“Two of you can come,” answered Harry, “two light-weights. I don’t think it would be quite safe with Brownell or Atwell.” He was not going to lessen Frankie’s triumph any more than necessary and he knew that these two were the chief targets of Frankie’s vengeance. Two of the Hyenas lost no time in getting in, and while the others were wandering here and there, ruefully surveying the Elephants’ handiwork, Gordon and Harry pushed off.
“Hey, Oakwood, take these shoes and things, will you?” came from the shore. But Harry was almost in midstream and making a great splash with his paddle, and was discreetly unable to hear.
Two hours later, Frankie sat on a camp chair before the Elephants’ tent, playing dominoes with Giant George. His faithful corporal stood at his elbow.
“Here they come,” said Giant George, in an undertone. Frankie glanced covertly up at a sight which gladdened his heart. The Hyenas, in their bathing trunks, each one carrying a single shoe, were straggling to their stronghold. The perspiration dripped from them, for the heat was intense and their long walk home had been under a broiling sun. The Elephants had thoughtfully relieved them even of their hats and caps.
Mr. Wade and Al Wilson stood in the path, talking. The scoutmaster had a twinkle in his eye as the procession passed, and even the sober Al could not repress a smile.
“What are you going to do about it?” he asked.
“Nothing,” said Mr. Wade, chuckling. “I don’t want to be drawn into these political broils.”
CHAPTER XII
SHADES OF THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS
During the boys’ absence, a doctor from Ticonderoga had visited Walter Lee, and pronounced his injuries comparatively slight, predicting a quick recovery. A sheriff had come out with him, secured the best description he could of the robber, and, satisfied who the fellow was, had gone in search of him. But the bird had flown, as he informed Mr. Wade on his way back. Harry was not altogether sorry to hear this, for he had not been able to get the wretched young man’s mother out of his thoughts.
That night as they sat around the camp-fire the conversation turned upon the history of the old Fort Ticonderoga and its capture by the patriot, Ethan Allen, in the early days of the War of Independence.