CHAPTER I
THE MYSTERIOUS BOXES
"What are you limping for, Bobolink?"
"Oh! shucks! I see there's no use trying to hide anything from your sharp eyes, Jack Stormways. Guess I just about walked my feet off today, goin' fishin' with our patrol leader, away over to the Radway River, and about six miles up."
"Have any luck, Bobolink?" instantly demanded the third member of the group of three half-grown boys, who were passing after nightfall through some of the partly deserted streets on the outskirts of the thriving town of Stanhope; and whose name it might be stated was Tom Betts.
"Well, I should say, yes. Between us we got seven fine bass, and a pickerel. By the way, I caught that pickerel; Paul, he looked after the bass end of the string, and like the bully chap he is divided with me;" and the boy who limped chuckled as he said this, showing that he could appreciate a joke, even when it was on himself.
About everybody in town called him Bobolink; and what boy could do otherwise, seeing that his real name was Robert O. Link?
As the trio of lads were all dressed in the khaki suits known all over the world nowadays as typifying Boy Scouts, it could be readily taken for granted that they belonged to the Stanhope Troop.
Already were there three full patrols enlisted, and wearing uniforms; while a fourth was in process of forming. The ones already in the field were known as, first, the Red Fox, to which these three lads belonged; then the Gray Fox, and finally the Black Fox. But as they had about exhausted the color roster of the fox family, the chances were that the next patrol would have to start on a new line when casting about for a name that would stamp their identity, and serve as a totem.
An efficient scout master had been secured in the person of a young man by the name of Mr. Gordon, who cheerfully accompanied the lads on their outings, and attended many of their meetings. But being a traveling salesman, Mr. Gordon often had to be away from home for weeks at a time.
When these lapses occurred, his duties fell upon the shoulders of Paul
Morrison, who not only filled the position of leader to the Red Fox
Patrol, but being a first-class scout, had received his commission from
Headquarters that entitled him to act as assistant scout master to the
whole troop during the absence of Mr. Gordon.
"How did you like it up on the Radway?" continued the one who had made the first inquiry, Jack Stormways, whose father owned a lumber yard and planing mill just outside the limits of the town, which was really the goal of their present after-supper walk.
"Great place, all right," replied Bobolink. "Paul kept calling my attention to all the things worth seeing. He seems to think a heap of the old Radway. For my part, I rather fancy our own tight little river, the Bushkill."
"Well, d'ye know, that's one reason I asked how you liked it," Jack went on. "Paul seemed so much taken with that region over there, I've begun to get a notion in my head he's fixing a big surprise, and that perhaps at the meeting to-night he may spring it on us."
"Tell me about that, will you?" exclaimed Bobolink, who was given to certain harmless slang ways whenever he became in the least excited, as at present. "Now that you've been and gone and given me a pointer, I c'n just begin to get a line on a few of the questions he asked me. Well, I'm willing to leave it to Paul. He always thinks of the whole shooting match when trying to give the troop a bully good time. Just remember what we went through with when we camped out up on Rattlesnake Mountain, will you?"
"That's right," declared Tom Betts, eagerly; "say, didn't we have the time of our lives, though?"
"And yet Paul said only today that as we had so long a time before vacation ends this year, a chance might pop up for another trip," Bobolink remarked, significantly.
"Did, eh? Well, don't that go to prove what I said; and you just wait till we get back to the meeting room in the church. Paul's just bursting with some sort of secret, and I reckon he'll just have to tell us to-night," and Jack laughed good-naturedly as he still led his two comrades on toward the retired lane, where his father's big mill adjoined the storage place for lumber; convenient to the river, and at the same time near the railroad, so that a spur track could enter the yard.
Besides these three boys five others constituted the Red Fox Patrol of Stanhope Troop. In the first story of this series, which appeared under the name of "The Banner Boy Scouts; Or, The Struggle for Leadership," the reader was told about the formation of the Red Fox Patrol, and how some of the boys learned a lesson in scout methods of returning good for evil; also how a cross old farmer was taught that he owed a duty to the community in which he lived, as well as to himself. In that story it was also disclosed how a resident of the town offered a beautiful banner to that troop which excelled in an open tournament also participated in by two other troops of Boy Scouts from the towns of Aldine and Manchester; the former on the east bank of the Bushkill, about six miles up-stream, and the latter a bustling manufacturing place about seven miles down, and also on the same bank as Aldine.
In this competition, after a lively duel between the three wide awake troops, Stanhope won handsomely; and had therefore been given the banner, which Wallace Carberry proudly carried at the head of the procession whenever they paraded.
The second book, "The Banner Boy Scouts on a Tour; Or, The Mystery of Rattlesnake Mountain," was given over almost exclusively to descriptions of the wonderful things that came to pass when Stanhope Troop spent a part of their vacation camping out in order that those who were backward in their knowledge of how to take care of themselves when in the open should have a good chance to learn many of the secrets of Nature.
So many strange things happened to the boys when up on Rattlesnake Mountain that it would be utterly impossible to even mention them here; but if you wish to know all about the mystery they solved, and the numerous other exciting events that befell them, you must get the second volume.
There was to be a special meeting, which the acting scout master had called for this evening; and Bobolink, Jack, and Tom Betts expected to be back from their errand in time to answer to their names when the roll was called.
