The Boy Scouts' First Camp Fire; or, Scouting with the Silver Fox Patrol

  Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Emmy and theOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  The Boy Scouts'First Camp Fire

  OR

  Scouting with the Silver Fox Patrol.

  BY HERBERT CARTER

  Author of "The Boy Scouts In the Blue Ridge," "The Boy Scouts On the Trail," "The Boy Scouts In the Maine Woods," "The Boy Scouts Through the Big Timber," "The Boy Scouts In the Rockies."

  A. L. BURT COMPANY

  NEW YORK]

  Copyright 1913

  BY A. L. BURT COMPANY

  * * * * *

  THE BOY SCOUTS' FIRST CAMP FIRE.

  The announcement of the bear by Davy Jones was succeededby a mad scramble of every boy to reach a place of safety. Page 48.

  _The Boy Scouts' First Camp Fire._]

  THE BOY SCOUTS'FIRST CAMP-FIRE.

  CHAPTER I.

  A HALT BY THE ROADSIDE.

  "Tara--tara!"

  Loud and clear sounded the notes of a bugle, blown by a very stout lad,clad in a new suit of khaki; and who was one of a bunch of Boy Scoutstramping wearily along a dusty road.

  "Good for you, Bumpus! Can't he just make that horn talk, though?" criedone.

  "Sounds as sweet as the church bell at home, fellows!" declared asecond.

  "Say, Mr. Scout-Master, does that mean a halt for grub?" a third calledout.

  "Sure, Giraffe. Brace up old fellow. You'll have your jaws working rightsoon, now. And here's a dandy little spring, right among the trees! Howshady and cool it looks, Thad."

  "That's why we kept on for an hour after noon," remarked the boy calledThad, and who seemed to be a person of some authority; "when all youscouts wanted to stop and rest. You see Davy, Allan here, and myselfmade a note of that same spring the other day, when we came along onhorseback, spying out the lay of the land."

  "Well, now," remarked the boy called Davy, as he threw himself down tostretch; "that's what our instruction book says,--a true scout alwayshas his eyes and ears open to see and hear everything. The more thingsyou can remember in a store window, after only a minute to look, thefurther up you are, see?"

  The boy called Thad not only wore a rather seedy and faded scout khakiuniform; while those of all his comrades were almost brand new; but hehad several merit badges fastened on the left side of his soft shirt.

  These things would indicate that Thad Brewster must have been connectedwith some patrol, or troop of Boy Scouts, in the town where he formerlylived before his father, dying, left him in charge of the queer oldbachelor uncle who was known far and wide among the boys of Scranton asplain "Daddy Brewster"--nobody ever understood why, save that he justloved all manner of young people.

  In fact, it was a memory of the good times which he had enjoyed in thepast that influenced Thad to start the ball rolling for a troop ofscouts in Scranton. In this endeavor he had found energetic backing;and the Silver Fox Patrol of the troop was now starting out upon itsfirst hike, to be gone several days.

  Several of the eight boys forming this patrol were lagging more or lessalong the dusty road; for the brisk walk on this summer day had tiredthem considerably.

  At the cheery notes of the bugle, blown by "Bumpus" Hawtree, the strayones in uniform quickened their pace, so as to close up. Of course thestout youth had another name, and a very good one too, having beenchristened Cornelius Jasper. But his chums had long ago almost forgottenit, and as Bumpus he was known far and wide.

  He was a good-natured chap, clumsy in his way, but always willing tooblige, and exceedingly curious. Indeed, his mates in the patroldeclared Bumpus ought to have been born a girl, as he always wanted to"poke his nose into anything queer that happened to attract hisattention." And this failing, of course, was going to get Bumpus into alot of trouble, sooner or later.

  His one best quality was a genuine love for music. He could play anysort of instrument; and had besides a wonderfully sweet high sopranovoice, which he was always ready to use for the pleasure of his friends.That promised many a happy night around the camp-fire, when once theSilver Fox Patrol had become fully established.

  And this love of music which the fat boy possessed had made theselection of a bugler for Cranford Troop the easiest thing possible. Heactually had no competitor.

  Presently the entire eight lads had thrown themselves down in suchpositions as seemed to appeal to them. Some lay flat on their stomachs,and drank from the overflow of the fine little spring; while othersscooped up the water in the cup formed by the palms of their hands.

  One rather tall boy, with flaxen hair, and light dreamy blue eyes, tookout his handkerchief, carefully dusted the ground where he meant to sit,then having deposited himself in a satisfactory manner, he opened thehaversack he had been carrying, taking out some of the contents verycarefully.

  "My! but they're packed smartly, all right, Smithy," remarked the fellowwho had responded to the name of Davy Jones; "you certainly take a heapof trouble to have things just so. My duds were just tossed in as theycame. Threatened to jump on 'em so as to crowd the bunch in tighter.What are you looking for now?"

