"No, we haven't--"

"Got a shawl or a blanket?"

"Yes--what good--"

"Get it quick!"

"They always have camels'-hair shawls," he said hastily to Tom. Then raising his voice, "Someone drowned over there?"

"No, shot."

"Killed?"

"No."

"Shin up that tree and see if you can get camp with your whistle," he ordered to Tom, throwing off his shirt the while. "Whistle 'Help' by Morse--if they don't answer, try semaph.o.r.e with your shirt; if that don't get them you'll have to hoof it. Get Doc, whatever you do. Shut up, will you?"' he shouted to the frantic boy who was making all the noise. "Keep your mouth shut and you'll be all right!"

All this took but a few seconds and presently the shrieking boy in the water grasped frantically at Roy.

That was all he knew. Something struck him, and when he recovered from his daze he was lying on sh.o.r.e with several persons about him.

The new _Dan Dreadnought_ was a pitiable figure. The boy whom he had shot sat near him, ashen white, his arm bleeding despite all efforts to stay the flow of blood, and he himself, his voice husky from his futile shrieking, the red mark of Roy's prompt but necessary blow standing out in bold relief on his white face, lay, half dead with fright and shock, and watched those about him as though in a trance. It was a sad and inglorious end to his adventurous career!

It took Roy but a few minutes to tear a couple of shawls and a blanket into strips and tying these together he took an end in his mouth and swam out for the boat. Tying it to the painter-ring, he called to the people on sh.o.r.e to pull easily and, himself guiding and holding up the loggy, half-submerged boat, as best he could, it was finally hauled out of deep water and its hapless crew helped ash.o.r.e.

Just as Roy helped that redoubtable leader, Sweet Caporal, to scramble up the abrupt sh.o.r.e, a welcome shout came from a tree top across the river.

"They're coming!"

Roy did not know whether it had been done by Morse whistling or by semaph.o.r.e. Tom had done it, that was enough, and while he scrambled down from the tree and swam across the river Roy rearranged the clumsily made tourniquet which the picnickers had placed about the arm of the wounded boy, and tightened it with the leverage of a stick which successfully stayed the flow of blood.

"Some wrinkle, hey?" he said, smiling down into the white face of the boy. "You could lift the earth by leverage if you only had some floor for your lever; ever hear that?"

No, the O'Connor boy had never heard that, but he looked up into the cheery, brown eyes of Roy, whom he knew slightly, and smiled himself.

The real scout and the burlesque scout who lay near by presented a striking contrast. All the mock heroics of the _Eureka Patrol_ of Captain Dauntless seemed cheap enough now, even to the frightened Connover as he languidly watched this quiet exhibition of efficiency.

Never had he admired _Dan Dreadnought_ as he now admired Roy Blakeley, this cheerful, clean-cut fellow who knew what to do and just how to do it; and the gang, with all their bravado gone, watched him too, feeling strange after the first bath they had had in many a day.

"Do you know what I'm going to do with you?" said Roy, as he leaned over the O'Connor boy and bathed his face. "I'm going to give you to Mr. Ellsworth for a birthday present; our troop's two years old next week."

It was not many minutes before the welcome sound of voices was heard in the wood and presently a half-dozen scouts appeared with a canvas stretcher. Mr. Ellsworth was with them and by his side was Doc Carson, or "Highbrow Doc," with his neat little first-aid case. Doc was one of the ancient and honorable Ravens who were not unconscious of their dignity, and he had had the first-aid bee from the start.

It took him but a moment to determine that no fatalities were going to result from the affair, and that all Connover needed was a little rea.s.suring that he would not be sent to jail.

While he was putting an antiseptic dressing on the O'Connor boy's arm (the bullet had gone in and out again through the fleshy part), Roy and Tom heard for the first time the circ.u.mstances of the whole affair, as they were related to Mr. Ellsworth.

It seemed that upon the appearance of Connover with his gun he had been forbidden to go away and had obeyed, probably because he was too frightened and helpless to have any will of his own. His pitiable lack of command throughout the whole affair was not the least significant thing in his day's work, and showed how far he was from the real scout trail.

The occupants of the boat, spurred by the emergency, had managed to get the frightened Connover aboard and it was in their clumsy progress across the river that one of the gunwales of the already loggy boat had gone under, shipping more water than the craft could carry besides its living occupants.

The O'Connor boy needed only prompt and efficient treatment and the only peril he was in was that of blood-poisoning. Doc dressed his wound antiseptically and though he was not unable to walk, they bore him to camp on the stretcher, for his loss of blood had weakened him and the shock had unnerved him.

Just as they started Connover broke down completely, clinging pitifully to Mr. Ellsworth and refusing to go home. His fear of arrest on the one hand and his fear of his parents on the other, made him go to pieces entirely now that the first excitement was over. His behaviour formed a ludicrous anti-climax for all the _Dan Dreadnought_ bombast and bravado, and if it was not borne in upon him then how harmful the books were, he at least began to see how ridiculous they were. Indeed, the redoubtable _Dan_ had begun to lose prestige with Connover the moment he had shot that robin.

At the sight of this childish display, Mr. Ellsworth shook his head ruefully and said to Roy, "We got away with it in Tom's case, but I'm afraid Connie's a pretty big contract. What do you think?"

"He'll come across," said Roy. "He didn't hurt Charlie O'Connor so very much, but I'll bet he's killed _Dan Dreadnought_ all right."

"Well, Connie," said the scoutmaster, in a half-indulgent tone that was not altogether complimentary, "you'd better come along with us to camp."

"Will you--will you--see my mother?"

"Ye-es--guess so."

"He--he won't die--will he?"

"After forty or fifty years he might," said the scoutmaster. "Here, walk along with me, and tell me how you came to shoot that rifle."

CHAPTER XVIII

MRS. BENNETT COMES ACROSS

Connover told him the whole story. In his extremity he felt drawn to Mr. Ellsworth though he showed it in a more effeminate way than Tom had shown it, and the readiness with which he made the scoutmaster a refuge rather jarred upon Mr. Ellsworth. Tom, at least, had never gone to pieces like this.

But the scout movement draws its recruits from every direction, and Mr.

Ellsworth was the ideal scoutmaster.

"Well, then you think you wouldn't like to kill Zulus, after all, hey?"

"N-no, sir."

"Too bad we had to sacrifice an innocent robin to find that out, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

The maid at the Bennett bungalow had one good scout quality; she was observant and the fleeting glimpse which she had of Master Connover departing with the rifle was promptly communicated to Mrs. Bennett upon her return.

At the appalling picture of her son trudging across the road into the woods with a fire-arm over his shoulder, the good lady all but collapsed. Her first thought was, of course, that he would shoot himself, which seemed likely enough, and her fear for his safety entirely obliterated her amazement at his shameless disobedience. It was the day of Mrs. Bennett's Waterloo.

Out she went, and even in her haste and excitement she picked up the _Dan Dreadnought_ volume which sprawled on the veranda, and tossed it into the swinging seat, then hurried across the road and into the woods. The worst thing she had against Captain Dauntless was that he littered her tidy porch.

She followed the same beaten path to the river which Connover had followed and when she reached the bank a few belated stragglers of the picnic party were gathering up their belongings on the opposite side.

One of them came over for her in the boat and told her briefly of what had happened.