"Will the twins make them?"

"Never you mind. Come down to-morrow and give us the once over. Just follow the sh.o.r.e up from Pike's Landing; you'll see a khaki colored tent in among the trees. That's us. They're putting up the tent now."

"Have you got drainage?" Westy asked him, kind of funny.

"They're digging a regular Panama Ca.n.a.l around that tent," he said.

"Bert," I told him, "you know the rule--"

"Now don't begin about rules. Listen. Your scoutmaster is away. About every fellow in Temple Camp thinks Skinny is just a miserable little thief. He went over to see those fellows because--well you know why.

They took him in. And, by jinks, he's going to stay there and so am I-- till this thing is fixed up. Blakeley and Westy," he said, and I could see he was pretty serious now; "I went into that pa.s.sageway with that kid on my back. I was ready to crawl a mile and drag him along if I had to. As it turned out, the pa.s.sage was about a couple of hundred feet long and came out in the old creek bed, like I said--up above the flood area. Blakeley, when I saw the light of day--or the light of night rather, because anything was lighter than that black hole--and when I laid that skinny little kid down--he doesn't weigh fifty pounds, Blakeley--I just said to myself, '_By the great Eternal, I'm going to stick to him like glue!_' That's what I said. Even then I didn't know he had been over to plead with those fellows and ask them _please_ not to believe he was a thief. When I heard that--"

[Ill.u.s.tration: I WENT INTO THAT Pa.s.sAGEWAY WITH THAT KID ON MY BACK.]

"I know, Bert," I told him, "you're right"

"I'm not thinking about myself," he said; "my troop understands me; and they understand Skinny. He could bunk with us, or with you fellows. But this is better."

"I hope n.o.body'll raise a kick," Westy said.

Bert said, "A kick? We're the ones to raise a kick. Haven't I got anything to say about it? I _couldn't_ bring the kid here--I'm not a horse. So I did the next best thing; I carried him down the old creek bed a ways, to where the water flowed into it. It was flowing easy then. I laced a couple of broken off branches together and made the craziest raft _you_ ever saw. Then I laid the kid on it and held his head and poled with the other hand and that way we got down to the Hudson. I intended to get him to some house down there and then notify camp. He was a little better by then and a fellow stayed with him near the sh.o.r.e, while I rowed over to Catskill for some iodine and stuff.

Would you believe it? I ran plunk into the Gold Dust Twins in the drug store; they were drinking sodas. They've got you beaten seven ways at that game. Well, I told them all about the flood and how I found Skinny and how their camp was carried away, and they didn't seem to take it hard at all, they just laughed and said it was part of the game.

"Oh, Blakeley," he said, "then was when the fun started--telegrams! One of them had to buy out a peanut stand for Skinny--and then for a tent.

We rooted out that old sail maker from bed, and made him sell us a tent. They gave him an order for a flag--_CAMP McCORD_--mind you.

Laugh! I just followed them around. They're two of the gamest sports you ever saw. We went back to the landing in a taxi with cans of food rolling all over the floor. _'Go faster_,' one of them shouted to the taxi man, 'or I'll fire a can of pickled beets at your head.' We hired a motor-boat to take us over and then they retired from the game. Some whirligig, take it from me!

[Ill.u.s.tration: map: "This map shows you how the water broke through Frick's Cove and flowed into the old creek bed."]

"But they wouldn't pick out the place for a camp," Bert said; "they made me do that. 'We don't want to be drowned out again,' they said.

Honest, Westy, those two fellows are down there now, digging a drain ditch and carrying it way over to the Hudson. '_Safety First_--that's what they said. And Skinny's sitting there with a bandage around his head, eating peanuts."

As soon as Bert got out of the boat, he started right off up the hill for Tigers' Den, as they called it. We could see him stumbling up the path, limping to favor his leg.

"He'll go back by the road, I suppose," I said.

Westy and I just sat in the boat watching until we couldn't see him any more. Then he said:

"_Some_ scout, hey?"

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

TELLS ABOUT HOW I VISITED CAMP MC CORD

Of course, everybody in camp said that Bert Winton was a wonder; they couldn't help saying that. His own troop didn't seem to think so much about it. One of them said to me that he guessed Bert was having the time of his life. They were funny in that way--those tigers. They didn't seem to get excited over him at all. None of them went around shouting.

The next morning everybody was talking about Bert. All the time fellows kept going over in boats to see the remains of Nick's Cove, and most all they talked about was Bert. Some of them said, Skinny wasn't worth it--they meant being rescued like that. I could see they all thought that he took the money. Some said he was crazy. Some of them thought he knew about the money and just swam out for that.

The Elks didn't seem to care much. Connie told a fellow that he thought they had a peach, but it turned out to be a lemon. I guess he thought that was funny. I told Vic Norris about how Bert held Skinny tight and he said Bert was some lemon squeezer. It made me mad and I just walked away.

I don't know what would have happened if Mr. Ellsworth had been there.

