CHAPTER VII
BOY SCOUT DETECTIVES
On one of the fine courts back of the big summer hotel at Oakvale an exciting game of tennis was drawing to a close. The players were two patrol leaders of a troop of Boy Scouts who were awaiting the arrival of "Chief" Denmead, their Scout Master, before going over to Pioneer Lake for the opening of camp. Walter Osborne, of the Hawk patrol, and Donald Miller, leader of the Foxes were very evenly matched. The latter was conceded to play the steadiest, surest all-around game, though Walter frequently surpassed him in single shots or astonishing rallies.
That the set had been a hotly contested one was shown by the score in games being 9 to 8 in favor of Miller. If he could make the next game, the set would be his, and with it the championship of the troop. He was counting on the fact that Walter was apt to go to pieces at a critical moment; this helped to keep the playing fairly even.
Perched on a barrel, overlooking the court, George Rawson, the Assistant Scout Master, was scoring; while several other scouts had various points of vantage and were watching the game with eager interest.
In the middle of a rally, Don hit the ball a low, smashing stroke, intending to place it in the far corner of the court. Instead, it grazed the net and dropped dead on the serving line, before Walter could return it.
"Vantage out!" called Rawson.
Walter laughed a trifle "sore-ly" as he returned the balls for his opponent's next serve. He hated to lose, but he was a lad who could take defeat gracefully if he had to, and this last play only served to put him on his mettle.
Don's first ball was a cut, but Walter returned it easily, and a new rally commenced. The captain of the Foxes played a net game, trusting to his height and reach to stop every ball that came over, while Walter preferred to, stand well back on the court where he could place them better.
Back and forth flew the ball with such swiftness that Rawson had all he could do to keep track of it. All at once, Walter lunged forward to return a particularly difficult shot which Don had placed close to the net. Biff! he just caught it and gave it a swift cut which sent it whizzing past Don's extended racket to the base line, where it raised a little spurt of dust.
Amid a murmur of applause from the young spectators, Rawson decided in an instant.
"Out!" he called. "Game and set."
Before the cheers had died away, Walter walked up to the net and shook hands with the victor.
"If you play like that when you're rusty, as you said you were, Don," he said pluckily, "I'd hate to be up against you when you're in practice!"
"Oh, no, you wouldn't, old scout!" was Don's hearty response. "Why, I remember times when you put it all over me! I'm afraid of that famous serve of yours still!"
"Whoop-ee!" yelled Cooper Fennimore, a scout in Don's patrol, springing up and waving his cap around his head. "That's some playing, I tell you! For a chap that hasn't had a racket in his paw for three months, that's going some!"
"Talk about speed!" put in another Fox. "Gee! I'm glad I wasn't in Walter's place!"
The boy to whom these remarks were addressed, Blake Merton, a Hawk and one of young Osborne's staunchest friends, flushed.
"If you had been in Walter's place, you would have lasted about two minutes!" he retorted. His naturally quick temper—-usually kept in control—-often flared up and led him to say things which he afterward regretted.
"Huh!" exclaimed the Fox, scornfully. "You seem to think Walter Osborne can win all the time! Don did start in rusty, but he soon warmed up—-just a little!"
"Let's play a set, Coop, you and I," suggested Blake Merton, turning his back upon Don's elated follower. "Do you feel like it?"
"Sure thing, Blake! But I guess you won't have any trouble in putting me down and out."
"Cut out the modesty!" laughed Blake. "It was all I could do to beat you yesterday, and you know it."
So another court was soon occupied, with Dick Bellamy scoring. Dick belonged to the Otter patrol, and as Alec Sands, who formerly captained the Otters, was not going to be in camp that summer, Dick was Tom Sherwood's only rival for the leadership. Already the Otters had held informal discussions of Dick's and Tom's qualifications, but it was still uncertain which of the two would be elected. Each was popular and had a good record in woodcraft, athletics, and scout games. Another question was: Who would be chosen for leader of the Wolf patrol, in the absence of Hugh Hardin and his chum, Billy Worth, that summer?
"Rough or smooth?" called Blake, tossing his racket in the air.
"Rough," answered Cooper.
"Smooth it is," the other declared, with a grin. "I'll take serve."
Blake had a peculiar and difficult cut on which he prided himself in serving. It was seldom that anyone could touch it until after he had played with Blake for some time, and Cooper was no exception to the rule.
"Fifteen love," announced Dick from the barrel.
They crossed the court, and Blake tried the cut once more. This time Cooper was ready for it and sent it back with a swift underhand drive, and a rally began right at the start. The game promised to be a good one and it drew many interested watchers, though most of the boys had followed Rawson and the two patrol leaders over to the hotel.
