Approaching from behind the wood-pile, where Buxby’s assignment to duty was keeping him busy, Walter heard his own name and paused, uncertain whether to go on or not. Billy was regaling the cook with an account of Walter’s exploit of the morning as he had wormed it out of Big Jim.
“Pretty spry with his fists, they say,” concluded the talkative Billy. Then he added as an afterthought, “Bet they’ll get his goat to-night, though.”
Walter waited to hear no more. He had not been wholly unconscious of the sly looks and mysterious winks passed between some of the boys he had met, and, though he did not allow it to show outwardly, he was inwardly not a little perturbed by the thought of the initiatory ordeal he felt sure he must undergo. Chief Woodhull’s hint, together with the frequent exchange of meaning glances which he had intercepted, could mean but one thing—that his nerve and courage were to be put to some strange and crucial test.
Therefore it was with some trepidation that with the sounding of taps that night Walter sought his bunk and turned in. In five minutes lights were out, and apparently the camp had settled down for the night. Walter lay listening in suspense for some sound which would indicate that secret designs concerning himself were afoot, but nothing but the regular breathing of twenty-five healthy, tired boys rewarded his vigilance. It had been a long, strenuous day, with little rest the night before, and in spite of himself he soon fell asleep.
He was awakened by the sudden removal of his blanket. Despite his struggles he was bound and gagged. Then his arms were loosed enough for his flannel shirt to be slipped on. His trousers and shoes followed, and then he was rolled in his blanket, picked up bodily and carried forth into the night. In absolute silence his captors bore him along what appeared to be a rough, little used trail. Occasionally a dew-damp twig brushed his face. Through the tangle of interlacing branches overhead he caught glimpses of the stars. The number of his captors he had no means of knowing. He was carried by relays, and though there were frequent changes he could not tell whether each time a new team of bearers took him or two teams alternated.
Once his bearers stumbled and nearly dropped him. Once they seemed to lose the trail, stopping to hold a whispered consultation of which the victim could catch only a word here and there. After what seemed like an interminable length of time Walter heard in the distance the tremolo of a screech-owl, answered by a similar call close at hand. A few minutes later they emerged in an opening.
“Are the canoes ready?” asked a subdued but sepulchral voice.
“They are, chief,” was the guarded reply.
“Then let them be manned,” was the order.
Walter was carefully placed in a canoe amidship. He felt it gently shoved off, and then it floated idly while, to judge by the sounds, the other canoes were hastily put in the water. Presently, at a low command from the rear of his own craft, there was the dip of many paddles and he felt the light craft shoot forward.