him and see what was 
 wrong. Gee, Fm proud of you, Scout! And 
 you're the boy that hates First Aid, and can't 
 get a merit badge in it. Just because you were 
 never up against the real thing, before, I bet. 
 Say, have you got a real triangle bandage in 
 that kit of yours ? I only had one handkerchief 
 big enough to do any good, and I had to use 
 that on Coonie Black's head. Oh, you have? 
 Bully! Hand me that kit, Van. Now, for pity's 
 sake, don't faint ! There's nothing to get sick, 
 that I can see. Just some blood, and some 
 dirt!" 
 
 "But — Don looks so sick — and — and white." 
 
 "Yes, guess he feels that way, too. But you 
 
 don't want him to get any sicker or whiter, 
 
i6o THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 do you? 'Course you don't. Here we are! Now, 
 take your hands out of that wound, Billy! 
 Huh! have to take a chance of infection in a 
 case like this! Let's have a look at it. No 
 chance for a tourniquet there, you see. Now, 
 all the gauze we've got. Don't mind being 
 sort of clumsy. Scout. You've gone through a 
 lot already, and you've done dandy work, and 
 you never belonged to Le Section Sanitaire 
 Automobile Americaine, No. 7, either, like I 
 have. Here's one more time I can thank God 
 for that training, Billy. I do thank Him, ever 
 so. Lay that gauze on in layers. Don't think 
 of taking out your packing. I've got my hands 
 busy keeping up pressure on that severed 
 artery. No, take my place. Thanks. Got any 
 adhesive? Darn it! I just felt you wouldn't 
 have! Well, here goes the next best thing so 
 far as I know. Hold that gauze packing in 
 place with your right hand, and keep your left 
 thumb pressing like you did before. That's 
 the boy. Billy, you're great!" 
 
 Stooping over Don's limp little body, he took 
 the big triangular bandage and placed one 
 point over the boy's left shoulder, the opposite 
 end hanging below his waist Hne, to the right 
 side of his stomach, and the third point, op- 
 posite the base that ran down his body, pass- 
 ing under the right armpit and around, so that 
 it was easily tied firmly with the upper point, 
 brought over the left shoulder, at a space just 
 
THE LONE SCOUT i6i 
 
 between the small boy's shoulder blades. 
 Finally, pulling the bandage very tight indeed, 
 so much so that the white skin puffed a little 
 at its edges, Buster swung the bottom point 
 at an angle, about four inches below Don's 
 breasts, under the left arm so that it joined the 
 other two ends in a hard knot between shoulder 
 blades. Then he became suddenly very hu- 
 man, and patted the towseled red head affec- 
 tionately, while he took the boy's pulse at his 
 temple, even with his left ear. 
 
 "What do you make it, old son?" came a 
 pleasantly calm voice at the top of the ditch, 
 and a moment later, the cheerful Pepper had 
 jumped in beside them. 
 
 "Thank goodness for that!" Buster sighed. 
 "I'm all in, somehov/." 
 
 "Feeling that place in your abdomen, I bet." 
 
 "Uh-huh! We're not much of a Red Cross 
 man, these days. Pepper. Billy has been a host 
 with banners, though." 
 
 "You're always praising the other fellow. 
 Buster," Pepper smiled. "I bet Billy has done 
 good work, though. You see. Van, my scouts 
 are of use at times. We've got to get two 
 poles, from somewhere in those woods, and 
 make a stretcher. Get a couple. Van. Billy 
 will lend you his woodman's hatchet. It's on 
 his belt. Cut 'em about seven feet long. Lend 
 us your khaki coat. Buster. That and my uni- 
 form blouse will be all right. Now, hustle, 
 
i62 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 Van, for we've got to get this kid back to camp, 
 pronto." 
 
 Van, armed with the small woodman's hat- 
 chet, ran quickly into the woods, vaulting a 
 high, rail fence quite easily, and returned in 
 a few minutes with two hickory saplings, trim- 
 ming off the small branches as he came, quite 
 careless of the scratches on his face from the 
 whipping undergrowth. 
 
 Pepper, now in command, took the poles 
 with a quiet, "Thank you, Van," and, turning 
 the two coats inside out, so that the sleeves 
 were inside, he put the poles through them, 
 one in each sleeve hole, with the bottom end 
 of the coats touching. The poles once in, he 
 buttoned the coats down the front, the but- 
 toned side underneath, and they made an ex- 
 cellent stretcher. Then springing down once 
 more into the ditch, he gathered Don into his 
 arms and carried him out and laid him on it. 
 Buster promptly picked up one end. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" Pepper de- 
 manded. 
 
 "Going to help to carry that kid back to 
 camp." 
 
 "Not so you'd know it, old son," was the 
 cheerful reply. "Let go of that, you Indian! 
 You'll be sick for a month if you don't behave. 
 Billy is going to help me. You run along on 
 the motorcycle, and lay hold of anybody you 
 can find to help you fix up some sort of an op- 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 163 
 
 crating room, in one of the cabins. We'll bring 
 this boy in and then come back for the others. 
 Wardy will take care of my other scout. Good 
 lord, but Vm proud of my boys! Of course 
 you're the skilled one, you old Red Cross man, 
 and I give you lots of thanks for your work. 
 You've helped Billy, here, to get that merit 
 badge in First Aid, and a honor medal in life 
 saving, too, I bet. Now, run ahead, like Tam 
 O'Shanter's w^itches were after you and fix 
 that operating room. You know how, prob- 
 ably better than I, in this rough and tumble 
 work." 
 
 "I'll fix it the best I know how. Pepper,^' 
 Buster blushed. "Just hang the walls w4th 
 sheets, wrung out in a solution of one to one 
 thousand bichloride. Then scrub a table, first 
 with soap, then with bichloride, and the fioor 
 the same way, with a sheet under the table it- 
 self. Then, boil a blanket and pad the table 
 with it, and cover with the sterile sheet. That's 
 the best way I know, but I wish you'd tell me 
 if it isn't just right." 
 
 "Of course it's all right, old son," from Pep- 
 per. "Get along, now — and don't try to shame 
 a poor little Assistant Surgeon in the U. S. 
 Public Health Service, with your humble man- 
 ner, you war-trained, aged Red Cross man. 
 Now, scoot!" — and Buster scooted. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 "To such a task we can dedicate our lives and our for- 
 tunes, everything that we -are, and everything that we 
 have, with the pride of those that know that the day has 
 come when America is privileged to spend her blood and 
 her might for the principles that gave her birth and hap- 
 piness and the peace which she has treasured." 
 
 From PRESIDENT wooDROW wilson's address before 
 
 CONGRESS, APRIL 2ND, I917. 
 
 "It's a place for all good Service boys to stay, dear 
 
 Buccaneer, 
 Nor again the Seven Seas we'll have to roam ; 
 For, when once across its borders 
 We'll be all on 'Waiting Orders,' 
 And at last us Service boys can stay at home — 
 
 {Fancy that!) 
 We'll have Departmental orders: 'Stay at home/ " 
 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 THE BOY SCOUTS OF "OURS" 
 
 Over two weeks since the accident on the 
 road between Camp Ross and the Folly Quar- 
 ters, with August at the opening of its third 
 w^eek, a hot, sunny Sunday morning, between 
 nine-thirty and ten. 
 
 The entire field force, both physicians and 
 engineers, with their helpers, "dippers", chain- 
 
 164 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 165 
 
 men, and so forth, are loafing in peace, the 
 warm air soft with the hazy, blue puffs of to- 
 bacco smoke. The Chief is leaning back in a 
 low canvas deck-chair, reading, a cigar be- 
 tween the long fingers of one hand, while Bus- 
 ter is polishing the official leggings industrious- 
 ly. Surgeon James Montgomery Neems, his 
 bald spot twinkHng in the beams that dapple 
 the oak leaves overhead, is smoking a Russian 
 cigarette of great price, and changing the 
 bronze buttons from a soiled, into a clean fa- 
 tigue blouse, w^hile the cheerful Pepper, im- 
 maculate as to shoes, leggings and riding trou- 
 sers, after an hour's labor thereon, is affixing 
 bronze insignia on the standing collar of his 
 campaign shirt, only stopping long enough to 
 squint critically at the welt from a mosquito 
 bite (not from the camp vicinity, be it added, as 
 that is now quite free from them, after careful 
 drainage and oiling) on one bare shoulder, 
 after which, the insignia being in place, he slips 
 his arms into the shirt and tucks it neatly into 
 his belt, about his slim waist, which being the 
 completion of his official toilet, once the olive 
 drab cap is set on his red head, he grunts with 
 satisfaction and lifts his eyes with a look of 
 pride toward a soldierly group of yellow Ser- 
 vice tents, pitched to the western side of the 
 clearing, the home of the twenty-four boys 
 who now form Troop Number One, Dolittle, 
 South Carolina, Boy Scouts of America. They 
 
i66 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 use the same mess as the officers, for the As- 
 sistant Surgeon General very properly counts 
 them among his other sanitarians, if at present 
 a bit clumsy in their technique, and the two 
 articles that give the youthful mosquito chas- 
 ers the most joyous pride just now, are the 
 beautiful American flag (a gift from the Sur- 
 geon General in Washington) which is now 
 fluttering before their council tent with their 
 troop pennant near it, mounted on a staff of 
 polished cherry, with a bronze eagle at the 
 top, the gift of their dear Chief; and — number 
 two, a knapsack oil spray, a tank-like affair 
 with a strap to fasten it about the operator's 
 body, and equipped with a short hose and a 
 piston for scattering the kerosene oil over the 
 ponds where Anopheles breed, should any of 
 these venturesome insects still dare to breed 
 in the neighborhood of such a husky lot of 
 sanitary efficiency. 
 
 Khaki, tan leather and olive drab every- 
 where ! A sort of monochrome in browns, re- 
 lieved only by the three sets of handkerchiefs, 
 eight for each Patrol, that are knotted about 
 sun-browned young throats — gray, with a 
 yellow border, for the Sea Gulls (so called be- 
 cause, in the opinion of the Scout Master, their 
 Patrol Leader is a "regular, tow-headed 
 Stormy Petrel"); brown, with a red border, 
 for the Gophers ; and gray and brown for the 
 Pussy-cats. Each Patrol, by the way, holds 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 167 
 
 one over its official complement of boys, for 
 all three have insisted on enrolling Don Cam- 
 eron just now absent at the Johns Hopkins 
 Hospital, as a charter member of their brother- 
 hood. Their Troop Committee consists of 
 United States Senator Joshua Cubb, (at pres- 
 ent in Baltimore with Don), Assistant Surgeon 
 General Ian Whitlock, U. S. P. H. S., and an 
 inflammable old gentleman by the name of 
 Anthony A. Blake, the President of the cotton 
 mills at Dolittle, and the father of young Ed- 
 ward Blake, a slight, freckled face boy of fif- 
 teen, as dark as Van Lear himself, and most 
 delightful from a boy's standpoint, full of a 
 quiet, mischievous fun, peculiarly his own, and 
 a gentleman every inch of him. Especially is 
 this youngster (Assistant Leader of the rol- 
 licking Gopher Patrol) a favorite with the 
 energetic martinet. Senior Surgeon John Iron, 
 chiefly because that piece of official grimness 
 and Ed's father equally grim, are become 
 sw^orn friends, indulging in the most passion- 
 ate disputes whenever they meet, and, in con- 
 sequence, putting one another down as tho- 
 roughly deUghtful men — "so full of force!" 
 Beside the above mentioned Patrol handker- 
 chiefs, the general brownishness of things is 
 further relieved, though to a less extent, by 
 the white, cream, brown and, I am sorry to 
 say, dirt color of twenty-four pair of knees, 
 bare from the tops of rolled down stockings 
 
i68 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 four inches below the kneecap, to the bottoms 
 of the khaki pants, four inches above. 
 
 Under the shade of a big tree, at the edge 
 of ground between the scout encampment and 
 the officers' cabins, a group of boys loafed in 
 Sabbath peace. The corpulent Coonie Black, 
 Patrol Leader of the Pussy-cats, looking round 
 and happy in his very new uniform, was quite 
 himself again, though under his brown felt 
 scout hat, he still wore a generous patch of 
 adhesive plaster. Close to him, curled up in 
 lazy comfort, was his Assistant Patrol Leader, 
 Van Lear Cubb. 
 
 In the sixteen days since Don's accident, 
 certain small lines had come in the boy's dark 
 skinned, freckled face, and they gave him a 
 thoughtful, resolute look. Next to Billy Hoo- 
 ver, who he knew had saved Don's life, his best 
 friend was the huckster boy; and the new mule, 
 as small and sleek as its companion, that now 
 trotted before the equally new vegetable wag- 
 on, was but one of his efforts to make things 
 square with his fat chum. Just now he was 
 telling Coonie and Billy about his trip up to 
 Baltimore the week before, he and his grand- 
 father and Don, in the drawing-room of a pull- 
 man, with a trained nurse from Charleston also 
 in attendance. 
 
 "Don's getting along nicely now, isn't he. 
 Van?" Billy asked. 
 
