Tom Slade at Black Lake Read online

  "What?" said Mr. Burton.

  "I want to go up there and stay and put up three cabins," said Tomdully.

  "Humph," said Mr. Burton, sitting back and surveying him with amused andfrank surprise. "How about the difficulties?"

  "That's the only thing," Tom said; "I was thinking it all over, and theonly difficulty I can think about is, would Margaret keep it a secretuntil the work is done, and you too. They think I'm not a scout anymore, and I'm going to show them. If you think I can't do it, you askPete, the janitor. And if I straighten things out that way nobody'll getleft, see? The hard part is really _your_ part--keeping still and makingher keep still."

  "I see," said Mr. Burton, contemplating the stolid, almostexpressionless face of Tom, and trying not to laugh outright.

  "My part is easy," said Tom.

  CHAPTER XV

  A LETTER FROM BARNARD

  When Tom reached Temple Camp he found a letter awaiting him there. Itwas stuck up among the antlers of Uncle Jeb's moose head which hung inthe old camp manager's cabin. He found Uncle Jeb alone in his glory, andmighty glad to see him.

  It was characteristic of the old western scout and trapper whom Mr.Temple had brought from Arizona, that he was never surprised atanything. If a grizzly bear had wandered into camp it would not haveruffled him in the least. He would have surveyed it with calm, shrewddeliberation, taken his corncob pipe out of his mouth, knocked the ashesout of it, and proceeded to business. If the grizzly bear had been oneof the large fraternity who believe in "safety first" he would havewithdrawn immediately upon the ominous sound of old Uncle Jeb's pipeknocking against the nearest hard substance. Uncle Jeb, like Uncle Sam,moved slowly but very surely.

  It was not altogether uncommon for some nature loving pilgrim to drop inat camp out of season, and such a one was always sure of that easy-goingwestern welcome. But if all the kings and emperors in the world (or suchfew of them as are left) had dropped in at camp, Uncle Jeb Rushmorewould have eyed them keenly, puffed some awful smoke at them, and said,"Haow doo." He liked people, but he did not depend on them. The lake andthe trees and the wild life talked to him, and as for human beings, hewas always glad of their company.

  It was also characteristic of Uncle Jeb that no adventurous enterprise,no foolhardy, daredevil scheme, ever caused him any astonishment. Mr.Burton, engrossed in a hundred and one matters of detail and routine hadsimply laughed at Tom's plan, and let him go to Temple Camp to discoverits absurdity, and then benefit by the quiet life and fresh air. Itwould have been better if Tom had been sent up there long before. He hadhumored him by promising not to tell, and he was glad that this crazynotion about the cabins had given Tom the incentive to go. He hadbelieved that Tom's unfortunate error could be made right by theromantic expedient of a postage stamp. Mr. Burton was not a scout. AndTom Slade was the queerest of all scouts.

  So now Uncle Jeb removed his pipe from his mouth, and said, "Reckonedyou'd make a trip up, hey?"

  "I'm going to stay here alone with you until the season opens," Tomsaid; "I got shell-shocked. I ain't any good down there. I assigned ourthree cabins to a troop in Ohio. So I got to build three more and have'em ready by August first. I'm going to build them on the hill."

  "Yer ain't cal'latin' on trimming yer timbers much are yer?" Uncle Jebasked, going straight to the practical aspects of Tom's plan.

  "I'm going to put them up just like the temporary cabins were when thecamp first opened," Tom said.

  "Ye'll find some of them same logs under the pavilion," Uncle Jeb said;"enough for two cabins, mebbe. Why doan't you put up four and let thatPeewee kid hev one all by hisself?"

  "Do you think I can do it in six weeks?" Tom asked.

  "I've seed a Injun stockade throwed up in three days," Uncle Jebanswered. "Me'n General Custer throwed up Fort Bendy in two nights; thatwuz in Montanny. Th' Injuns thought we wuz gods from heaven. But wewuzn't no gods, as I told the general; leastways _I_ was'n, n'never wuz.But I had a sharp axe.

  "I knew I could do it," Tom said, "but I wanted it to be a stunt, as youmight say."