I guessed he had the money still, because I knew he was called away in a hurry. I didn't know whether he had sent for the cross or not.

I don't know what the directors thought. I guessed maybe they decided not to do anything till Mr. Ellsworth got back. Anyway, Skinny stayed where he was. George Bent--he's in a troop from Washington--told me that Mr. Storer went down to the Hudson early in the morning to see how everything was. I guess maybe he did, because Temple Camp would be responsible for Skinny until he was sent away. George said they gave Mr. Storer a doughnut down there, and that it hurt him. I don't know whether they threw it at him or gave it to him to eat. Either way it might have hurt him. Anyway, I was glad Skinny was away on account of the way the fellows felt about him.

The next afternoon Westy and I hiked down to see the new camp. I have to admit they had everything fine. Those Gold Dust Twins were older than most of the fellows at camp and now that they had something special to be interested in, I could see that they were pretty game.

"We're going to fight it out on these lines if it takes all summer,"

that's what one of them said.

And the other one said, "That's us. _Skinny forever!"_

They seemed to be getting a lot of fun out of it anyway. I don't believe either one of them knew much about the gold cross, but they were going to see Skinny win. It was funny to hear them talk about scouting. The big one--the one called Reggie--asked me if we had a badge for dancing. Can you beat that? He said he thought he might make a stab for it. The other one thought that stalking meant picking corn off the stalk. _Good night_!

They seemed to like Bert a lot, but I guess it was Skinny's going over to see them that got them interested. When he asked them _please_ to believe in him and not take the money, that was what clinched it-- that's what _I_ think. Anyway, that's what Bert told me. He said that was what started Camp McCord.

Skinny was all bunged up but, oh, boy, you should have seen the scout smile when he saw me. If that smile had been any longer it would have cut his head off. He said he was a hero, and that he had a camp of his own now. Poor little duffer, he didn't mean to be boasting; it was only that funny way he had.

Westy and Bert and I took a little walk and I said, "The only trouble is, suppose we shouldn't get the letter. Maybe the money doesn't belong to the lieutenant. Then what?"

"Well then, we'll find out who it does belong to, that's what," Bert said. "Camp McCord doesn't strike its colors as easily as all that. Mr.

What's-his-name back?"

I told him no, Mr. Ellsworth wasn't back yet. Then I said, "Maybe Lieutenant Donnelle was sent away; maybe he had to go to South Africa on account of the League of Nations. I read that the Zulu's were having a war."

"You're a regular Calamity Jane," Bert said; "can't you think of something better than that to worry about?"

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

TELLS ABOUT THE SCOUT PACE

We had it fixed that as soon as I got a letter I would start right down to Camp McCord with it. And, oh, boy, didn't I hang around Administration Shack, where the camp mail was sorted. I guess my patrol thought I was crazy and I bet that robin in the maple tree wondered what had become of me. Gee, you can say I was a Calamity Jane if you want to, but honest, I had Lieutenant Donnelle sent all over the world.

One minute I was saying he was dead, and the next minute I was saying he had gone to Russia, and the next minute I was saying the money wasn't his at all. Then I was saying that he'd be mad, because I told Bert about him and wouldn't send any answer at all. Then I'd get to thinking about Bert and that would kind of cheer me up; because he was so sure.

Three days went by and no letter came. Every time they handed me a letter I'd be shaky all over till I saw who it was from, and then I'd just be all down and out when I'd see it was from my mother or my father. Even the letters with my allowance in didn't make me feel good, so you can see from that how anxious I was.

All the fellows around camp didn't say much about Skinny. They thought he was just a little thief, but anyway, they weren't the kind of fellows to be always talking about it. They had something else to do.

They talked a lot about Bert though, and said he was a kind of a crank about Skinny. But anyway, they admitted that he was a hero. Gee, they _had_ to do that.

All the while I didn't go down to see Bert, and he didn't come up to camp. I just didn't want to go unless I had the letter. Reggie hiked up one day and wanted to know if he could borrow a pair of smoked gla.s.ses.

"The fellows here don't smoke," Doc Carson told him. It was a shame to guy him, he was such a nice fellow, but oh, boy, I had to laugh to see him start back with that pair of big auto goggles on. But anyhow, all the fellows admitted that the Gold Dust Twins were all right. They were terrible bunglers when it came to scouting, and they even laughed at themselves; that was the best part of it. But you know what a tin horn sport is. Well, they weren't that, anyway. They had one of those long fancy bra.s.s things with a wax taper to light their camp-fire with; honest, it was a scream. I guess it was used in the parlor at home, to reach the chandelier with.

Well, it got to be Tuesday and no letter came. Oh, wasn't I discouraged. I just started out through the woods, because I didn't want to see anybody. All of a sudden, who should I meet but Pee-wee. He motioned to me to keep still, because he was stalking a hop-toad. Even though I didn't feel much like laughing, I had to laugh.

"Why don't you track an angleworm some day?" I said.