 "Sure. Don's all right. Granddad wrote me 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 169 
 
 that both Dr. Howland and Dr. Halstead say 
 he's doing fine. It — it was pretty bad at first 
 though. Grandad just wouldn't let me sit up 
 on the train — treated me like a regular kid. 
 But any fellow with sense could see how Don 
 wanted me! It — it just about broke my heart, 
 fellows — he looked so little, and hurt, and so — 
 so tired, sort of. All I could do was to tell him, 
 over and over, how sorry I was, and what you 
 had said, Billy — that he was to be the first 
 scout enrolled in our troop. When things got 
 very bad, and he'd cry some, I'd tell him that 
 over again, you know." A flush of embarass- 
 ment came over his dark face, *'And I'd hold 
 him some, and kiss him — he's my kid brother, 
 you know, fellows." 
 
 Pepper, overhearing the greater part of this 
 conversation, watched the boy out of the cor- 
 ner of his eye, and then smiled across to Dr. 
 Jimmy Neems, who nodded a hearty approval 
 in response. 
 
 Then the august presence of the Leader of 
 the belligerent Sea Gulls joined the rest, none 
 the worse for his adventures in First Aid, and 
 as mischievous and purposeful, yes, and as 
 truculent too, as ever — just a nice, roly-poly 
 kid, kindhearted and quick, either for friend- 
 ship or pugnacity. Without the sweet tem- 
 pered, sane management of Billy Hoover, his 
 Assistant, the Sea Gulls would have been hav- 
 ing their heads punched on an average of three 
 
170 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 times a day, Warfield priding himself on his 
 Patrol discipline. 
 
 Just now his round face wore its broadest 
 grin, as he curled up close to Billy and repeated 
 some sky-larking in his tent on the previous 
 night. 
 
 "No rough-house in our tents, is there old 
 Scout?" Van bragged, clasping his bare knees 
 in both hands and rocking himself backward 
 and forward. 
 
 "I should say not!" from Coonie. "Me and 
 this husky bunkie of mine won't have it. Will 
 we. Van?" 
 
 "I should say not!" Van flung back with 
 pride. "We've got dandy discipline in our 
 Patrol, thank you." 
 
 "Huh!" from Wardy, raising up on one el- 
 bow, "You Pussy-cats ain't in the same class 
 with us Sea Gulls! Discipline's our middle 
 name, isn't it, Billy?" 
 
 "Course," Billy Hoover repHed with a 
 giggle. "Our Patrol is just bound to be the 
 best in the troop, ain't it, Wardy-Scout? Just 
 because it is ours." 
 
 "Well," from Ed Blake, his snubbed nose 
 wrinkled in a mischievous grin, "I'm not say- 
 ing much, but there isn't a one of you in a class 
 with us Gophers ! No sir ! We've got the right 
 name, to start with — haven't we. Bean-pole?" 
 to his right hand neighbor. Patrol Leader 
 Gopher Bean. 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 171 
 
 " 'Cose we have, Ed/' the Gopher smiled 
 back, "And then, just look at the two fellows 
 that boss our Patrol — 'specially the Leader!" 
 
 Everybody began to laugh, and as they did 
 so a girl cantered up to the clearing and reined 
 in her horse w^ith a practiced hand. 
 
 "Who's the oleander blossom. Pepper?" Dr. 
 Neems inquired with jocularity, as he took out 
 another cigarette from his heavy silver case. 
 
 Young Pepper made no answ^er, for he was 
 on his legs at once, stumbling a little in his 
 eagerness, and glancing shyly over his shoul- 
 der, now and then, at his brother officers, as 
 he hurried toward the newcomer. 
 
 "Never saw Pepper rattled that way before," 
 Lake White chuckled. "He don't like girls as 
 a rule." 
 
 "The young lady looks — a bit masterful," 
 the Chief smiled, glancing up from a copy of 
 the "Atlantic Monthly". "Our Pepper had best 
 be cautious. He should carefully digest the 
 philosophy of Treitschke and Nietzsche, with 
 their gospel of the right to the strongest, that 
 they have so laboriously howled through the 
 ages. Pepper is a nice boy, and should only 
 go with a 'Kirche, Kuchen, Kinder' girl. Just 
 look at the youngster, Hollis! He is as pink 
 and breathless as a school-boy, or a second 
 Richard Feverel." 
 
 "But nobod}^ has answered my question," 
 Jimmy Neems complained. 
 
172 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "As to the identity of your oleander blos- 
 som," from the smiling Chief, "never mind, 
 Neems. Behold Master Pepper returning! No 
 doubt he can solve the mystery for you. Bless 
 those Boy Scouts, Hollis, the very sight of a 
 girl in camp has made them as pink and bash- 
 ful as — as Pepper himself." 
 
 "Approach the official shrine. Pepper," Dr. 
 Neems chuckled, "and be catechised. Once 
 again I demand to know the identity of the 
 oleander blossom." 
 
 Pepper turned red, and stood before the 
 older officers very shyly. He tried to speak, 
 failed, wet his lips and tried again. 
 
 "Oh — that's just Anne Page," he said meek- 
 ly. "She's such a nice girl. What you fellows 
 laughing at? She is a nice girl, and I'll punch 
 anybody's head that says she isn't." 
 
 "Nobody said she wasn't, you young Tris- 
 tram," Mr. HolHs grinned. "Why I am sure 
 you know far more about the young lady than 
 the rest of us. You certainly look as if you did, 
 and you act as if you — " 
 
 But now the Assistant Surgeon General took 
 a kindly hand. 
 
 "Let him alone, Frank Hollis," he smiled, 
 "That's a good fellow. Let Pepper have his 
 romance in peace. It is his very first offense, 
 I honestly believe. A very charming, clever 
 face. Pepper." 
 
 "Yes sir," Pepper blushed gratefully, glanc- 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 173 
 
 ing up at his Chief for a moment just as a small 
 red-headed school boy might look at his father, 
 when the latter had taken his part, and then 
 dropping his eyes again. "Her name is Anne 
 Page, and Tve known her since I was in knick- 
 ers. She's only a few months younger than 
 I, and she's a graduate nurse from the Hop- 
 kins. Left Baltimore last year to do Red 
 Cross work somewhere in France, and now 
 she's home, in Charleston, on her furlough." 
 
 "Oh, I know her!" Buster struck in, he was 
 now Assistant Scout Master, by-the-way, "She 
 was ever so good to me when I was sick at the 
 American Hospital at Neuilly, Dad. We all 
 called her Sister Anne, English fashion." 
 
 "Well, I reckon I know her, too!" very 
 proudly from the scout ranks, as Billy Hoover 
 swaggered up. "Say, she's my second cousin! 
 Honest she is. She's a Virginia Page, and a 
 Charleston Sewell! Gee!" 
 
 "Then may the Lord preserve us !" in a fer- 
 vent aside from the smiling Chief. "Like our 
 Cookie, I too would fain say *Gee!' " 
 
 "Now watch out for the most fearful display 
 of official Scout Masterly favoritism. Spot-to," 
 Lake West laughed. "Billy is only an Assis- 
 tant Patrol Leader, under our scrappy tow- 
 head, but you just watch him fit into Buster's 
 shoes, in spite of his few fourteen years, if 
 Pepper has his way. 'Cherchez la femme/ 
 Spotto, old boy!" 
 
174 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "I know her, too !" Van called, from his seat 
 beside Coonie Black. "She's great! She was 
 in Dolittle, visiting a chum of hers who is head- 
 nurse at the Mill hospital, the day Grandad 
 wanted a trained nurse for Don, and she grab- 
 bed her duffle, or whatever girls call their kit, 
 and went right along with us to Baltimore. 
 She had more sense! She knew just when to 
 leave Don and me alone, and all that." 
 
 "Well, I don't know the young lady myself," 
 in a gentle voice from Spotteswood Welford, 
 "but I am going to. Just watch me. Lake." 
 
 "Not if I know it, old son," Pepper flung in 
 with a shy grin, friendly, but determined, for 
 Spot's good looks might prove very formid- 
 able. 
 
 "Well, we all want to know her. Pepper," 
 the Chief said cordially. "I must thank her 
 for all her kindness to my own boy. She 'spec- 
 ialed' Buster, you know. Since she has so 
 many friends at Camp Ross, we will with your 
 permission, give her a Continental breakfast, at 
 eleven-thirty to-morrow morning. I have to 
 go to Raleigh in the afternoon, but I will make 
 it a point to be here for that. She has been so 
 good to Buster." 
 
 "Oh, Anne's good to everybody!" from Pep- 
 per, now quite joyous. 
 
 "Is she good to you. Pepper?" Dr. Neems 
 inquired with gusto. 
 
 "Sometimes," from the smiling Pepper. "I 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 175 
 
 say, Chief, she rode over here to see me about 
 the Allied Bazar theyVe getting up in Charles- 
 ton next month. It's to be in the Armory. 
 She wants my — our — scouts to help, some in 
 fancy togs to sell things, and the rest to be on 
 actual service in the building." 
 
 "Excellent!" the Assistant Surgeon Gener- 
 al assented. "If we can get that tract of land, 
 over on Sago, sanitated properly, by the first 
 of September, so that I can have the satisfac- 
 tion of hearing a Marine bugle sound out over 
 it, as an established training camp for that part 
 of the Navy, I v^ill say my 'Nunc dimittis' 
 gladly, and feel that our Boy Scouts deserve 
 a trip to Charleston, though even there they 
 will be on duty, I suppose, in the Bazar work." 
 
 "Gee, but that's just great. Chief!" came the 
 enraptured voice of Warfield Brown, as he 
 trotted over, his most friendly grin on his 
 mouth. "If — if only every thing gets straight- 
 ened out with me, by then, I'll be glad all over 
 to go, and — and us Scouts want to hear that 
 Marine Corps bugle same as you, sir. Honest!" 
 then, with much less enthusiasm, "Cousin Byrd 
 is — is beginning to see things, just a little — 
 it's ever so nice, I — I reckon — and he says he 
 w^ants to drive over and use his eyes for one 
 good look at what we've done." 
 
 "Yes, I understood his eyesight was really 
 improving, and it is wonderful," Pepper put in 
 kindly. "Those cases are awfully rare, for he 
 
176 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 seemed to be totally blind. About your own 
 troubles, Wardy, everything will come out all 
 right, and as to our sanitary work, with a troop 
 of scouts like you, we will make good in that, 
 too. You see if we don't, old son." 
 
 "I say, old Scout Master," Warfield cried, 
 looking up gratefully into the young officer's 
 freckled face, "I think that trained nurse lady 
 is — is real pretty! Oh, ever so! And she looks 
 nice and jolly, too." 
 
 "She said the very same thing about you, 
 Wardy," Pepper smiled. 
 
 "Honest?" Wardy dimpled. "I guess it was 
 my new uniform," and he took in his own cos- 
 tume with pride, from his rough tan shoes, 
 rolled stockings, bare knees, khaki pants, 
 knit scout belt with its accoutrements of drink- 
 ing cup, knife and woodman's hatchet, and the 
 First Aid kit and canteen slung across his 
 body by its canvas strap, going up with par- 
 donable swagger as far as his round person 
 was visible to his own eyes. He was really 
 pleased that this young lady should like him, 
 for she struck him as being just the right age 
 for a nice, pleasant, big sister; for Pepper's 
 feelings never entered his wholesome, boyish 
 head for a second. He was just a normal four- 
 teen-year-old, who liked to be liked by attract- 
 ive grown-ups. 
 
 And now, clear and true, rang out the call 
 from Billy's cornet: 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 177 
 
 "Attention to orders," and the Scout Master 
 gave the word to 'Tall in" for morning service, 
 which was held under the same big live-oak 
 as the mess. Nobody had to attend it, neither 
 Scouts nor the Service men, but everyone 
 wanted to do so, and were glad enough to lis- 
 ten to their gray-headed Chief as he stood, lean 
 and gracious with his alert, military figure in 
 its field uniform, reading the office of Morning 
 Prayer from the Episcopal liturgy, his voice 
 clear, cultured and pleasant. 
 
 Finally, at the end, the boys stood at atten- 
 tion, facing the flag, the Service officers be- 
 hind them, while, with heads uncovered, they 
 sang "America" and then, their especial Troop 
 hymn, an echo I think, of the very heart of the 
 great Service that sheltered them, the childish 
 voices rising freshly from earnest young 
 throats, with the support of the men's deeper 
 tones behind: 
 
 "Fight the good fight with all thy might, 
 Christ is thy strength, and Christ thy right. 
 Lay hold of Hfe, and it shall be 
 Thy joy and crown eternally." 
 
 *'Run the straight race through God's good grace, 
 Lift up thine eyes and seek His face ; 
 
178 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 Life with its way before His eyes, 
 Christ is the path, and Christ the prize." 
 
 "Faint not nor fear. His arms are near, 
 He changeth not, and thou art dear ; 
 Only believe, and thou shalt see 
 That Christ is all in all to thee. 
 
 Amen. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 "Falstaff: . . . There's villanous news abroad: here was 
 Sir John Bracy from your father ; you must to 
 the court in the morning." 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 "Dol: Come, you rogue, come, bring me to a Justice. 
 
 Hostess : Ay, come, you starved bloodhound. 
 
 Dol: Goodman Death! Goodman Bones! 
 
 Hostess: Thou atomy, thou! 
 
 Dol : Come, you thin thing ; come, you rascal ! 
 