  "'Tain't no stunt," Uncle Jeb said. "Who's writin' yer from out in Ohio?I see the postmark. 'Tain't them kids from out Dayton way, I hope?"

  Tom opened the letter and read aloud:

  DEAR TOM:

  When I save a fellow's life I claim the right to call him by his first name, even if I've never seen him. If anybody ever tells me again that the world is a big place, I'll tell them it's about the size of a shell-hole, no bigger, and that's small enough, as you and I know. All I can say is, "Well, well!" And you're the same Thomas Slade!

  And the funny part of it is, we wouldn't know each other if we met in the street. That's because we met in a shell-hole. I tried to hunt you up along the line, made inquiries in the hospital at Rheims, and tried to get a line on you from the Red Cross and Y.M.C.A. Nothing doing. Somebody told me you were in the Flying Corps. I guess I must have fainted while they were taking you away. Anyway, when I woke up I was in a dressing station, trying to get my breath. I asked what became of you and nobody seemed to know. One said you were in the Messenger Service. When I left France I didn't even know you were alive.

  And now you turn up in Temple Camp office and tell me to write you at Temple Camp. What are you doing up there before the season opens, anyway? I bet you're there for your health.

  Do you know what I'm thinking of doing? I'm thinking of making a trip to camp and looking over our dug-outs and seeing what kind of a place you have, before I bring my scouts. How would that strike you? I've got three patrols and take it from me, they're a bigger job than winning the war. They're all crazy for August first to arrive.

  Well, Tommy old boy, I'm glad I've met you at last. I have a hunch you're kind of tall, with gray eyes and curly hair. Am I right? I'm about medium height and very handsome. Hair red--to suggest the camp-fire.

  I don't know whether my scouts will let me off for a week or two, but my boss wants me to take a good rest before I knuckle down to work. I'm off for August anyway. Don't expect me before that, but if I should show up on a surprise raid, don't drop dead. I may go over the top some fine day and drop in on you like a hand grenade. Are you there all alone?

  Write me again and let's get acquainted. I'd send you a photo, only I gave my girl the last one I had.

  So long, BILLY BARNARD, Scoutmaster.

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE EPISODE IN FRANCE

  Uncle Jeb smoked his pipe leisurely, listening to this letter. "Kind ofa comic, hey?" he said. "I reckon ye'd like to hev 'em come. Hain'tnever seed each other, hey?"

  Tom was silent. The letter meant more to him than Uncle Jeb imagined. Ittouched one of the springs of his simple, stolid nature, and his eyesglistened as he glanced over it again, drinking in its genial, friendly,familiar tone. So he had at least one friend after all. Cut of all thatturmoil of war, with its dangers and sufferings, had come at least onefriend. The bursting of that shell which had seemed to shake the earth,and which had shattered his nerves and lost him Roy and all thosetreasured friends and comrades of his boyhood, had at least brought himone true friend. He had never felt the need of a friend more than atthat very moment. The cheery letter seemed for the moment, to wipe outthe memory of Roy's last words to him, that he was a liar. And itaroused his memories of France.

  "Maybe you might like to hear about it," he said to Uncle Jeb, in hissimple way. "Kind of, now it makes me think about France. I wouldn'tblame the scouts for not having any use for me--I wouldn't blameRoy--but anyway, it was that shell that did it. If you say so I'll starta camp-fire. That's what always makes me think about thescouts--camp-fire. Maybe you'll say I was to blame. Anyway, they won'tlose anything. And when they come I'll go back home, if they want me to.That's only fair. Anyway, I
like Temple Camp best of all."

  "Kinder like home, Tommy," Uncle Jeb said.

  The sun was going down beyond the hills across the lake and flickeringup the water and casting a crimson glow upon the wooded summits. Theempty cabins, and the boarded-up cooking shack, shone clear and sharpin the gathering twilight. High above, a great bird soared through thedusk, hastening to its home in the mountains, where Silver Fox trailwound its way up through the fastness, and where Tom and Roy had oftengone. And the memory of all these fond associations gripped Tom now, andhe had to tighten his big ugly mouth to keep it from showing any tremorof weakness.