It was only to oblige Jack that the other two had left home half an hour earlier than was really necessary. Jack had asked them, over the telephone, to drop around, as he had to go out to his father's mill before he could attend the meeting in the church, where a room in the basement had been kindly loaned to them by the trustees.
"What's all this mean about you going to the mill at this queer old hour?" Bobolink was saying, as the three boys continued to walk on abreast, the speaker carrying the silver-plated bugle which he knew how to manipulate so well when the occasion allowed its use.
"Why, you see it's this way," Jack went on to explain. "My father knows a man of the name of Professor Hackett, though what he's a professor of you needn't ask me, because I don't know. But he's a bright little gentleman, all right; and somehow or other he looks like he's just cram full of some secret that's trying to break out all over him."
Bobolink laughed aloud.
"Well, that's a funny description you give of the gentleman, I must say, Jack; but go on—what's he got to do with our making this trip to the big mill tonight?"
"I just guess it's got everything to do with it," replied the other. "You see, the professor had a number of big cases sent up here on the train, and they came today, and were taken to the mill; for my father promised to keep them there a couple of days until the owner could take them away. What under the sun's in those big boxes I couldn't tell you from Adam; all I know is that he seems to be mighty much afraid somebody's going to steal them."
"Wow! and are we going there to stand guard over the blooming old things?" exclaimed Bobolink in dismay; for he would not want to miss that special meeting for anything.
"Oh! not quite so bad as that," answered Jack, with a laugh. "But you see, that professor wrote my father that he wanted him to hire a trusty man who would stay in the mill over night until he could get up here from New York and take the boxes away, somewhere or other."
"Oh, that's it, eh? And where do we find the guardian of the treasure? Is he going to bob up on the road to the mill?" Tom Betts demanded.
"He promised father to be on deck at seven-thirty, and it'll be close on that by the time we get there, I reckon," Jack continued.
"And what have you got to do about it?" asked Bobolink.
"Let him in, and lock the door after he's on duty," replied Jack, promptly. "You see, ever since that attempt was made to burn the mill, when those hoboes, or yeggs, thought they'd find money in the safe, and had their trouble for their pains, my father has been mighty careful how he leaves the office unfastened. He couldn't see this man, Hans Waggoner, who used to work for us, but talked with him over the 'phone, and told him I'd be there to meet him, and let him in. That's all there is to it, boys, believe me."
"Only, you don't know what's in those boxes, and you'd give a cookie to find out?" suggested Bobolink.
"It isn't so bad as that," replied the other. "Of course I'm a little curious about what they might hold, that they have to be specially guarded; but I guess it's none of my business, and I'm not going to monkey around, trying to find out."
"Say, d'ye suppose your dad knows?" asked Tom.
"Sure he must," came from Jack, instantly. "He'd be silly to let anybody store a lot of cases that might hold dynamite, or any other old explosive, in his planing mill, without knowing all about 'em; wouldn't he? But my father don't think it's any of my affair, you see. And besides, I wouldn't be surprised if that funny little professor had bound him not to tell anybody about it. They got the boxes in on the sly, and that's a fact, boys."
"Oh! splash! now you've got me worked up with guessing, and I'll never be able to sleep till I know all about it," grumbled Bobolink.
"You're just as curious as any old woman I ever heard of," declared Jack.
"He always was," said Tom Betts, with a chuckle, "and I could string off more'n a few times when that same curiosity hauled Bobolink into a peck of trouble. But p'raps your father might let out the secret to you, after the old boxes have been taken away, and then you can ease his mind. Because it's just like he says, and he'll keep on dreamin' the most wonderful things about those cases you ever heard tell about. That imagination of Bobolink is something awful."
"Huh!" grunted the one under discussion, "not much worse than some others I know about right now; only they c'n keep a tight grip on theirs, and I'm that simple I just have to blurt everything out. Both of you fellers'd like to know nearly as much as I would, what that mysterious little old man has got hid away in those big cases. Of course you would. But you jump on the lid, and hold it down. It gets away with me; that's all."
"All the same, it's mighty good of you fellows, coming all the way out here with me tonight; and even when Bobolink's got a stone bruise on his heel, or something like that," Jack went on to say, with a vein of sincere affection in his voice; for the boys making up the Red Fox Patrol of Stanhope Troop were very fond of each other.
"Oh! rats! what's the good of being a scout if you can't do a comrade a little favor once in a while?" asked Bobolink, impetuously. "But there's the mill looming up ahead, Jack, in the dark. Half a moon don't give a whole lot of light, now, does it; and especially when it's a cloudy night in the bargain?"
"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Jack.
"What is it; did you see anything?" demanded Tom Betts, hastily.
"I'm not dead sure," admitted Jack; "you see, just as Bobolink said, the light's mighty poor, and a fellow could easily be mistaken; but I thought I saw something that looked like a tall man scuttle away around that corner of the mill, and dodge behind that pile of lumber!"
"Whew!" ejaculated Bobolink, showing the utmost interest, for excitement appealed to him.
"Say, perhaps Hans has arrived ahead of the half hour," suggested
Tom Betts.
"No, it wasn't Hans, because I know him well, and he's a little runt of a Dutchman, but a fighter from the word go; and my father knows nobody's going to get away with those boxes of the professor while Hans and his musket, that was used in the Civil War, are on guard. That was a tall man, and he ran like he'd just heard us coming, and wanted to hide. I guess somebody else is curious about those boxes, besides Bobolink."