 I St Beadle: Very well ..." 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 "Cardinal Wolsey : Take an inventory of all I have 
 
 To the last penny, 'tis the King's : my 
 
 robe. 
 And my integrety to Heaven is all 
 I dare now call mine own. O Crom- 
 well, Cromwell, 
 Had I but served my God with half 
 
 the zeal 
 I served my King, He would not in 
 
 mine age 
 Have left me naked to mine enemies." 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 179 
 
i8o THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "Slowly we lift Bermudas' shore, 
 Fair, warmy beach, a bejewelled toy 
 
 Gift of the Sea — ah, here dwelt of yore, 
 One with the soul of a Service boy !" 
 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 LAW AND ORDER 
 
 The "Continental breakfast" planned by the 
 Chief, was served v^ith due eclat the next day, 
 and Billy's cooking earned the highest praise 
 from Anne Page, R. N. (Registered Nurse) 
 and, with an appetite that greatly beHed her 
 golden, flower-like loveUness, she took two 
 helpings of everything except the fried chick- 
 en, of which she took three. The Scouts, to 
 a boy, voted her "just great," and she, for her 
 part, said the Scouts were "fun", so that they 
 all got on famously. It developed that this 
 young person, with the face of a pretty, blonde 
 boy rather than a girl (somewhat on Buster's 
 type, by the way) and with the figure of a 
 sweetly pale Cosmos, was a baseball twirler 
 of no mean order, sending "Ins" and "Outs", 
 and even a "Fade away" now and then, that 
 left the boys (those in long trousers no less 
 than their juniors) enraptured. She was as 
 completely at home on a camp stool as any 
 officer of the Service present, and with all her 
 fun and her romping with the youngsters, 
 there w^as nothing pert, for what she did was 
 
THE LONE SCOUT i8i 
 
 simply to enjoy herself, and not to "show off" 
 as a hoyden. She was alive to any mischief 
 there was, and threw herself into it with the 
 utmost glee, for whatever fun there was in it. 
 At the American Hospital outside of Paris, at 
 Neuilly, she was known, among her own sister- 
 hood, so she explained with a dimple, as 'Pen- 
 rod', and her claim to being named after Booth 
 Tarkington's small-boy hero, lay solely in the 
 number of scrapes into which she was con- 
 stantly falling, and the funny manner in which 
 she usually managed to get herself out of them. 
 By the end of the meal, therefore, the Scouts 
 were all calling her "Miss Penrod", greatly to 
 her delight. 
 
 "General Whitlock," Miss Penrod said with 
 the pretty deference she both felt and showed 
 to her world-famous host, "I want to see that 
 laboratory, for my adopted brothers have been 
 bragging about it. They say we couldn't pos- 
 sibly have anything so gorgeous in Paris. 
 They even said you had a real microscope in 
 it, didn't you, Wardy?" 
 
 "You bet there is!" Warfield cried proudly, 
 "and lots of stains, and — blood! Heaps and 
 heaps of it! Gee!" 
 
 "Oh, most certainly *Gee!', my dear," Miss 
 Penrod dimpled, "And once again 'Gee!' 
 Look out for that blood," and shaking one fin- 
 ger at the widely grinning Wardy, she quoted: 
 
i82 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 " 'Some little bug will get you — 
 Some day !' 
 
 and wouldn't that be awful? I would just 
 hate to 'speciar one of my kid brothers with 
 an attack of pernicious malaria." 
 
 "Glad there are more than one, Anne," from 
 a rather gloomy Pepper, "Safety in numbers, 
 you know. Which two have you especially 
 adopted, anyway?" 
 
 "Well," Anne Page smiled, "Number one is 
 Wardy here— because his hair is just the color 
 I would like my own to be, and number two 
 is Billy, because his hair is the same color as 
 mine happens to be! The other Scouts are all 
 my first cousins, you know. Do I make myself 
 quite clear. Pepper? Now, if the General is 
 ready, I want to see that wonderful laboratory." 
 
 "Certainly I am ready, my dear," the Chief 
 smiled, and with his own gracious charm, he 
 led the girl to the small cabin that was fitted 
 up as a rough laboratory, all the finer bacteria- 
 logical work being sent to the Hygenic Lab- 
 oratory at Washington. 
 
 It was a very ordinary affair, but Miss Pen- 
 rod expressed herself as properly impressed, 
 so that the two scouts were thoroughly 
 pleased, and her interest became very real as 
 the great sanitarian explained, with the grace- 
 ful courtesy he always showed when giving 
 explanations to the boys, as if they probably 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 183 
 
 knew exactly what he was talking about be- 
 forehand, about the isolation of malaria para- 
 sites at the very beginning of the technique — 
 sterilizing the lobe of the sick person's ear with 
 alcohol, sticking it with a sharp, needle-like 
 instrument, putting a drop of blood on a glass 
 slide and "drawing" it, (i. e. spreading out the 
 blood drop in a thin smear on the slide by 
 smoothing it with another slide.) Then, after 
 it was dry, washing over it a polichrome stain 
 (Eosin and Methylene Blue), leaving the solu- 
 tion on the slide for from two to three minutes 
 and then dropping on the same amount of dis- 
 tilled water as polychrome stain, leaving it for 
 from three to fiVQ minutes more, finally wash- 
 ing it all off with ordinary tap water, and then, 
 after placing a thin little square cover glass 
 over the part of the slide that holds the blood 
 stain, and dropping a couple of drops of cedar 
 oil on it to counteract the light refraction that 
 is in all glass, place it under the strong lens 
 of a microscope. 
 
 "Of course," he finished with a smile, "the 
 germs, the plasmodia as we call them, Wardy, 
 are then easily enough recognized. The red 
 blood corpuscles stain pink, and inside of them 
 w^e see the body of the malaria parasite or 
 protoplasm, a charming blue, with a vivid red 
 spot in it, the cromatin or neutral material 
 staining red from the polychrome solution. It 
 
i84 
 
 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 looks like this, more or less," and he sketched 
 in colored chalk: 
 
 Vfiif^milion Vertnil'O*! 
 
 light ^^c^) blue 
 
 I and <1« 
 
 OAme as 
 I and At 
 
 ''But I say, does it always jump spang right 
 into the middle, Chief?" Billy demanded rather 
 anxiously. 
 
 "N-no, not exactly that, Billy. The malaria 
 germs get into the corpuscles, the red corpus- 
 cles of course, in an especial way that I'll tell 
 you about in a minute." 
 
 "Say, that's a real pretty old picture, all the 
 same, honest it is. Chief." Wardy cut in with 
 a gentle, pleased look of admiration. "I think 
 it's just great." 
 
 The Chief laughed and rumpled Wardy's 
 tow head. 
 
 "That is a so-so sketch of what you would 
 see under the microscope in the blood of a boy 
 with simple Tertian malaria, that is a chill 
 followed by fever, every third day, and quite 
 well in between times. There are two other 
 kinds of malaria, you know." 
 
 "Aw gee!" from a deeply troubled Billy, 
 "Have they names as tough as that every- 
 other-day one?" 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 185 
 
 "Worse, if anything. There is the Quartan, 
 chill and fever every four days as the name 
 implies, and the Estivo-autumnal, fever and 
 chills whenever the germs like, no matter what 
 the poor small boy says, every day or once a 
 week, nothing decently systematic about it. 
 The malaria parasites from the Estivo-autum- 
 nal and the Quartan types are a little different 
 from the Tertian, but if you know one, you'll 
 know all, for the polychromatic staining holds 
 good throughout, red blood corpuscle stains 
 pink, protoplasm blue with a red spot in it. As 
 the germs get older they get bigger and 
 bigger, and some times they break up into lots 
 of small particles. Very nasty little animals, 
 not at all nice company for Billy's, or Wardy's 
 blood." 
 
 "Aw, gee, Chief!" Billy blushed, "now you're 
 trying to guy us. But say, you said the bug 
 didn't jump right spang into the middle of the 
 — the corpuscle, so how does he get inside?" 
 
 "This way, old man. You and Wardy look 
 at this paper a minute. I am afraid I am bor- 
 ing you terribly. Miss Penrod," with a hu- 
 morous twinkle in his gray eyes as he spoke the 
 nurse's new nickname. "I realize that your 
 profession knows all about this sort of thing." 
 
 "Indeed we don't. General," Miss Penrod 
 cried. "At least I am sure I don't. I'm just 
 like your scouts. I was born in the malaria 
 belt, about Charleston, but nobody ever told 
 
i86 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 me anything, and at the Hopkins we nurses 
 only pick up a very little of this part of malarial 
 study. Please keep on with that diagram." 
 
 "Why certainly. Now, Billy, you too, 
 Wardy, look! When a malaria mosquito, an 
 Anopheles, sticks his probocis — " 
 
 "That's his nose, ain't it, Chief?" from 
 Wardy. 
 
 "Yes, or his stinger if you prefer — well, when 
 an Anopheles sticks his probocis into your 
 skin, before he begins to suck he injects into 
 your blood a little creature, or rather quite a 
 lot of little creatures, the sporozoites, and they 
 look something like this 
 
 ^ 
 
 and it promptly makes for the nearest red 
 blood corpuscle it can find and enters it like 
 this — understand ?" 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 187 
 
 "Yessir," from both boys, very much pleased 
 that they did, be it added. 
 
 ^'Little Comeback is in a fair way to become 
 Pasteur Number Two, isn't he. General?" the 
 trained nurse asked. 
 
 "Hope so, anyway,'' the Chief laughed. "But 
 why, Little Comeback?" 
 
 "Oh, I forgot. You don't know yet. The 
 Scouts are going to help me at the Allied 
 Bazaar in Charleston, next month, and Wardy 
 is to be one of the boys to sell things — and he 
 is going to dress up as a clown — a sort of Pier- 
 rot — white, with big red spots and three huge 
 red buttons, you know, and an Elizabethan 
 ruff, and a little black skull-cap. He was not 
 overly joyful at the idea, just at first, but I 
 won his consent by telling him of a boy at the 
 great Bazaar in Baltimore, who dressed that 
 way and was known as 'Our Little Come- 
 back.' " 
 
 "Yes, and they said he wore the littlest hat 
 at the Allied Bazaar," Wardy struck in solemn- 
 ly, "but I bet mine will be littler, Chief. I'm 
 going to take Miss Penrod up in our garret at 
 the Folly Quarters and we'll root out the 
 things that that Reynold's portrait was painted 
 in. It's in a trunk covered with hide with 
 some of the hair still on it — an awful funny 
 old trunk. Don't you think that will be right 
 nice, Chief?" 
 
 "I most certainly do, old fellow," the Assis- 
 
i88 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 tant Surgeon General agreed heartily, for 
 Warfield's face was very earnest, as if the 
 Chief's opinion would help a lot, if it was fa- 
 vorable. The youngster's next remark showed 
 that it did help mightily. 
 
 "Told you so, Billy!" he swaggered. "Told 
 you so!" 
 
 "Well, I never said it wasn't nice, did I?" 
 Billy demanded, somewhat ruffled. 
 
 "You said you wouldn't be caught dead, 
 dressed up like that," from the triumphant 
 Warfield. 
 
 "Well, I wouldn't !" quite shortly from Billy. 
 "It's lots different with you, Wardy. First 
 place, anybody that does know you in Charles- 
 ton, will say you look just like that great paint- 
 ing by Sir Joshua Reynolds of your ancestor, 
 and the ones that don't know you won't give 
 two hurrahs, anyway. Now, if I rigged up like 
 a clown, every scout in Charleston would say 
 I was a big enough one anyhow, and would 
 just guy the life out of me." 
 
 "Well," Wardy grinned, still showing 
 a cheerful disposition to swagger, "that's your 
 tough luck. I'm a good boy, and I'm going 
 to be *Our Little Comeback' number two, ain't 
 I, Miss Penrod?" 
 
 "You certainly are — black skull cap and all." 
 
 "Yes'm, and I bet I wear the littlest hat at 
 the Allied Bazaar — won't I Chief?" 
 
 "Not a doubt of it, Wardy," from the Assis- 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 189 
 
 tant Surgeon General, with much gravity. 
 "Billy and I will have to stain it with methyl 
 blue before we can isolate it from the rest of 
 your tow-head and see it under the microscope. 
 Won't we, Billy?" 
 
 ''Sure," Billy giggled, while Wardy, with a 
 delighted, "Aw, gee!" and a most apprecia- 
 tive grin, trotted outside, to tell his new name 
 to the rest of the Sea Gulls. 
 
 "That boy don't care what he says! Billy 
 laughed (this being one of his pet expressions, 
 you see) ''Honest, he don't, Miss Penrod! He 
 just don't care what he says! and he had to 
 ask you and the Chief to make sure his old hat 
 was going to be real little. He's a great old 
 scout, though— gee! What's up out there? 
 
 Listen ? 
 
 The most awful hubbub suddenly smote up- 
 on the usual quiet of Camp Ross. Angry 
 voices, a sound as of a heavy stick coming into 
 smart contact vvith a human head, much scutt- 
 ling boyish voices and cries of consternation ! 
 A rush of feet, and then Warfield's voice, high 
 
 and furious : .11 
 
 "You lemme go! Doggone it, lemnie go! 
 
 I Til hit you again if you don't quit! Aw, 
 
 Coonie, gimme that scout staff! Come on, 
 mmme that scout staff, I tell you! I got one 
 of you, anyhow, and I'm glad of it! You 
 lemme eo! I— I ain't a bad boy any more! i 
 ain't near as bad as I used to be! You let me 
 
190 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 g-go, doggone it ! I — I'll bite somebody ! Yes 
 I will, too!" then, his voice suddenly filling 
 with big sobs: "Billy! Billy Hoover! Aw, 
 get Pepper, one of you poor stiffs!" then in the 
 most heart broken wail that a boy could pro- 
 duce, "They've got me fellows! Somebody 
 get the Chief! Please!" 
 