  "Maybe it won't be as easy as Uncle Jeb thinks," he said to himself,"but anyway, I'll be here and I won't be interfering with them, and I'llget the cabins finished and I'll go away before they come. They'll haveto like Billy Barnard, that's sure; and maybe he'll tell them about mynot knowing who he was until after I gave them the cabins. They'll allbe on the hill together and they'll have to be friends...."

  Yes, they would all be on the hill together, save one, and they would befriends and there would be some great times. They would all hike up themountain trail, all save one, and see Devil's Pool up there. Tom hopedthat Roy would surely show Barnard and his troop that interestingdiscovery which he and Roy had made. The hard part was already attendedto--making Margaret and Mr. Burton keep still. And, as usual, LuckyLuke's part was the easiest part of all--just building three cabins andgoing away. It was a cinch.

  "Shall I build a camp-fire?" he asked of Uncle Jeb.

  And so, in the waning twilight, Tom Slade, liar and forgetter of hisfriends, built a camp-fire, on this first night of his lonely sojourn atTemple Camp. And he and Uncle Jeb sat by it as the night drew on apace,and it aroused fond memories in Tom, as only a camp-fire has the magicto do, and stilled his jangling nerves and made him happy.

  "In about a month there'll be a hundred fellows sitting around one likethis," he said.

  "En that Peewee kid'll be trying to defend hisself agin Roay'snonsense," Uncle Jeb remarked.

  "I ain't going to stay to be assistant camp manager this season," Tomsaid; "I'm going back to work. I'm having my vacation now. I kind oflike being alone with you."

  "What is them shell-holes?" Uncle Jeb asked. "Yer got catched into one,huh?"

  And then, for the first time since Tom had returned from France, he wasmoved to tell the episode which he had never told the scouts, and whichhe had always recalled with agitation and horror. Perhaps the camp-fireand Uncle Jeb's quiet friendliness lulled him to repose and made himreminiscent. Perhaps it was the letter from Barnard.

  "That's how I got shell-shocked," he repeated. "When you getshell-shocked it doesn't show like a wound. There's a place namedVeronnes in France. A German airman fell near there. It was pretty neardark and it was raining, but anyhow I could just see him fall. I couldsee him falling down through the dark, like. I was on my way back to thebillets for relief. I had to go through a marsh to get to that placewhere he fell. I thought I'd sink, but I didn't.

  "When I got there I saw his machine was all crumbled up, and he was allmixed up with the wires and he was dead. I was going to give him firstaid if he wasn't. But anyway, he was dead. So then I searched him and hehad a lot of papers. Some of them were maps. I knew it wouldn't be anyuse to take them to billets, because the wires were all down on accountof the rain. So I started through the marshes to get into the road toRheims. Those marshes are worse than the ones we have here. Sometimes Ihad to swim. It took me two hours, I guess. Anyway, if you _have_ to doa thing you can do it.

  "When I got to the road it was easy. I knew that road went to Rheimsbecause when I was in the Motorcycle Service I knew all the roads.Pretty soon I got to a place where a road crossed it and there were somesoldiers coming along that road. I kept still and let them pass by andthey didn't see me. I knew there were more coming and I could hear thesound of tanks coming, too. Maybe they were coming back from an attack.

  "All of a sudden everything seemed bright and I saw a fellow right closeto me and then there was a noise that made my ears ring and dirt flew inmy face and I heard that fellow yell. As soon as I took a couple moresteps I stumbled and fell into a place that was hot--the earth was hot,just like an oven. That was a new shell-hole I was in.

  "I just lay there and my arm hurt and my ears buzzed and there was afunny kind of a pain in the back of my neck. That's how shell-shockbegins. I heard that fellow say, 'Are you all right?' I couldn't speakbecause my throat was all trembling, like. But I could feel my sleevewas all wet and my arm throbbed. I heard him say, 'We must have had ourfingers crossed.' Because you know how kids cross their fingers whenthey're playing tag, so no one can tag them? The way he says things inthis letter sounds just like the way he said. He's happy-go-lucky, thatfellow, I guess.

