While he turned and walked down the stream, three naked forms crouching just below him in the walnut tree roots, nudged each other. Almost immediately, one water-glistening head of carroty hair rose cautiously above the bank. Then two other water-dripping heads followed.
In front of the center tent a tall sapling had been set in the ground with a little pulley at the top from which for two days the Wolf Patrol pennant had snapped gayly in the breeze. These colors had been lowered at sundown and were now tied about four feet from the base of the flagpole. Against the same flagpole eleven of the precious scout staffs were stacked in pyramid form.
Three pairs of eager but cautious eyes fixed themselves on the camp and then three sinuous forms drew themselves, snakelike, over the grassy bank. The carroty-haired form crawled forward and, the two figures behind him watching in the directions of the receding sentinels, the forward invader reached the flagstaff. One after another the pennant-tipped Wolf staffs were silently caught and passed to the rear. Without a sound all were hastily transferred to the bank of the creek.
Then Carroty-head drew himself up to the flagstaff and attempted to loosen the gorgeous Wolf pennant. The cords seemed to hold fast. Apparently the thief was trying to tear the colors from the lines. Those behind him, emboldened by the silence, crawled to his side and also got on their feet. There were quick and low whispers and then the three grasped the coveted bunting.
At that instant two things happened. Colly Craighead, reaching the end of his beat, where a willow thicket deepened the gloom, paused for a few minutes’ rest. As he turned, he caught sight of the shadowy forms before the camp. He saw them only dimly in the dark, for the half moon scarcely pierced the night shadows beneath the trees. But what he saw resembled moving bronzes. While he hesitated, a chance moonbeam shot through the black trees, giving the indistinct group the silvery outlines of human figures.
In the moment Colly hesitated, another thing occurred. Struggling and straining with the pennant (for the invaders had no knife) they gave the cord a yank and the dry pulley wheel squeaked like a whistle. Like the snapping of a camera shutter the flaps of the middle tent flew apart and Alex Conyers sprang through the opening. As he yelled “What’s that?” a Wolf cry rang out from Colly’s station and almost instantly came a signal from Art’s end of the beat.
As the Wolf pickets came crashing through the grass and dead timber, Connie hurled himself on the nearest figure, and two naked bodies dived headlong into the creek. There was a moment’s silent struggle in the dark and then came the uproar of the arriving sentinels and the commotion of the outpouring, half awakened scouts. It did not need a light to reveal Carrots Compton as the leader of the midnight invaders. With the torn emblem in Carrots’ clutch he and Connie rolled over and over in each other’s embrace.
Art and Colly threw themselves into the fray. The struggling boys, no one speaking, had edged toward the stream. As the two pickets sprang to assist Connie the overhanging bank of the stream suddenly gave way and the four boys tumbled into the creek. The camp had been located at this point because of the deep “hole” and Carrots and his would-be captors sank “over their heads” at once.
As for Art and Colly, they were fully clothed and it was necessary for them to look out for themselves. The gap in the bank was already lined with scouts in pajamas. There was a play of moonlight on the water but the shadows of the overhanging trees made it hard to tell friend from foe. The shouting boys on the bank, who were waving staffs and trying to secure lights, could make out only a thrashing about in the water, exploding breaths as the floundering boys cleared their mouths, and foam of rapid strokes as each tried to reach the bank.
Art and Colly were soon in safety, but as they were being drawn up the bank, Art loosed his grasp on a staff and plunged into the stream again.