“Which is just what the Boy Scouts are for,” said Mr. Durland, smiling.
After a pause, he continued thoughtfully, “Well, Dick, I guess we have done all we can for the present, and now all we can do is to keep a sharp lookout and see how events shape themselves. Do you think of anything else?”
“No, sir, I can’t say I do. Not before Flannigan gets back, anyway,” answered Dick respectfully, and so matters were left, and the Scouts settled down to a short spell of “having a good time, doing nothing in particular,” as Ben Hoover expressed it.
CHAPTER X
“BUSY AS BEAVERS”
“Come on, fellows,” said Jack, “let’s go and take a swim.”
Dinner was over and the Scouts lay in various attitudes on the grass a little distance from the mess tent. The day had been unbearably hot. Usually there was a breeze that somewhat tempered the fierceness of the sun, and at night, indeed, it was so cool that their blankets felt mighty good.
This was the first really hot day that they had had since they had pitched camp. They had started out on a game of Mountain Scouting during the morning, but Mr. Durland, who feared the effects of the sun combined with violent exercise, had limited the range of their run and they had come home earlier than usual. Now nearly an hour had elapsed since their dinner had been eaten—or shall we say “gorged”? because with appetites like theirs that was the most fitting term,—and sufficient time had passed to make the proposed swim a matter of no danger.
The boys greeted Jack’s suggestion with a shout, and after obtaining Mr. Durland’s permission, started off, running and leaping, kicking up their heels like young colts, for the swimming place a little way from camp.
It was an ideal spot. The brook, starting from a point high up in the mountains and cold as ice at the beginning, was gradually tempered as it flowed under the sunlight into the lower levels and in the meantime also widened its course. At the point that the boys had chosen, it had spread out into a small pond or lake perhaps three hundred feet in width. Its course had also been checked by the level nature of the bottom at that point, so that it lay, with scarcely a perceptible movement, gleaming in the sun, which warmed it sufficiently to make swimming a delight. In places it was only three or four feet deep, but toward the southern end there was a depth of eight or ten feet that made it suitable for diving. The younger boys and those whose skill as swimmers was not very great, chose the upper part where, under the direction of Dick Crawford, the Assistant Scout-Master, those unable to swim rapidly learned, while those who simply knew the breast stroke were taught one by one the more scientific crawl and over-hand stroke that are the envy and despair of the small boy when he sees them put in practice by his larger companions. Tom and Pete and Bob were down with Jack at the southern end of the pool and as all were expert swimmers and the bank was within easy reach, to say nothing of the assistance that would be instantly rendered by any of their companions, should ill luck befall, were left to do as they liked.
They had found a heavy plank a few yards distant from the bank and had placed it over the log of a fallen tree so that it rose at a gradual angle until, where it overhung the stream, it was about ten feet from the water. The end that rested on the ground was firmly wedged between heavy rocks that the boys had gathered, capped by a section of tree trunk, so that, no matter what might be the strain at the other end, it was impossible for it to slip or yield. It made a capital springboard and the Scouts had a glorious time playing follow my leader. The slope of the plank was so gradual that they got a good running start, and, reaching the end of the plank, with hands upraised over their heads, were flung out in a graceful curve coming down head foremost, straight as an arrow, and seeing how far they could swim under water before the need of breath compelled them to come to the surface.