 Before half of the above was finished, the 
 Assistant Surgeon General, Billy and the 
 trained nurse at his heels, had hurried from the 
 cabin, colliding with Pepper Sloan, Dr. Jimmy 
 Neems and several other officers, as they all 
 ran for the Scout camp, where the greater part 
 of the troop were gathered in an excited group. 
 
 The Sea Gulls, in a compact squad, with 
 their scout staffs held sturdily, glared belliger- 
 ently at three men who held a scuffling Wardy, 
 his tow head rumpled, his blue eyes blazing, 
 but his round face as white as a dead boy's. 
 Holding the Sea Gulls at bay, for they were 
 as furious at the manhandling of their young 
 leader as boys could be, stood the fat, mus- 
 cular figure of Coonie Black, his face set with 
 a grim purpose, like a solemn moon, with Van 
 at one elbow, and Ed Blake at the other. To 
 make matters worse, the Sea Gulls being with- 
 out either their Patrol Leader or his assistant, 
 had set up a howl for "somebody to help us 
 lick those guys!" and who should have re- 
 sponded but the brown-headed Leader of the 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 191 
 
 Gophers, and his face reflected much of 
 Wardy's anger and some of his fear, too. 
 
 "Aw, behave yourselves, can't you?" Coonie 
 grunted, pushing tv^o Sea Gulls back with his 
 scout staff, held at right angles to his body 
 with both hands, "Get on back there! You're 
 nice scouts, aren't you? Hi, Tick-tack!" to 
 one of his own youthful Pussy-cats, "Get Pep- 
 per Sloan. Never mind, here comes the Chief! 
 Gee, I'm glad! Now I guess you'll behave 
 yourselves!" and, as a triumphant snigger 
 broke from one of the three men that were 
 holding Wardy, he added, "Well, you needn't 
 get chesty ! Our boys would have cleaned you 
 out five minutes ago if Van and Ed and me 
 hadn't stopped them. Being Boy Scouts, we 
 just can't rough-house a Sheriff, even if he is 
 an old — well, never mind what." 
 
 "Now, what is all this?" the Assistant Sur- 
 geon General said sharply, his eyes as hard as 
 steel, so that both the scouts and the officers 
 of the rural law shufffed nervously. "Go back 
 into quarters at once, boys. Now, what is the 
 trouble ? You say one of these men is a Sheriff, 
 Coonie? Well, which one?" 
 
 Immediate shouts for the Sheriff, but the 
 only answer being loud cries of the most fear- 
 ful distress from behind a nearby tree. 
 
 "He's over thar, suh!" Henry Bode, for it 
 was he that held Warfield, answered in some 
 
192 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 concern. "Et's Pap. He's Sheriff of Dolittle 
 County! I sorter think he's hurted." 
 
 "Hurted!" came the bitter reply, as the aged 
 one hobbled forward, weeping most bitterly, 
 "Hurted, Henery? Ye po' fool, I be killed. 
 An' me goin' on eighty-five nex' month ! Thet 
 thar highw^ayman's done resisted the officers 
 o' the law, an' I'll see it goes mighty hard with 
 him." 
 
 "What did he do to you. Bode?" the Chief 
 asked, smiling in spite of himself. 
 
 "He jest sorter tapped Pap on the haid, suh," 
 the middle-aged "Henery" grinned. 
 
 "Well, that's too bad, but I should think that 
 four men could have managed a fourteen year 
 old boy, and not a very big one, at that. What 
 do you want with him?" 
 
 "He's 'rested in the name o' the United 
 States Gov'ment," the aged Mr. Bode replied 
 proudly, elbowing "Henery" to one side. 
 "He's 'rested in the name o' the United States 
 Gov'ment, Gen'ral, an' I be the Gov'ment — an* 
 he's 'rested fo' breakin' the Gov'ment's haid, 
 too!" 
 
 The Assistant Surgeon General did not 
 laugh this time, but turned slightly white un- 
 der his tan, and his eyes became worried and 
 distressed. 
 
 "On what charge. Bode?" he asked shortly. 
 
 "Fo' highwayin' the mail o' the United 
 States Gov'ment at the Postoffice at Dolittle, 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 193 
 
 last June, Gen'ral. Thar's an accomplice, but 
 we ain't got him, yit." 
 
 "Say,'' the Gopher called in a quick, fright- 
 ened voice as he strode forward, his lips set 
 manfully. "I—" 
 
 ''Gopher !" not angrily, but in utter pitiful 
 entreaty from Warfield, "Shut up, please. 
 Please, Chief, what I better do?" 
 
 "Go along with the officers to Dolittle, my 
 dear boy, and I will go with you in Van's new 
 Pathfinder. So will Pepper. You will want 
 Billy, too, I know, so he will go, too. Don't 
 you worry. You never even thought of steal- 
 ing that mail, and we all know it, but it may 
 be a little troublesome just at first. How the 
 dickens did that start, I wonder?" 
 
 "Why, that thar young limb's been stealin' 
 hams all the winter, suh," Henry Bode ex- 
 plained. 
 
 "Who told you that, man?" 
 
 "Henery" looked at Pap, and Pap at once 
 called up what he fondly believed to be a look 
 of the greatest slyness, though in reality it 
 resembled nothing so much as the rolling of 
 an aged sheep's eyes. 
 
 "I ain't a'goin' ter tell," he piped. 
 
 "Well, don't," from the Chief, resuming his 
 usual urbanity, and gazing down at the aged 
 one from behind the tortoise shell rims of his 
 eyeglasses with much suavity — the black silk 
 
194 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 ribbon of the guard alone filled the octogen- 
 arian with horrid misgivings as of being in the 
 presence of some creature of a higher world. 
 "Don't tell, my dear Mr. Bode. I can find out 
 so very easily from Washington. Charming 
 place, Washington! A little hard on of^cial 
 blunderers, I have noticed, but quite delight- 
 ful from a residential standpoint." 
 
 "Wardy," spoke up Miss Penrod suddenly, 
 walking up to the boy and laying one hand 
 lovingly on his bowed shoulder, "I want to go 
 with you, too. I want to find out who has been 
 telling tales. We know you never took that 
 mail, dear. Don't be scared, Wardy. I want 
 to be on hand in Dolittle and offer bail for 
 you, so you can go on with your scouting, for 
 the Service needs you boys to help sanitate 
 that camp for the Marine Corps. And I need 
 my Little Comeback for the Bazaar next 
 month. I have nearly a whole year's salary 
 untouched, in my bank in Charleston, and 
 every cent of it is going to go to keep you from 
 being unhappy, honey. It is all my small 
 brother's from now on." 
 
 "We will divide whatever expenses may 
 arise, my dear," the Assistant Surgeon Gen- 
 eral said gently. "Neither you nor I would 
 wish to deprive the other of the real pleasure 
 of showing every one, our boys and the county 
 people, how thoroughly we believe in Wardy's 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 195 
 
 innocence. Get your hat. Now, we are ready, 
 I think. Your car, Van, my dear boy. Thank 
 you. Gentlemen, we are quite ready to go 
 with you on the most absurd exploit in which 
 it has ever been my misfortune to take part. 
 Gentlemen, lead the way/' 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 "This world is a dream, say the old and the wise, 
 And the rainbows arise o'er the false and the true. 
 
 And the mists of the morning are made of our sighs. 
 Ah ! Shatter them, scatter them, Little Boy Blue I" 
 
 ALFRED NOYES. 
 
 "Cleopatra: ... I am pale, Charmian. 
 
 Charmian: Good madam, keep yourself within yourself. 
 The man is innocent. 
 
 Cleopatra: Some innocents 'scape 
 
 death 
 But not the thunderbolt. 
 Melt Egypt into Nile ! and kindly waters 
 Turn all to serpents ! Call the slave again : 
 Though I am mad, I will not bite him : call !" 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 "Ah, lazy, dear Tortugas day 
 
 Of smoky echoes, blue Gulf's sheen — 
 
 Then sing a Service chantey gay. 
 
 Hard work, well done at Quarantine." 
 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 THE CHIEFS PANACEA 
 
 Once arrived in the good town of Dolittle, 
 the Magistrate, with the help of the Assistant 
 Surgeon General, disposed of the initial in- 
 dictment very quickly, referring the case to 
 
 196 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 197 
 
 the grand jury, and asking three thousand 
 dollars bail, which was at once guaranteed by 
 the Chief and Miss Penrod, so Wardy was 
 once more allowed to go and come as he 
 pleased, so long as he did not leave the State 
 of South Carolina. 
 
 'Tersonally," the Chief remarked briskly, 
 the interview with the magistrate finished, "I 
 must run up to Charleston and see the United 
 States District Attorney, as he will of course 
 prosecute the case for the Government, and 
 then I shall probably wire for a few days leave 
 of absence and go to Washington to see the 
 Attorney General, for though heaven knows 
 I do not think that I have a reputation as an 
 official 'wire puller', still, this case is at once 
 too distressing and too absurd to leave any 
 stone unturned. In the meantime, all of you 
 be sure to forget this business entirely and 
 have just the loveliest amount of fun you know 
 how. Wardy, and Billy here, are both pretty 
 good hands at having fun, and," with a twinkle 
 in his gray eyes, "Miss Penrod is not bad at 
 it, either." 
 
 "I own to a rather extensive reputation 
 along that line. Chief," Miss Penrod dimpled. 
 
 "Say," poor Wariield blurted out, his round 
 face hot and shamed, "who's going to tell 
 Cousin Byrd about this?" 
 
 "I am, old fellow," the Chief answered read- 
 
198 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 ily, "So don't you worry your tow head about 
 it." 
 
 "He — he — he knew about the hams, sir," the 
 boy floundered, his eyes lowered. 
 
 "That so? You told him yourself, eh? Well, 
 that makes it all the easier for me. Let — me — 
 see ! If it was not for going to the Folly Quar- 
 ters I would catch that three o'clock train for 
 Charleston. I simply must get the midnight 
 train, at the latest, for Mobile, you know." 
 
 "Let me interview Mr. Ravenelle," the 
 trained nurse suggested. "I am not at all 
 worried about him." 
 
 "It would be so much easier for you, if his 
 sight was perfect, my dear Miss Penrod," the 
 Assistant Surgeon General smiled, looking 
 pleasantly at the girl's pretty face. 
 
 Miss Penrod blushed and dropped an old 
 fashioned curtsey. 
 
 "That is just lovely of you, General," she 
 laughed, "but we wall do the best we can any- 
 way. You take the train for Charleston, and 
 'Our Little Comeback' and I will go to the 
 Folly Quarters and do our bit. Vae Victis!" 
 
 "Oh, by all means," the Assistant Surgeon 
 General laughed. "Good luck to you both! 
 Don't be worried, Wardy-scout, for everything 
 will come right, and be sure not to forget to 
 make fun your life's business for the next week 
 or so. Also, as Senior Patrol Leader of our 
 Troop, get the boys out* on the site for the 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 199 
 
 Marine Corps camp and tell Iron and Neems 
 that I say to let Lake White, or even Hollis 
 himself, help you as well as Pepper. There is 
 a good bit left to oil, as well as to drain, and 
 you can also help to locate further breeding 
 places for mosquitoes, and thereby assist the 
 engineers to finish their sanitary survey. Of 
 course the men will do most of the ditching. 
 That concrete-lined central ditch for a water 
 shed is finished, you know. Try to push the 
 other scouts so that the work will be done as 
 quickly as possible. Oil wherever you can. 
 Flag the ponds or even the holes that you pre- 
 fer an officer to see first, and do your field work 
 carefully, carefully." 
 
 "Yessir," very briskly from the tow-headed 
 Wardy. "Gee, there's a lot to do, but I don't 
 care ! Bet you we'll hear that old Marine Corps 
 bugle ringing out to make you feel good, be- 
 fore you know it. Chief." 
 
 "Good for you, Wardy," the Assistant Sur- 
 geon General smiled, "Now, remember, work, 
 and make the others work, but attend to every 
 detail yourself, old man. Never leave the de- 
 tails to someone else. Your position in the 
 Troop puts a good deal of responsibility on 
 you, you know." 
 
 "Yessir," Warfield answered, flashing a pur- 
 poseful, happy grin up at his Chief with a most 
 business-like squaring of his shoulders. "I'll 
 
200 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 make the fellows work, and Til work my own 
 self." 
 
 "Good scout!" the Assistant Surgeon Gen- 
 eral said. ''See you all in a few days," and 
 he walked up the one street of Dolittle, Miss 
 Penrod at his side, leaving the boys in the car. 
 
 ''You have more senseT the nurse italicized 
 admiringly, as they entered the shabby rail- 
 road station. ''That small boy is already so 
 busily full of sanitary plans for his field work 
 that his tow head has absolutely no room for 
 personal worries." 
 
 The Chief smiled, his face, lean and clever 
 and gracious, showing fatigue for the first 
 time. 
 
 "Oh, my dear young lady," he said simply, 
 "Work is my particular panacea, my official 
 cure-all for every worry under the sun. In- 
 teresting work, of course. Good-bye, and good 
 luck with Mr. Ravenelle! If he wishes to 
 guarantee that bail and make the amount up 
 to us, of course we must let him do so, for it 
 is his right as Wardy's guardian, but I do not 
 think he can, by any chance, afford so large a 
 sum of money. That magistrate must think 
 our rolly-polly tow-head is a second *Gyp the 
 Blood' to require such bail. Well, here comes 
 my train, tobacco juice, infected plush cush- 
 ions and all, so once again, good-bye, and good 
 luck to you, dear Florence Nightingale. Good- 
 bye." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "Said she : 'The pride upon me grates 
 Of Gwyndolin and Gladdys Gates !' 
 