Cooper won the first game, and the second was in progress, when the attention of some of their companions was drawn to a horse and buggy driven by two boys, appearing on the brow of the hill and coming along the road which skirted the tennis courts. The occupants of the buggy were Tom Sherwood and Art Cameron, and as they drew near they were hailed with shouts of delight.
"Oh, you farmer!"
"Hayseed, where've you been planted?"
"Welcome to our city!"
"Come over here and get next to this game."
They did so, after tying Keno to a post and giving him his noonday rations which they had brought with them from the farm. The story of the championship match that had just been played was related to them in full detail; they in turn stated the errand on which they had come.
"You know we've been staying at Ralph Kenyon's farm, having a great time," Tom, explained. "Well, last night, after Art and I had gone to bed, some mean cuss, a thief, got into the house, attacked Ralph—-who's one of the best fellows on earth, boys—-and stole some money Ralph had been saving. In the tussle we managed to grab a piece of his coat and his tie, and we've come over to put them in the hands of the Oakvale constable, to see if he can identify them."
"Good for you, Tom! Tell us about the fight!"
"Oh, it wasn't much of a fight," Tom evaded. "But first I want to know how many of you fellows would like to make up some surveying parties—-four in each crew—-and offer your services to the B.N. and C. Railroad to help survey Ralph's land. We can do it, you know, as assistants to the railroad's regular surveyors, and perhaps we can show them that it would be better to buy part of Ralph's property for their loop line than to buy any of his neighbor's, old Silas Perkins. And, if we can do this, why, it'll be the greatest thing ever for Ralph, because he's a good sort, and he wants to go to college, and he'll——-"
Tom paused for breath. Enthusiasm for his friend and interest in Ralph's ambition to get an education had carried him beyond the limit of his usual brief remarks. Such a long speech was a surprise to himself as well as to his auditors. They listened attentively, and not a few among them caught the spirit of the plan.
"D'you think the Chief'll let us do it?" asked one. "You know, we're due in camp by the first of next week."
"Oh, I think he will. You know he has already promised to give us a course in geology this summer, and a lesson in surveying this section. Then he's always willing to give us a chance to put what we've learned into practical use."
"We'll ask him when he gets here at two o'clock."
So the matter remained open; and Blake and Cooper, who had stopped playing, resumed their interrupted game. The others watched them, forgetting more serious affairs.—-All but Tom, who felt restive and impatient to enlist the services of the constable, and to carry out his other idea. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was after half-past one. In about half an hour the train would arrive, bringing the Chief and perhaps a few more scouts. He decided to stroll over to the station and meet them and submit his plan for Denmead's approval.
With Tom Sherwood to think was to act. He left his friends at the hotel, and telling Rawson where he was going, set out in the direction of the station. His way took him first along Main Street and thence down one of the narrower side streets or lanes which branched off on each side.
Oakvale was scarcely more than a large village, but it boasted many shops, two drugstores, a public school, a post office, and four saloons. As Tom passed one of these haunts he saw a group of men standing on the corner. They were gathered around a rough-looking specimen of humanity who stood with one leg thrown across the top of a low hydrant haranguing his boon companions.
"An' Perkins says ter me, 'Now, jist yeou hold yer hosses an' keep yer shirt on, Bill,' says he. 'We don't want no foolin' with thet kid.' Waal, I didn't like ther way he spoke, and so I got kind-er huffy, and he says, 'Here! take yer pay, and git aout! Beat it!' And here I am!"
"Fired again, eh, Bill?" said one of the loungers.
There was a loud guffaw, and another man dealt Bill a resounding slap on the back. Whereupon the sidewalk meeting adjourned. As they passed between the swinging doors of the saloon, Tom touched the last man on the arm.
"Can you tell me where the constable's office is, sir?" he inquired politely.
"I'm Constable Thompson," replied the man, displaying his badge, for he realized that a Boy Scout would require some proof of the statement. "What d'you want, sonny?"
Very briefly and to the point, Tom stated his case against the unknown thief who had broken into Ralph's farmhouse during the previous night. Then he showed Thompson the clews. The constable examined them carefully, and seemed to recognize them. While he was doing so, the man called Bill appeared in the doorway and beckoned for him to come inside.
"Ain't you off'n the water wagon, Thomp?" he asked, with a repulsive chortle. "Come on! What's the mat———?" He broke off abruptly as his eyes fell upon the torn remnants in the constable's hands. "What—-what you got there?" he mumbled, turning pale. "Got a bargain in——-?"
"No," replied Thompson curtly. "Straight goods, Bill Terrill. And it won't be a bargain for—-a burglar, unless I'm mistaken. So long! I've got to hustle or I may miss my guess and my man."
So saying, he nodded to Tom to follow him and strode away, leaving
Bill Terrill on the threshold of discovery.