“Well?” said several voices.
“Well, you see that hill? I propose to send a Morse message to that fellow from the top of the hill. I think if he’s still where we think he is, he could see it; even if he was farther along the road, he could see it. There’s just about one chance in fifty that the scheme will pan out right. But I propose right now to flash a Morse message northeast from the hill. The top of the hill is bare. If this Oakwood scout is anywhere along that farther road, he ought to see it. Whether we can make our meaning clear is another question. If he sees it and understands it—well, here, wait a minute.” He entered a tent and presently came out with a paper on which he had written something. This he read aloud.
“Camp here. Take first road north. Notice strangers. Scout robbed. Am safe. Lord.”
“How does that strike you?” said he, as a dozen boys crowded eagerly about him.
Gordon was all excitement. He had used the Morse code as a plaything many a time, but now it was to flash a message through the night, over wood and valley, perhaps to outwit a criminal. It was to sweep aside darkness and distance, and take a short cut to the country under Dibble Mountain. If Harry was still there and saw it and read it, he would go a quarter of a mile or so along the road, to where it met the circling road from the hill, and watch any one who might pass. He thought of the boy at the other end, waiting in the darkness of a strange country. And his heart beat with anxiety lest, for some reason, the plan might not carry. Perhaps he doubted a little the reliability of the Morse code. Never for an instant, at least not yet, did he doubt the efficiency of Harry Arnold.
There was a rustling among the trees, and presently the little group of rescuers appeared bearing the stricken scout on a stretcher.
“Come inside a minute, Al,” said Mr. Wade, in a low, grave voice. “You come in, too, my boy,” he said to Gordon.
There was something in his tone that almost frightened Gordon, and he had difficulty in controlling himself as he followed Al into one of the tents. There was no one there but Mr. Wade, the “First Aid” boy, Al, and Gordon.
“Walter’s been robbed, Al,” said the scoutmaster. “He was thrown down the cliff—the bridge was fixed. He’ll get well. I want Winthrop to go right to Ticonderoga.”
“I’m going to flash a Morse message from the hill, sir,” said Al. “This boy’s patrol leader is over east there somewhere. There’s a possibility that he might get it and watch the road.”