 'I will/ she added with a frown, 
 'Call Gwyndolin and Gladdys down !' 
 
 GUY WHETMORE CARROLL. 
 
 "It was wicked bad campaigning (cheap and nasty from 
 the first) 
 
 There was heat and dust and coolie-work and sun, 
 There were vipers, flies and sandstorms, there was cholera 
 and thirst, 
 
 But Pharoah done the best he ever done. 
 Down the desert, down the railway, down the river, 
 
 Like Israelites from bondage so they came, 
 Tween the clouds o' dust and fire, to the land of his desire, 
 
 And his Moses, it was Sergeant Whatisname." 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING. 
 
 "Service Engineers are we, 
 
 Drab Utilitarians — 
 Woe worn tones from land and sea 
 
 Call us Sanitarians." 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 FIELD WORK 
 
 Work! Everywhere over a three mile 
 stretch, in forest and on clearing, busy men, 
 busy boys! A grass choked creek is being 
 opened, so that the water may clean away the 
 
 201 
 
202 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 many pools that now contain still back-water, 
 and there seems to be a regular battle, a sort 
 of second Salamis, between the men and boys 
 on one hand, and a pitiless, copper red sun, on 
 the other. Wardy, patient, in spite of his nat- 
 ural pugnacity, cheers and lifts his scouts along 
 in the hard work, in a spirit worthy of his 
 world famous Chief himself, his round small 
 body dripping with sweat and dirt, his mouth 
 either set sturdily, when he begins to feel he 
 is "getting mad", or widened in a most friendly 
 grin, as he jokes with the rest. It is four days 
 since the Assistant Surgeon General has left 
 for Charleston to see the United States Dis- 
 trict Attorney, and, after a rush for Mobile, 
 he has wired Dr. Jimmy Neems, his chief of 
 staff, that he is en route for Washington, and 
 the Attorney General's office. 
 
 As to the interview between the trained 
 nurse and Mr. Byrd Ravenelle, it was, you may 
 be sure, most friendly and amicable, for the 
 two weaknesses in the old gentleman's hard 
 nature were, first, his love of money — satisfied 
 by the guarantee of Warfield's bail by the girl 
 and the Assistant Surgeon General — and, 
 secondly, his veneration of good, colonially 
 blue blood, equally well satisfied by this visit 
 from "a Virginia Page and a Charleston Se- 
 well." He appeared terribly shocked about 
 Wardy, though, as he explained at great 
 length, the boy having already told him of the 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 203 
 
 ham theft, he was not surprised. What an- 
 gered Miss Penrod mightily, though, was that 
 he said he could not feel sure that *his dear 
 boy' was innocent of the mail robbery, but that 
 he hoped and prayed he was, and that the law 
 would find out the truth. 
 
 Flushed and indignant, but under the won- 
 derful control of her profession, the girl re- 
 turned to her friend at the Mill hospital at Do- 
 little, and Warfield to Camp Ross, and things 
 resumed much of their old shape. Thus was the 
 final work on the new site for the training camp 
 for the Navy Department begun again, with 
 Wardy working as he had never done before, 
 showing a vigor and earnestness, together 
 with a sturdy determination to keep his temper 
 and make good, that filled his youthful spon- 
 sor, Billy Hoover, with pride, and which left 
 the cheerful Pepper little short of ecstatic. 
 
 "He's the spunkiest, most industrious little 
 chap," the scout master bragged, as he and 
 Lake White and Mr. Hollis swung along the 
 low bank of Bull Creek toward Sago, "that I 
 ever saw ! Something of a buccaneer, but good 
 stuff in him, lots and lots of it." 
 
 "Yes," from Mr. Hollis, "and let me add, 
 I think my small cousin, Billy, excavated the 
 biggest part of that good stuff, with a preci- 
 sion that might have delighted poor, dead 
 Gaillard, had he not been called from his great 
 Culebra cut work, for God's tasks in Heaven. 
 
204 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 Wardy, from the first, would have rejoiced 
 mightily in storming a second Nombre de Dios 
 with Sir Henry Morgan and his murderous 
 crew, but Billy has laid the foundation of a 
 sweetness, a tolerance in the turbulent, plump 
 heart of our tow-head, that is an echo, albeit 
 a faint one, of his own, brave, gracious fun- 
 loving young breast. Eh, Pepper?" 
 
 "Right-o, Mr. Hollis!" Pepper assented so- 
 berly. "All honor to Billy Hoover for the big 
 hearted, kindly little gentleman that he always 
 is. So say we all, eh Lake?" 
 
 "Certainly, old man," from Lake White. 
 "But did you ever see boys work and hustle 
 so? It's — oh, blame it all, man, it's downright 
 inspiring! Look at that smelly black water. 
 That's Van with the oil spray. Got heaps of 
 sense, for a fifteen-year-old. Van has." 
 
 "Right," Pepper assented heartily, "and Fm 
 glad all over. Why, when I first knew that 
 boy, he made me feel disgusted, and then grim 
 — honestly he did. I always thought of Kip- 
 ling's old fellow talking to his son. Remember? 
 
 'I've paid for your sickest fancy, I've humored your 
 
 crackedest whim. 
 Dick, it's your daddy dyin', you've got to listen to him.' " 
 
 "Me, too, Pepper," Mr. Hollis interupted, 
 "and the part that got to me closest was that 
 if the good old Senator had been dying in those 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 205 
 
 days, well, Van wouldn't have cared any more 
 than Kipling's Dickey did. But now, what a 
 difference! Hello, Billy! How's the w^ork?" 
 as the scout trotted up, bare-legged, energetic 
 and most cheerfully bristling as to his golden 
 head. •, 
 
 ''Fine, Cousin Frank," he answered, wiping 
 the perspiration from his face w4th one arm. 
 "We've done just what Wardy said, worked 
 from the central, concrete drainage ditch up- 
 ward toward the highlands, so we can stop 
 when w^e find plenty of pools that are not 
 breeding skeeters. Gee, but old Wardy makes 
 us sweat, though!" 
 
 ''Bosses you, does he?" Mr. Hollis laughed. 
 "He sure does, but he's as square as — as — " 
 "As Billy Hoover," Pepper Sloan struck in 
 with a smile. 
 
 Billy flushed up to his ears. 
 "Oh, I say — I — I — Well, that's pretty nice of 
 you to say that, old Scout Master," he flound- 
 ered, pleased and tremendously touched, but 
 most awfully embarrassed, boy-like. "Well, 
 Wardy is mighty square with us, anyhow, so 
 there! He never tells the rest of us to do a 
 thing, ditching, wading into a pool or any- 
 thing, that he won't do himself, same as he 
 tells us. He's a cracker-jack!" 
 
 "I ain't no such thing! I'm a dirty kid, and 
 I'm a bad boy!" Warfleld grinned as he strode 
 up, bare footed like Billy, but wet to his thighs. 
 
2o6 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 so that his khaki pants clung to his round hard 
 Hmbs Hke the skin under them. "Quit throw- 
 ing bouquets, Billy-Billy, 'cause it won't help 
 you to get out of any work. Oh, no! See 
 those four red flags, Mr. Hollis? Well, they 
 mark the only ponds we scouts aren't men 
 enough to either oil or drain or fill in. They 
 ought to be drained, I think." 
 
 ''Oh, you do, do you?" Mr. Hollis laughed. 
 "And pray why, Master Wardy?" 
 
 "Well," sturdily from Wardy, meeting the 
 Sanitary Engineer's eyes squarely, "they all 
 sort of slope toward the central ditch, you see, 
 and so it would be ever so easy to cut drainage 
 to that, and it would be just silly to oil them 
 in that case, now wouldn't it, suh?" 
 
 "Of course it would, old man," Mr. Hollis 
 agreed. "Draining is the best permanent cure, 
 when you can do it without too great an ex- 
 pense. Come, Pepper, you and Lake and I 
 must look at these same flag stations." 
 
 Billy had already gone back to the pond by 
 this time, where some six or seven other scouts 
 were wading about searching for breeding 
 places for Anopheles, and Wardy was about 
 to follow him, when he heard his name called 
 and, looking round, saw Pap Bode hobbling 
 toward him, looking smaller and more shrunk- 
 en than ever, and very forlorn. 
 
 "Oh, Master Wardy, Master Wardy," the 
 old fellow piped, a break in his thin voice, 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 207 
 
 "Master Warfield — don't go an' turn we all 
 out, suh." 
 
 "Huh?" from Warfield, "What you mean?" 
 
 "Why — I — I — I be an ole man, Master 
 Wardy," Pap Bode shivered, the scanty, hard 
 tears of old age rolling down his face, "I — I 
 be sech an ole man — an' I've been a-livin' heah 
 fo' sixty year most — an' — an' Henery an' his 
 Jim will wok fo' you hard; so — so fo' Gord's 
 sake. Master Wardy, don' be turnin' of us off 
 the Folly Quarters! Yo' Daddy wouldn't 
 never a' done sech, nor yo' Grandad neither." 
 
 Wardy's mouth quivered a little, and his 
 eyes filled with big, boyish tears, as he lifted 
 his round, tanned face toward the old man's. 
 
 "I don't want to turn you out, Pap," he said 
 a bit huskily, "B-but Cousin Byrd says — you — 
 you don't pay very well, not regular you know, 
 and — and, aw, gee! Don't you cry! I'll go 
 ask Cousin Byrd to let you stay on the place, 
 honest I will! I — I'll just beg him, ever so, 
 you see if I don't! He's — he's mad with me 
 right now, b-but I'll try to keep you on the 
 Folly Quarters for all that. Papa liked you 
 first rate, and so did Grand-dad, and well, I'm 
 a Brown, too, and I'll do everything I can. 
 Say, I'm ever so sorry I broke your head that 
 time you arrested me." 
 
 "Ef you jest don' break my heart. Master 
 Wardy, I reckon my po' fool ole haid kin 
 Stan' et/' Pap smiled piteously, and Warfield 
 
2o8 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 returned the smile with a friendly, if rather 
 shaky, grin. Then they shook hands, after 
 which the old fellow hobbled off to the mule 
 he had ridden over on, and Wardy, with a 
 quick chivalry that was at last finding expres- 
 sion in all his acts, scout-like, trotted by his 
 side and helped him to mount and stood, his 
 tow head bared to the breeze that rumpled it, 
 till the old man had ridden off, his blue-gray 
 eyes big and starry as he looked after the 
 shabby figure on the mule. 
 
 "Good work. Scout!" came the pleased, 
 cheerful voice of Billy Hoover, as he w/^lked 
 up, wiping his dirty wet hands on his pants. 
 "Say, is he after you again about breaking the 
 'United States Gov'ment's haid', Wardy?" and 
 he laughed his jolly, boy's laugh. 
 
 "No, he isn't," Wardy replied, smiling up at 
 the bigger boy. "He's in all sorts of trouble. 
 Say, Billy-Billy, you're the only kid I know 
 that laughs and grins inside as well as out. 
 You're more fun! Gee!" 
 
 "What's wrong with Pap?" Billy laughed, 
 though he blushed a little, too, and Wardy at 
 once told him all about it. 
 
 "It's partly 'cause Cousin Byrd wants to get 
 rid of the Gopher," he explained quite unhap- 
 pily, " 'cause he and me stole that ham. You 
 see. Gopher lives with the Bodes now-a-days. 
 Oh, Billy, Cousin Byrd has been acting— just 
 awful ! He — he knew all about the ham, from 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 209 
 
 the first, but you mustn't ever tell that, not 
 even to the Chief, 'cause I gave him my word 
 of honor I'd never tell anyone. When me and 
 Gopher first asked him about it, before there 
 was any Camp Ross, he always said no, 'cause 
 we'd pay the folks back after we'd cleared the 
 mortgage on the Folly Quarters, by selling 
 that timber on the Big Bear river. Now, 
 though, he believes I stole that mail bag, he 
 says he does, and I don't know what to do." 
 
 "If he knew you were taking that ham all 
 the time, he ought to be licked," Billy flared 
 indignantly. "As to your taking the mail, he 
 just can't believe a thing like that!" 
 
 "He says he belives it, all the same," War- 
 field replied, "and it's just awful. There's a 
 reward of $1,500.00 for the capture of that mail 
 thief, and — and Cousin Byrd says I'm the first 
 Warfield Brown to ever have a Federal reward 
 placed on his head for theft. Says he don't 
 see how I can look that Reynold's portrait boy 
 in the face, there in the study." 
 
 "Who told on you about the ham and started 
 all this?" Billy cried belligerently. "If I knew 
 — I'd punch his head for him." 
 
 "I don't know who told — I can't think," 
 Wardy sighed, "But w^hoever did it has just 
 about finished me. If it wasn't for you, Billy — 
 and the Scouts, — I'd like to be a dead boy. 
 Now I've got to go to Cousin Byrd and beg 
 him to let the Bodes stay on the Folly Quarter 
 
210 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 land, and he's just sure to say it's 'cause I want 
 to take up for Gopher, and get into more bad- 
 ness. I'm pretty sick right now at the idea 
 of asking him." 
 
