It was evident that the scouts had profited by what experience they had had in creeping up on an imaginary enemy, for they conducted the operation splendidly. The fellow who was slashing away at the foliage of the bushes, chuckling while he worked as though vastly enjoying himself, had not the slightest suspicion of hovering danger until Hugh gave the Wolf call and six figures quickly surrounded him.
There were cries of alarm from the other two roughs, who melted into the shrubbery, doubtless under the impression that the whole scout troop was on the field, ready to encompass their capture. So the unlucky one was left to the tender mercies of the half-dozen scouts.
He saw that his case was desperate and immediately tried to dash through the encircling line. This action had been anticipated, however, and instantly two of the most active scouts pounced upon him, Monkey Stallings actually fastening upon his back as though he were the Old Man of the Sea whom Sindbad could not get rid of when once he had him on his shoulders.
For a brief time there was something of a mix-up, and even the quick percussion of blows could be heard. No one ever admitted who was responsible for them, although Bud Morgan carried not only a blackened eye for a week, but skinned knuckles into the bargain.
It soon ended in the trespasser being made a prisoner, and his hands tied behind his back with a thong that had been carried along for this very purpose. When they came to look at him, now that his cap was knocked off, it was found that their captive was a fellow by the name of Betts Smith, known among the boys of the town as “Whistling Smith.” The reason for giving him that name was rather a queer one. It seems that he stuttered dreadfully at times, and in order to be able to stop when once started, he was in the habit of taking in a quick breath and then uttering a sharp whistle or two, after which, singular to say, he could go on speaking as rationally as any one.
The scouts took him out on the street and then offered him a choice between being ducked or handed over to the police to be locked up. Perhaps he hardly believed that they meant to carry out either threat, or his infirmity may have taken such a grip on him that he could not utter a word in reply. Whatever the cause, he was silent.
Accordingly, the boys took it upon themselves to pronounce sentence. Then while Hugh went to leave word for the rest of the troop to close up and protect the mayor’s place against a return of the raiders, his followers decided not to wait for him but to hustle the prisoner at once toward the river bank.
Hugh was surprised to find them gone on his return. He had expected that nothing would be done toward punishing the captured boy until they had all gathered for the purpose. Of course he could give a good guess as to which direction the others had taken, and with more or less apprehension he hurried after them.
As he drew near the river, he could hear the boys talking. They seemed to be trying to impress the wretched victim with a sense of the punishment that was about to be dealt out to him. Whistling Smith tried in vain to say something. He grew thicker and thicker in his utterance, owing to excitement and alarm; but it could be fairly well understood that he was pleading with them not to throw him into the river, which was deep at that point, with a rapid current.
“He says he doesn’t know how to swim, fellows,” Bud Morgan was heard to call out; “but that’s all a cooked-up story. Of course, every boy knows how to swim. Overboard with him, clothes and all. He’s got to learn that this town’s going to be a clean town after this. We’ll begin by giving him a bath. Souse him in!”