  "There was a piece of the shell in there and it was red hot and by thathe saw my arm was hurt, and he bandaged it with his shirt. He saw myscout badge that I wore and he asked me my name. That's all he knowsabout me. Pretty soon something that made a lot of noise moved rightover the hole and I guess it got stuck there. He said it must be a tankthat got kind of caught there. Pretty soon I could hardly breathe, but Icould hear him hollering and banging with a stone or something upagainst that thing. I heard him say we could dig our way out with hishelmet. Pretty soon I didn't know anything.

  "The next thing I knew there was fresh air and people were carryingme on a stretcher. When I tried to call for that fellow it made mesob--that's the way it is when you're shell-shocked. You wring yourhands, too. Even--even--now--if I hear a noise----"

  Tom Slade broke down, and began wringing his hands, and his face whichshone in the firelight was one of abject terror. And in another momenthe was crying like a baby.

  CHAPTER XVII

  ON THE LONG TRAIL

  That night he bunked in Uncle Jeb's cabin, and slept as he had not sleptin many a night. In the morning his stolid, stoical nature reasserteditself, and he set about his task with dogged determination. Uncle Jebwatched him keenly and a little puzzled, and helped him some, but Tomseemed to prefer to work alone. The old man knew nothing of thatfrightful malady of the great war; his own calm, keen eyes bespoke adisciplined and iron nerve. But his kindly instinct told him to make nofurther reference to the war, and so Tom found in him a helpful andsympathetic companion. Here at last, so it seemed, was the medicine thatpoor Tom needed, and he looked forward to their meals, and the quietchats beside their lonely camp-fire, with ever-growing pleasure andsolace.

  He hauled out from under the porch of the main pavilion the logs whichhad been saved from the fire that had all but devastated the camp duringits first season, and saved himself much labor thereby. These he wheeledup the hill one by one in a wheelbarrow. There were enough of these logsto make one cabin, all but the roof, and part of another one.

  When Tom had got out the scout pioneer badge which Roy had noticed onhim, it had been by way of defying time and hardship and proclaiming hisfaith in himself and his indomitable power of accomplishment. As thework progressed it became a sort of mania with him; he was engrossed init, he lived in it and for it. He would right his wrong to the troop byscout methods if he tore down the whole forest and killed himself. Thatwas Tom Slade.

  Up on the new woods property, which included the side of the hill awayfrom the camp, he felled such trees as he needed, hauling them up to thesummit by means of a block and falls, where he trimmed them and notchedthem, and rolled or pried them up into place. At times whole days wouldbe spent on that further slope of the hillside and Uncle Jeb, busy withpreparations for the first arrivals, could not see him at all, only hearthe sound of his axe, and sometimes the pulleys creaking. He did not godown into camp for lunch as a rule, and spent but a few minutes eatingthe snack which he had brought with him.

  At last there came a day when five cabins stood upon that isolatedhilltop which overlooked the main body of the camp, and Tom Slade,leaning upon his axe like Daniel Boone, could look down over the moreclosely bu
ilt area, with its more or less straight rows of cabins andshacks, and its modern pavilion. Five cabins where there had been onlythree. They made a pleasant, secluded little community up there, farremoved from the hustle and bustle of camp life. "No wonder they like itup here," he mused; "the camp is getting to be sort of like a village.They'll have a lot of fun up here, those two troops, and it's a kind ofa good turn how I bring them together. Nobody loses anything, this way."

  True--nobody but Tom Slade. His hands were covered with blisters so thathe must wind his handkerchief around one of them to ease the chafing ofthe axe handle. His hair was streaky and dishevelled and needed cutting,so that he looked not unlike one of those hardy pioneers of old. Andnow, with some of the rough material for the last cabin strewn about himand with but two weeks in which to finish the work, he was confrontedwith a new handicap. The old pain caused by the wound in his armreturned, and the crippled muscles rebelled against this excessiveusage. Well, that was just a little obstacle in the long trail; he wouldput the burden on the other arm. "I'm glad I got two," he said.