 ''Say," Billy brightened up suddenly, "Why 
 don't you ask Miss Penrod to help you? She's 
 not one bit scared of Mr. Ravenelle. She's a 
 Virginia Page and a Charleston Sewell, you 
 know!" 
 
 "Yep !" Wardy assented, somewhat cheered, 
 "But you're a Charleston Prendergast your- 
 self, and I never saw much love from Cousin 
 Byrd to you, Billy. Still," a faint grin on his 
 lips, "you've got Yankee blood in your body, 
 too, through the HoUises, and Cousin Byrd 
 just hates the Yankees ! I'll ask Miss Penrod 
 to help me, Billy, that's just what I'll do, and 
 she'll do it, 'cause she's so nice, and she's your 
 second cousin, too, and that makes her nicer, 
 old scout. Honest it does!" and, comforted 
 and greatly heartened, he and Billy raced once 
 more to the pond and began an energetic use 
 of the knapsack oil spray, sending a film of 
 oil over the surface of the water, and, be it 
 added, over several indignant brother scouts 
 as well. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 "Au clair de la lune, 
 Mon ami Pierrot, 
 Prete-moi ta plume 
 Pour ecrire un mot. 
 Ma chandelle est morte, 
 Je n'ai plus de feu, 
 Ouvre-moi ta porte. 
 Pour Tamour de Dieu." 
 
 FRENCH FOLK SONG. 
 
 "Why did the harp string break? 
 
 I tried to force a note that was beyond its power, that 
 
 is why the harp string is broken/' 
 
 RABINDRANATH TAGORE 
 
 "WeVe a real plantation house, 
 
 At our station sleeping there. 
 In that reservation house 
 
 Watch us boys a-creeping there. 
 'Neath the eaves we find Her fan. 
 
 Tiny shoes She used of yore — 
 Havoc played with heart of man, 
 Ebon'd brows like old Japan, 
 
 Small, gay mouth, and pompadore." 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 PIERROT 
 
 True to Billy's advice and to his own desires, 
 Warfield Brown went over to Dolittle that 
 same evening and, with an expression 
 
 211 
 
212 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 of gloomy solemnity, talked over his troubles 
 with his friend, Anne Page, R. N. 
 
 ''The surest way to the heart of that guard- 
 ian of yours, always provided that he has one," 
 Miss Penrod said briskly, "is to appeal to one 
 of his hobbies, either money or genealogy. 
 Personally I can't very well use the former, 
 Wardy, and neither can you, but cheer up, for 
 we are gloriously fitted for the latter, you be- 
 ing a South Carolina Brown, and a South Car- 
 olina Warfield too, and I a Virginia Page and 
 a Charleston Sewell, so Billy tells me. On my 
 word of honor, I had forgotten it myself, thank 
 goodness!" and she grinned. 
 
 "I — I know Cousin Byrd loves good fam- 
 ilies. Miss Penrod," Wardy sighed, "but hon- 
 est, I don't see how we can make that help us 
 in getting him to let the Bodes stay on the 
 Folly Quarters' land. He already knows I'm 
 a South Carolina Brown and a Warfield, yes'm, 
 and a Ravenelle, too — but he don't seem to be 
 so awful crazy about me, now that there's a 
 reward for me." 
 
 "I could box your young ears, Wardy," 
 Miss Penrod interupted, "for talking like that. 
 There is no reward offered for you — that fif- 
 teen hundred dollars is for the capture of the 
 mail thief. That isn't you." 
 
 "No ma'am, but Cousin Byrd seems to think 
 it is. If I could only get him in a good humor 
 so he'd sort of like me a little bit, I wouldn't 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 213 
 
 be so scared to ask him to let the Bodes stay, 
 but as it is he'll say I want to help Gopher, and 
 then I bet you anything I get mad, and, be- 
 tween the two of us, we'll raise billy-blue-hill. 
 Wish that silly old ancestor of mine, the first 
 Warfield Brown, you know, would quit haunt- 
 ing his own bed-room, and would sort of whis- 
 per to Cousin Byrd that I'm a nice old War- 
 field Brown my own self, and ever so much 
 like the rest of the family and so he ought to 
 be good to me, for the honor of the Brown- 
 Warfield-Ravenelle name. He's so crazy about 
 family traditions and that sort of stuff." 
 
 *'My dear Wardy," Miss Penrod cried, clap- 
 ping her hands in triumph, "You have said it! 
 We'll do it. The sooner, the better." 
 
 ''Do what. Miss Penrod?" Wardy de- 
 manded, puzzled, but excited too. 
 
 ''Call up the spirit of the first Warfield 
 Brown, of Colonial days, to help us. And our 
 Little Comeback will aid us too. Now do you 
 understand?" 
 
 "No, I don't," rather crossly from Wardy. 
 
 "Heaven help this child!" Miss Penrod 
 dimpled. "Now listen. We'll go right over 
 to the Folly Quarters after supper, to-night, 
 and we'll climb up to that garret, root out the 
 old lavender contents of that hair trunk, and 
 dress you up as for the Allied Bazaar, as Pier- 
 rot, after the portrait by the great Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds — black skull cap and all ; and a most 
 
214 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 ravishing Pierrot you will make. Then down 
 we will go to the study and see if your old- 
 world appearance won't deHght Mr. Ravenelle 
 as an echo of your illustrious ancestral past.'' 
 
 "Aw gee !" Wardy grinned, his face lighten- 
 ing up all over. "That's great! Cousin Byrd 
 will be tickled silly, he's crazy about that por- 
 trait by Reynolds, and I bet he'll listen to Pier- 
 rot right enough." 
 
 After supper, therefore, these two friends, 
 boy and girl, galloped over from the village 
 toward the Folly Quarters, hurrying in order 
 to reach the plantation before a rapidly gather- 
 ing thunder storm. By the time they had 
 swung into the yard and entered the back of 
 the house, through Mammy Lou's kitchen, and 
 had stolen upstairs to the garret, the great 
 mass of black and dun-colored clouds had 
 rolled over the entire sky, and tongues of 
 forked lightning, as crooked and harsh as Mr. 
 Ravenelle's smile, were cutting a pitiless path 
 from the heavens to the steaming earth, being 
 followed by tumbling detonations of thunder. 
 
 In the high panelled gloom of the big study, 
 the gaunt, silk-robed figure of the old man sat, 
 the faintest possible smile on his lips. 
 
 "What a perfectly charming night," he mut- 
 tered in his lovely voice, leaning over the an- 
 cient rosewood table. "What a fascinating 
 night. Every one of Wardy's tow hairs is 
 doubtless standing up on his head like the 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 215 
 
 pugnacious, plump porcupine that he is. The 
 dear boy does not at all like thunder storms. 
 Fancy being out in tents in this rain! Also 
 fancy prefering a Service tent at such a time 
 to a roof! Droll, but deliciously boylike! 
 Wardy, in spite of his good blood, seems to 
 have just a touch of the bourgeois about him, 
 or he v^ould never fraternize with those scouts. 
 Dear me, what a pleasant thought it is, es- 
 pecially to a doting old guardian like myself, 
 to know that in a month or two, after the trial, 
 the dear little brown-skinned tow-head will 
 always be safe under a nice, watertight roof — 
 in a reformatory! Pleasant, quite! What a 
 solemn, helpless young calf it is! Keeps on 
 worrying and wondering who told on him 
 about the hams, and so started the other 
 trouble. He! he! So subtle, oh dear me, so 
 charmingly subtle! Equal to that roly-poly 
 Hoover boy. Gad, I'd like to bite that white- 
 skinned urchin! So officious! Wardy could 
 have helped me, oh, in really big things, if that 
 boy had not appeared on the scene. Wardy 
 has the makings of a most artistic thief, only 
 he lacks the roguery ! Lots of animal courage, 
 though, and he was progressing most engag- 
 ingly, the dear child ! Yes, a clean cut imprint 
 of teeth on Master Billy's white shoulder 
 would be an exquisite satisfaction. It is too 
 much trouble, of course, and by no means 
 worth the risk, but I should greatly enjoy see- 
 
2i6 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 ing that big, husky fourteen-year-old cry. It 
 is almost the best thought I have ever had — 
 next to my blindness! That v^as lovely! A 
 blind old fellow is so touching. Why, that 
 freckled-faced, red-headed young officer ac- 
 tually had tears of sympathy in his eyes the 
 first time he met me. He was so sorry for me, 
 and he did not attempt to hide his emotions of 
 pity, for of course an old blind fellow could 
 not by any chance see his boyish distress. I 
 declare it was as good as a play! A blind man 
 could not see tears, nor see to steal, either. 
 Softly, softly ! Gad, how that lightning curses 
 the earth!" 
 
 A great shoot of rain-tossed wind flung in 
 through the open window at the farther end of 
 the room, sending the white curtains billowing 
 before it so that the big reading lamp on the 
 table flared dangerously. Mr. Ravenelle swore 
 very softly at the wind and the lamp simul- 
 taneously, lowered the latter a trifle, and then, 
 unlocking a deep drawer at the bottom of the 
 table, a sort of small bin, pulled something 
 out of it and laid it on the table ; then screamed, 
 for a heavy whip of storm-wind entered the 
 room with a rush and, mingling with the 
 scream was the crash of a falling object as the 
 huge, gorgeous canvas of Sir Joshua Reynolds 
 fell from its old fastenings and, frame and all, 
 tumbled to the floor. The lamp went out with 
 a sickening stench, only the crumbling sparks 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 217 
 
 around the wick glowing a little and, in a vivid, 
 cruelly white flash of spurting lightning, from 
 the wreckage of gilded frame and canvas, there 
 stepped the stolid figure of the Pierrot, ridic- 
 ulous baggy clown's suit, tufted slippers, red 
 spotted, pajama-like clothes, huge red buttons, 
 stiff neck-ruff and all; the tiny black skull cap 
 still cocked waggishly on the back of the tow 
 head, over one ear. 
 
 In that one flash, before the dark that fol- 
 lowed it, the big, blue-gray eyes of the little 
 clown had fastened squarely on the old man's, 
 and the latter's eyes filled with horror and 
 panic as his small, yellow hands clutched at 
 the open contents of the thing that lay before 
 him on the table — a soiled canvas mail sack, 
 out of which a mass of letters, some registered, 
 tumbled in confusion. Then, as the dark closed 
 in, another scream, and with a speed almost 
 incredible, Warfield's guardian had sprung to 
 his feet and rushed from the room and out into 
 the storm, the heavy front doors of the Folly 
 Quarters crashing after him. Then stillness, 
 only the echoes of the man's scream, and of 
 the heart-stopping thunder outside. Then the 
 window was closed and the lamp re-lit, show- 
 ing the set, pale face of the trained nurse bend- 
 ing over the littered table, and the motionless 
 figure of a small Pierrot, his face wet and 
 ghastly in the bizarre absurdity of his clown's 
 
2i8 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 motley. Wetting his lips with the tip of his 
 moist tongue, the small scout spoke at last. 
 
 "Cousin Byrd/* he said, a break in his young 
 voice, "Cousin Byrd, I — I didn't mean to scare 
 you. The — the wind blew the portrait down 
 and — and the canvas hit me and knocked me 
 down under it, so I had to crawl out right from 
 the frame. You — " Then he stopped for he 
 realized that no one was in the room but him- 
 self and the nurse. 
 
 "Come here, Wardy," the girl said in a low, 
 steady voice. "Oh, my poor, dear, tried little 
 boy — look! Here is the mail thief ! See, dear? 
 See the bag still with its postal order for Wash- 
 ington tied to it. Here is the opened registered 
 letter of last June, addressed to Senator Cubb, 
 and here are the ten one hundred dollar bills. 
 And — ah, what is it, Wardy?" and she put an 
 arm about the tough small body and drew the 
 scout to her side, his tow head bowed griev- 
 ingly over her hand. 
 
 "Look, please!'' the boy cried, a big sob 
 breaking from him. "See? This — this letter 
 from the Postmaster General — oh, see, Miss 
 Penrod! It — it thanks Cousin Byrd for — for 
 detecting the thief and — and it incloses a check 
 for fifteen hundred dollars as a reward, and it 
 — aw, gee! — it praises him for — for telling on 
 a thief, even though it was one of his own flesh 
 and blood. I — oh, I always tried to do what 
 he said — I promised mother I would when I 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 219 
 
 was a little boy, and he — he tried to — to make 
 a thief out of me to get me sent to prison, or 
 something, and — and," but his eyes filled and 
 his voice broke, as a great wave of boyish an- 
 ger swept over him, moving all his other 
 emotions before it. 
 
 A clatter of swiftly galloping hoofs past the 
 windows and, in another spurt of white light- 
 ning from the hurrying clouds the gaunt figure 
 of the old man, bent far over the pummel of 
 his saddle as he swept out with the rushing of 
 the storm on Warfield's beloved Beauty Horse, 
 and from the calm gracious dignity of the 
 Folly Quarters forever, leaving a flushed, hor- 
 rified Boy Scout (only Pierrot to his firm skin) 
 holding tightly to the hand of a trained nurse, 
 his round face damp with sweat and as white 
 as chalk under the rollicking little black skull 
 cap so waggishly set on the back of his fluffy 
 tow head, somewhat over one ear. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 "Thus will I listen and lie so still, 
 
 And watch like a guard o'er the forces; 
 Until the roaring of cannon I hear 
 
 The tramp of the neighing horses. 
 'Twill mean that my Emperor rides o'er my grave, 
 
 The sabres flash and rattle. 
 Then, armed to the teeth will I rise from the grave 
 
 For my Emperor, my Emperor to battle !" 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINRIK HEINE. 
 
 "There stands Fort Jefferson 
 (Billy told me, Billy told me.) 
 
 Pirates there their life begun. 
 (Honest, Billy told me!)" 
 From "the saga of an unsung service." 
 
 A BOY SCOUT AND A COPPER MOON 
 
 "I don't know how you feel about this, Reg- 
 gie, but I think it's pretty tough !" 
 
 The storm that had shut out Mr. Ravenelle 
 from the Folly Quarters forever, was also 
 beating on a pair of tents pitched on the right 
 hand bank of Bull creek, where Sago tumbled 
 into it, swelling it to twice its former size. The 
 above remark was flung from a squatting, 
 sulky-faced Billy Hoover as he pulled his khaki 
 
 220 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 221 
 
 coat from a tent fastening and cuddled it over 
 his olive drab shoulders. There were four 
 occupants to the small tent, three scouts and 
 a crow, named Mehitabel, an aged, ill-natured 
 bird with a bad repute, the mascot of the Sea 
 Gull Patrol, in Heu of a proper bird of that 
 name. Just now Mehitabers temper, never of 
 the best, was made worse by the fact that she 
 was very damp, and as cheerful Pepper had 
 waggishly thrown out dark hints about a fowl 
 of her age being subject to rheumatism, the 
 boys were much worried about her. 
 
 "It's c-cold, sort of," Billy continued with 
 a shiver, ''Don't you think so, Reggie?" 
 
 Reginald Bolton, one of the Sea Gulls, wrig- 
 gled his slim body under his one blanket and 
 
 chuckled. . 
 
 "You ain't got a soul to thank for our bemg 
 out here on Sago, but your own chubby self, 
 Billy-Billy," he said promptly. "Why couldn t 
 we three kids and poor old Mehitabel, be back 
 at Camp Ross with the other fellows, YO^^^f^ 
 and I, 'stead of playing 'ducky-daddle-puddle- 
 pond' out here in these squashy lowlands? 
 
 "Well, I like that!" Billy flung back, much 
 aeerieved, "I certainly do like that Reggie 
 Bolton ! Weren't you the first one of the troop 
 to volunteer to stay up here on Sago with Dr 
 Neems and Pepper Sloan to be ready to meet 
 the U S Marines under Colonel Kemp if they 
 
222 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 should by any chance get here before to-mor- 
 row? Weren't you, Reggie? Weren't you?" 
 
 "Sure I was," a bit sheepishly from Reggie, 
 "But I never thought Dr. Neems would call 
 my bluff, and, anyway, old Wardy would have 
 wanted some of his Sea Gulls to be on hand 
 for a big time like the coming of two com- 
 panies of Marines, even if most of them are 
 Rookies. And then Billy," quite plaintively, 
 "it would have been nice and jolly in this little 
 old tent, if Mehitabel and me had had it to 
 ourselves, without you and Van butting in. 
 Honest, it's too little for the four of us." 
 
 "Huh !" Billy grunted, as the aged bird, with 
 a troubled croke, bit the lobe of his left ear 
 peevishly. "The armory in Charleston wouldn't 
 be big enough for old Mehitabel when she gets 
 a grouch on like now." 
 
 From the furthest corner came the voice of 
 Van Lear, drowsily begging the other boys to 
 "shut up." Then he went fast to sleep again. 
 
 All three scouts were on a good-sized pallet 
 made of pine boughs, a very nice bed when 
 cut dry, but a most cheerless affair when, as 
 now, it is damp. Each boy had a blanket and, 
 minus shoes and stockings and coats, but other- 
 wise dressed, they had curled up close together 
 with their arms around one another to get 
 warm, like small bear cubs. Van and Reggie 
 got along famously, but Billy, being nearest 
 the tent flap, got a certain amount of rain on 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 223 
 
 him, and besides that, being a roly-poly scout, 
 you know, he needed more blanket than the 
 other two; but, sad to say, he got less, for the 
 sHm Reggie, who was in the middle, was not 
 content to cuddle warmly against Van's body, 
 on one side and Billy's on the other, but suc- 
 ceeded by certain masterly maneuvers, to pull 
 the irate Billy's blanket from off him and 
 snuggle dow^n beneath it with a gentle sigh 
 that produced horrid desires for murder on the 
 part of the shivering Assistant Patrol Leader 
 of the Sea Gulls. It was as a very last resort, 
 therefore, that he had unloosed Reggie's right 
 arm from about his neck and had squatted 
 dowm sullenly at the side of the pallet, his 
 scout coat slung over his shoulders, Mehitabel 
 nipping viciously at his bare feet every now 
 and then. 
 
 From the next tent, close at hand, came 
 men's voices. 
 
 "Pepper, my dear soul," in the jocose tones 
 of Surgeon Jimmy Neems, "Arise! Reveille 
 toi, belle endormie! A lizard, at least I think 
 it is a lizard, is playing tag up and down my 
 official spine. I wish it removed, Pepper." 
 
 "Not so you'd know it, old son," in cheerful 
 response from the youngest officer. "I've 
 troubles of my own, thank you. Something 
 damp and feathery fell right on my stomach 
 just now, and I rather fancy it is our pet, the 
 chaste Mehitabel, from next door. It hurts." 
 
224 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "Did it have claws, Pepper?" from Dr. 
 Neem. 
 
 "Yes, it did. Sort of scaley ones.'' 
 
 Dr. Neems chuckled. 
 
 "Poor Pepper! Poor tummy! Poor scaley 
 claws! Poor Mehitabel, dear, dear old soul!" 
 he soliloquized, then quite peevishly, "Drat 
 that lizard!" 
 
 "Oh, by all means!" in happy accents from 
 Pepper. "Say, Dr. Neems, I think Sago is 
 rising from its banks. Wouldn't it be a lark 
 if we woke up and found ourselves doing a 
 Mary-go-and-call-the-cattle-home stunt, float- 
 ing a-down Bull creek en route for the good 
 river Edisto? Tell Spot-to I died bravely, with 
 a prayer of forgiveness for Mehitabel on my 
 lips." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" with gusto from the bald-headed 
 Jimmy Neems, "Spot-to, your granny! Who 
 would break the news to those nearer and dear- 
 er, down Dolittle way, my Elf?" 
 
 "Who do you mean. Dr. Neems?" Pepper 
 demanded huskily, a deep pink sweeping over 
 his freckled face. 
 
 "Names never mentioned, my dear boy," 
 the playful Neems grinned with relish, "but 
 what are the initials for Royal Navy, eh. 
 Pepper?" 
 
 The young man made no reply, but glaring 
 through the darkness, he brutally muttered 
 the one word "Evelyn", and Dr. Neems winced. 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 225 
 
 Pepper at once felt comforted, hugging his 
 bare arms close to the hard muscles of his ath- 
 letic body joyfully. 
 
 "Say, Doctor," he asked pleasantly, "were 
 you ever more uncomfortable than this?" 
 
 "Only once, at Fort San Lorenzo, on the 
 Isthmus," Jimmy Neems replied, "when Frank 
 HoUis dropped the evaporated cream can over 
 the side of our dug-out cajuca, and we watched 
 it as it sank in the waters of the Chagres. ^ It 
 was our last can, you know. It was raining 
 just about as it is now. Wonder how those 
 boys next door are faring?" 
 
 "Don't know," from Pepper, then quite hap- 
 pily, "They must be as wretched as we, don't 
 you think?" 
 
 "More so, if anything," very graciously 
 from Dr. Neems. "Just listen to them, will 
 you! Our gentle-hearted Billy scout is mad 
 all over. Since she seems to have quit us, prob- 
 ably Mehitabel is misbehaving." 
 
 "Say," very indignantly from Billy Hoover, 
 "I stuck my arm out just now and Mehitabel 
 bit me. Drew blood, too. If she comes inside 
 I'm going to leave her with you and Van and 
 go for a hike. The clouds are beginning to 
 break, and I can see the big, old, round moon. 
 It's as red as copper. Gee, it's pretty!" 
 
 Mehitabel insisted on entering the boys 
 tent, so, true to his decision, Billy rose with a 
 grunt, and strode out. 
 
226 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 The great masses of storm clouds were scud- 
 ding swiftly before a strong wind and much of 
 the sky was now open. The moon, full and 
 round, was just peeping over the tops of the 
 pines, sending long, ghostly shadows every- 
 where, and smiling on the wet scout as it elon- 
 gated his shadow at great lenth. 
 
 "Gee," he grinned, "If I was as nice and 
 skinny as that Fd be tickled silly. Well, Fm 
 not as fat as Coonie Black, anyhow. Wonder 
 how a sentry feels on a wet night like this? 
 Think I'll walk up and down and play I'm one, 
 over in France." 
 
 Suiting the action to the word, he began to 
 pace up and down a bit of clearing crossing 
 and recrossing a bridle path. By the time the 
 boy had marched back and forth a dozen or 
 so times, his body held very straight, he began 
 to feel as solemn as if the entire fate of Verdun 
 rested on his young shoulders, and, filled with 
 Buster's many tales of the trenches, he became 
 so warm with bellicose emotions that he 
 doubled up his tough fists and growled out an 
 "A bas, les Prussiens," at regular intervals, 
 quite like the most ferocious *poilu'. More 
 gradually his small heart was obsessed with 
 the idea that to his faithful keeping was en- 
 trusted the entire French Republic, and he be- 
 gan not only to march but to watch carefully 
 every moon distorted object that confronted 
 his wide open eyes, humming softly under his 
 
THE LONE SCCUT 227 
 
 breath: " *Allons enfants de la Patrie' " very 
 much in dead earnest. Big, husky fourteen- 
 year-old though he was, he was still very good 
 at "let's play,'' was Billy. The gnarled roots 
 of a lonely live oak became the blood smeared 
 bodies of French Currassiers, the low droop- 
 ing Spanish moss, the beards of faithful Rus- 
 sian Cossacks, the tall symmetry of the pines 
 the advancing of a Uhlan host, menacing and 
 terrible, knives in teeth, sabres pointed, one 
 and all, at his deep, quickly heaving breast. 
 Gently the golden fluff of his crisp hair began 
 to bristle even more briskly than usual, and 
 his lips parted to admit his short, panting 
 breaths. So many dead French boys all around 
 him ! So hopelessly tired, those staunch, griz- 
 zled Cossacks! And all, all depending solely 
 on one Boy Scout to give the word of warning, 
 and fire the shot of alarm from the muzzle of 
 the hickory gun that rested so purposefully on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 An owl hooted dismally, and Billy shaking 
 a fist in the direction of the noise, muttered 
 grimly that von Hindenburg's voice was at 
 last heard. 
 
 A cold, velvety soft muzzle was suddenly 
 snuggled against his smooth, pink cheek and 
 this sturdy defender of France felt his heart 
 tumbling over and over against his ribs. One 
 thought, dreadful, shaming and self accusatory 
 flashed through his mind — the Uhlans had out- 
 
228 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 flanked him and had come up from behind. 
 Then, coming down to earth, he recognized 
 Wardy's Beauty Horse, with empty saddle, her 
 gentle eyes gazing at him quietly, and the boy 
 grinned very sheepishly as he patted her nose, 
 the idea entering his head at once that Wardy 
 must have ridden back to camp and not have 
 fastened her securely. Then a brilliant idea 
 came to him. 
 
 "Beauty Horse,'' he whispered in her ear as 
 he kissed her soft muzzle lovingly, "You liked 
 to scared me to death, honest you did. Now 
 you're here, though, I'm going to use you for 
 a mount. We'll play I'm a Currassier, Beauty, 
 and you're my faithful horse, who'll follow me 
 on the battle field, and — and kiss my c-cold 
 face w-with your m-muzzle when I'm all stiff 
 and bleeding and dead. I ought to be bloody 
 now. Oh, I know what!" and he pressed the 
 small wounds left from his encounter with the 
 irate Mehitabel and wiped the blood off on 
 his soft cheek, feeling most glorious, and sad, 
 too — it was all for France — death, blood, 
 wounds and all. 
 
 Climbing to the saddle, the boy folded his 
 arms and became again silent and watchful, a 
 round, stalwart young figure in his wet cam- 
 paign shirt and scout hat, his khaki clad legs 
 hugging the saddle closely, his body hunched 
 forward. A tiny crackle, and he jumped. A 
 whip-o'will's call, and he shivered. The Prus- 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 229 
 
 sian lines, strange to say, seemed no nearer. 
 He tried to remember Napoleon's address to 
 his army, translated with much despair at 
 school a year before, but could get no further 
 than the initial "Soldats!" so he gave it up at 
 last and, wheeling on the faithful Russian 
 hosts, rose up in his stirrups and hurled the 
 major portion of Lincoln's Gettysburg address 
 at them, no doubt greatly edifying those silent 
 gray-beards. 
 
 But they were coming nearer, those German 
 Uhlans! Billy, his eyes big and wide, his 
 smooth jaws set, his whole body and soul un- 
 der the witchery of his boy's imagination and 
 the elfin spell of the copper moon above him, 
 with the great masses of storm clouds piled 
 high on the horizon, rose again in his stirrups, 
 waved his sabre (a moment ago the trusty 
 gun) and charged down the path toward those 
 oncoming hordes, frightened, but most won- 
 derfully exhalted, shouting at the top of his 
 young voice Buster's French phrases, so dear 
 to the hearts of all the Camp Ross scouts. 
 Galloping like a golden-headed whirlwind, 
 lifting himself higher and higher in his stir- 
 rups, his wooden sword swinging high above 
 his crisp, bristling hair, his head thrown back, 
 the sweat streaking his pink and white face 
 as he called his defiance, his voice young and 
 high and very boyish. 
 
230 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 *'Chargez vous, mes enfants! Mes soldats! 
 A bas, les Prussiens!'' and horse and rider 
 dashed up the bridle path in a silver highway 
 of moonlight, and straight into the arms of 
 two companies of much astounded Marines. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 "No more surveying with an eye impartial 
 
 The long line of the coast, 
 Shall the gaunt figure of our old Field Marshall 
 
 Be seen along his post." 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 "So lay aside the blue and gilt, 
 
 The Full Dress of gold tissued toys; 
 
 Hand on the shovel, from the hilt 
 Of sword, for busy Service boys. 
 
 Good-bye, my camp ; Good-night, Good-bye ! 
 
 Grassy choked river, swamp and fenn — 
 Work always waits. Scouts — God's on high 
 
 To love His boys, turned Service men." 
 
 From "the saga of an unsung service. 
 
 » 
 
 THE CALL 
 
 ''Strike tents!" 
 
 Out rang the clear cut order from Pepper 
 Sloan, four days after Billy's adventure v^ith 
 the in-coming Marines, and, a second later, in 
 Navy style, came back the answer in the boy- 
 ish voices of the three Patrol Leaders, Wardy, 
 Coonie and the Gopher, "Strike tents, sir!" 
 
 231 
 
232 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 Rolls of smoothly packed duffle stood about 
 in the early morning sunshine, its sparkle no 
 brighter than the twenty-four pair of young 
 eyes that danced with excitement at the pros- 
 pect of a trip to Charleston and the Great Al- 
 lied Bazaar. The troop was to hike over to 
 Dolittle in the morning, and take the train 
 from there to Charleston. 
 
 After striking the tents, they were packed 
 away carefully in Cookie's cabin, along with 
 the folding cots and all kit, except what was 
 needed in the rolls of duffle. Then came an- 
 other order from Pepper: 
 
 "Scoot for a bath, Scouts!" 
 
 "Scoot for a bath, sir!" from the grinning 
 Patrol Leaders as the whole troop scampered 
 for the swimming hole, stripping as they ran, 
 their young Scout Master reaching the spot 
 first and diving into the water in a curved, glis- 
 tening flash of white, and, his red head com- 
 ing to the surface, he struck out for the oppo- 
 site shore, yelling a cheerful good morning to 
 a Naval Assistant Surgeon and three Marine 
 officers who were sitting on a log, pulling on 
 their clothes. 
 
 "Beat us to it, eh?" Pepper laughed up at 
 them, shaking the water from his eyes. 
 
 "Right on the job before anybody else. 
 That's the Navy way, you know !" the young- 
 est of the Marine officers swaggered. 
 
 "Oh, sure !" from Pepper as he promptly dis- 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 233 
 
 appeared under the water again, to hide the 
 grin on his mouth. 
 
 "What did that guy say, Billy?" came the 
 indignant voice of Wardy Brown, as he swam 
 over to the other scout. 
 
 "That it was the Navy way to be always be- 
 fore anybody else, or something like that," 
 Billy grunted. 
 
 "Well, I Hke that ! Guess the Navy wouldn't 
 be here now if our Service hadn't cleaned up 
 their old camp site so they wouldn't all die 
 with malaria. Bet you there isn't a one of 
 those Marines that would know an Anopheles 
 stands on her head when she bites and waves 
 her hind legs in the air. And as to Quads and 
 Puncs and Crucians, with their four or five 
 spots, or yellow bites out of their wings, or 
 the three little spots on sixth vein of their 
 wings, why, I bet you hats those men never 
 even heard of such things, 'cept the Navy doc- 
 tor, of course." 
 
 "Aw, hold your horses, Wardy," Billy grin- 
 ned, as he stretched out the muscles under his 
 satiny skin and floated peacefully on his back, 
 "Pepper took it all as a joke, and that's just 
 what it is. We Service boys work for the 
 work's sake — the Chief says so, and we know 
 our sanitation was a dandy job, thanks to you, 
 old scout, and that's all we care for." 
 
 "That's the Service spirit right enough, old 
 son," from the scout master as he swam up. 
 
234 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 "Time to go back to camp now. Fall out to 
 put on some clothes !" 
 
 "Fall out to put on some clothes, sir!" from 
 the laughing Patrol leaders, and the other 
 scouts along with them scrambled to the bank 
 and slipped wet, glistening small bodies into 
 underclothing, stockings, shoes and pants, 
 slipping their campaign shirts over their heads 
 as they darted up the narrow path for Camp 
 Ross and a hasty breakfast. 
 
 Waiting for them, seated on a fallen log, 
 was Miss Penrod, and the boys promptly sa- 
 luted her scout fashion. 
 
 "I am going to hike over to Dolittle with 
 you, cousins all," the nurse cried gayly, "and 
 so are the Chief and Buster." 
 
 "Bully for you, Anne," young Pepper smiled 
 gratefully. "That's first rate. Since Buster 
 is going away with the Chief to establish sani- 
 tary training camps in Louisiana, I — Pll need 
 an Assistant Scout Master dreadfully, and — 
 and" 
 
 "Cheer up. Pepper!" Miss Penrod dimpled. 
 "I rather expect to be a full Scout Master my- 
 self for the next two weeks at the Bazaar, 
 thank you. After that you may once more be 
 supreme, while I sail away over the ocean for 
 my poor, suffering Neuilly and France." 
 
 "Oh, Anne," the young fellow cried, moist- 
 ening his dry lips miserably, his face rather 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 235 
 
 white under his freckled skin, "I — I — oh, do 
 you have to go back?'' 
 
 Miss Penrod's eyes were quite starry as she 
 looked up from her log at the earnest, set 
 young face above her. 
 
 "Yes, I have to go back and help, dear Pep- 
 per," she said and then, with a queer little 
 laugh, "But if you are good and patient with 
 these youngsters, in a year or two, well, maybe 
 I'll apply for a permanent commission as As- 
 sistant Scout Master to Pepper's Boy Scouts, 
 wherever they may be." 
 
 A few minutes later the Chief joined them, 
 accompanied by Buster, a small package in his 
 hand, and after a few words with Pepper, he 
 spoke to Wardy, who called the scouts to- 
 gether and had them stand at attention, his 
 round face quite radiant. 
 
 "Boys," the gray headed Chief said steadily, 
 smiling down on them lovingly, "as head of 
 your local troop committee I have several 
 awards to give. In the first place I have asked 
 your scout master, as a favor, to let me pin 
 these merit badges for PubHc Health on each 
 of you. Since you have all just passed your 
 examinations from Tenderfoot grade to that 
 of second class scouts you can use them. 
 Everyone of you has earned his badge. Then 
 I have also a badge in First Aid for Wardy, 
 and for Billy; and the rank of a Life Scout for 
 Billy, as he has won his five necessary merit 
 
236 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 badges, with some to spare — First Aid, Phys- 
 ical Development, Personal Health, Public 
 Health, Life Saving, Cooking, Music, and 
 Swimming. Frankly, the last two he won, 
 those at our good Camp Ross, seem to me the 
 biggest. Also, he won the affection and re- 
 spect of his old Chief, for whatever that may 
 be worth to him, and the praise of his Surgeon 
 General, sent him in this personal letter from 
 Washington." 
 
 Billy Hoover, pink and very erect, and so 
 proud and happy that he could not at first 
 speak, stepped shyly forward and stood at at- 
 tention before his Chief, looking up into his 
 lean, clever face with grateful, rather misty 
 eyes, full of the straightforward love of a 
 young boy for a great, world-famous man. 
 
 "Thank you, sir," he said simply, giving the 
 scout salute. "Thank you and the Surgeon 
 General and the National Commissioners, and 
 — and all of you fellows," wheeling round on 
 his brother scouts, "I — I never knew what 
 good stuff Boy Scouts were made of till all of 
 us worked and played here together at Camp 
 Ross. Oh, gee, fellows! hasn't our Service 
 been good to us? — the Chief, and our old scout 
 master. Pepper, and Buster, and— and every- 
 body, staff officers, sanitary engineers and all? 
 I'm the only one of the troop that won't come 
 back, except Buster, and, oh, fellows, I'll miss 
 you all like anything, only, well— I've got to 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 237 
 
 pitch right in on my Bull Dogs as soon as I 
 get back to Charleston and the Bazaar work is 
 finished, and teach them same as the Chiefs 
 taught us, to be real Service boys," then, his 
 voice rather husky, "It*s so tough, breaking up 
 hke this, but — but I guess that's part of our 
 Service too." 
 
 Happy, purposeful scouts swung along the 
 dusty road toward Dolittle an hour later, with 
 old Dr. Iron, Jimmy Neems, Lake White and 
 a few others waving them a friendly good-bye. 
 Mr. HoUis was already in New Orleans pav- 
 ing the way for the coming of his great Chief. 
 
 "Sing, sing, you scouts!" Miss Penrod called 
 to the little army of olive drab figures. "Strike 
 up, Billy-Billy!" and with Bill3^'s velvety 
 smooth contralto leading, the fresh young 
 voices of the boys rang out clearly, Buster, the 
 Assistant Surgeon General, and Pepper, add- 
 ing a deep throated chorus, the youngest of- 
 ficer smiling a little piteously at the nurse, who 
 returned the smile bravely. 
 
 "There the wild flowers spring, 
 And the wee throstles sing, 
 
 And in sunshine the waters are sleepin*. 
 But the broken hairt it kens nae second spring, 
 
 Though resigned it may be, while we're greetin' " 
 
 So sang the Black Watch moving over the 
 miles of dusty road in France, marching on to 
 
238 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 death, and so sang the scouts, moving on from 
 their first great victory. They were near the 
 Marine camp now, swinging along at a sturdy 
 pace, their voices as fresh as the September 
 morning itself. 
 
 "Then ye'll tak the high road and I'll tak the low road, 
 
 An' I'll be in Scotland before ye. 
 But sorrow it is there, an' mony hairts are sair, 
 
 On the bonny, bonny banks o' Loch Lomond." 
 
 "We are together, Buster," the Assistant 
 Surgeon General said at the end of the song, 
 "so try not to be unhappy." 
 
 "Fm not unhappy. Dad," the boy answered, 
 his handsome head thrown back bravely 
 enough. "It's always good-bye in our Service, 
 only for you and me. WeVe always more 
 work to do somewhere further on. It's so good 
 to be with you, my father." 
 
 The Assistant Surgeon General laid one 
 hand quietly on his boy's shoulder and they 
 walked along together, watching the two Pa- 
 trol Leaders of the Sea Gulls, who, side by 
 side, were moving in the same attitude as the 
 father and son, Billy's left hand on Wardy's 
 shoulder, for the tow headed boy stumbled a 
 little now and then, his scout hat pulled down 
 over his blue eyes. 
 
 "Oh, Billy," he said quickly, "I — I wish you 
 were coming back." 
 
THE LONE SCOUT 239 
 
 "But we'll be just as good chums, Wardy," 
 Billy answered comfortingly, "and — our Ser- 
 vice is always saying good-bye, to go off into 
 strange places and find work for other folks, 
 old scout. Say, got your clown's suit?" 
 
 "Sure, it's in Miss Penrod's duffle, and I bet 
 I w^ear the littlest hat at the great Allied Ba- 
 zaar. You just see if I don't. Gee, Billy-Billy 
 won't it be great when the Senator opens that 
 school over at the Folly Quarters on the 
 twenty-sixth, for all the boys down here. 
 Gopher and Coonie and Reggie and Ed and all 
 the rest of us. Van is going to stay too, and 
 we'll keep my old Folly Quarters looking just 
 lovely, Billy, so you can have fun here again 
 with us next summer. You'll come again, 
 won't you old scout?" 
 
 "You bet I will! I've saved over a hunderd 
 and twenty dollars from my three months' 
 salary, and mother can have it all, but I'll earn 
 some more before next summer all right. May- 
 be Buster and the Chief can come down, too. 
 Lots of the old crowd for the old life at Camp 
 Ross again!" 
 
 "Cheer up, you scouts!" called Pepper, 
 squaring his shoulders after a whispered word 
 of comfort from the trained nurse and a warn- 
 ing not to neglect his boys, who seemed a little 
 solemn as they got further and further away 
 from their camp, now and then looking back 
 rather sadly at the slim, erect figure of their 
 
240 THE LONE SCOUT 
 
 khaki-clad Chief, so soon to leave them. 
 "Cheer up, you Boy Scouts! Remember Bus- 
 ter's camp talk, old sons. Now, one — two — 
 three — all together: "Are we downhearted?" 
 And in a firm, cheerful roar from twenty- 
 four bare, sun-browned young throats "NO!" 
 and they swung along again briskly, shoulders 
 squared, Billy and Wardy still together, but 
 feeling only happy now, while from the near- 
 by camp on Sago there rang out suddenly, 
 clear and sweet, the sound of a Marine Corps 
 bugle, the sign so longed for, by all of them 
 from the Chief to the youngest Scout, the sign 
 of work well done by the Service boys of 
 Camp Ross. 
 
 THE END 
 
DATE DUE 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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