  "Why, my drinking cup, to be sure," replied the other, lifting hiseyebrows in surprise, as if he could not understand why any one would beso silly as to lie down and drink--just like an animal, when nice littlealuminum collapsible cups could be procured so cheaply.

  And having presently found what he wanted, he deliberately returned eacharticle to its proper place in the carryall before he allowed himselfthe pleasure of a cooling drink. But at least he had one satisfaction;being the possessor of a cup allowed him the privilege of dippingdirectly into the fountain head, the limpid spring itself.

  They called him just plain "Smithy," but of course such an elegantfellow had a handle to the latter part of his name. It was EdmundMaurice Travers Smith; but you could never expect a parcel of Americanboys to bother with such a tremendous tongue-twisting name as that.Hence the Smithy.

  While the whole patrol, taking out the lunch that had been provided, andwhich one of them, evidently from the South from the soft tones of hisvoice, called a "snack," were eating we might as well be making theacquaintance of the rest.

  The Southern lad was named Robert Quail White. A few of his chumsaddressed him as plain Bob; but the oddity of the combination appealedirresistibly to their sense of humor, and "Bob White" it became fromthat time on. Sometimes they called to him with the well-known whistleof a quail; and he always responded.

  There was a very tall fellow, with a remarkably long neck. "Giraffe" hehad become when years younger, and the name was likely to stick to himeven after he got into college. When his attention was called toanything, Conrad Stedman usually stretched his neck in a way that gavehim a great advantage over his fellows. He was sometimes a littletouchy; but gave promise of proving himself a good scout, being willingto learn, faithful, and obliging.

  Another of the patrol had a rather melancholy look. This was StephenBingham. He might have gone to the end of the chapter as plain Steve;but when a little fellow at school, upon being asked his name, he hadpronounced it as if a compound word; and ever since he was known asStep-hen Bingham. Whenever he felt like sending his companions into fitsof laughter Step-hen would show the whites of his eyes, and lookfrightened. He could never find his things, and was forever appealing tothe others to know whether they had seen some article he had misplaced.Step-hen evidently had much to learn before he could qualify for thedegree of a first-class scout.

  The one who seeme
d to be second in Command of the little detachment wasa quiet looking boy. Allan Hollister had been raised after a fashionthat as he said "gave him the bumps of experience." Part of his life hadbeen spent in the Adirondacks and in Maine; so that he really knew byactual participation in the work what the other lads were learning fromthe books they read.

  He lived with his mother, said to be a widow. They seemed to haveplenty of money; but Allan was often sighing, as though somehow histhoughts turned back to former scenes, and he longed to return to Maineagain.

  Here then was the complete roster of the Silver Fox Patrol of CranfordTroop, as called by the secretary, Bob White, at each and every meeting.

  1. Thad Brewster, Patrol Leader, and Assistant Scout-Master.

  2. Allan Hollister, upon whom the responsibility rested after Thad.

  3. Cornelius Hawtree.

  4. Robert Quail White.

  5. Edmund Maurice Travers Smith.

  6. Conrad Stedman.

  7. Davy Jones.

  8. Stephen Bingham.

  Of course, as the rules of the organization provided, there was agenuine scout-master to accompany the boys when possible, and look aftertheir moral welfare; as well as act as a brake upon the naturalexuberance of their spirits. This was a young man who was studyingmedicine with Dr. Calkins in the town of Cranford. Frequently the cleveryoung M.D. could not keep his appointments with his boys; at such timeshe had to delegate to Thad his duties. And to tell the truth when theylearned that as the elder doctor was sick himself, their scout-masterwould be unable to accompany them on this, their first real hike andouting, none of the scouts felt very sorry.

  "Pretty near time we started again for the lake, isn't it, Thad?"demanded Step-hen, something like an hour after they had stopped tobreak the march with a bite and a cool drink.

  "Oh! please let me finish this little grub," called out Giraffe, who wastremendously fond of eating; "it's a shame to waste it. You stopped mefrom making a fire you know, Thad; and I fell behind the rest of youthat way."

  "I never saw such a fellow, always crazy to set fire to things,"remarked Davy Jones. "He'll burn the whole world up some day."

  "I expect to set the river on fire when I get in business," grinnedGiraffe.

  "Give the signal to fall in, Mr. Bugler--but I say, where _is_ Bumpusanyway?" asked the acting scout-master, looking around.

  "Oh! he went wandering away some time ago," remarked Davy. "But here'shis horn; let's see if I can blow the old thing."

  He put the shining instrument to his lips, puffed out his cheeks, andemitted a frightful groaning sound. The rest of the scouts had juststarted to laugh when there came a strange, rattling noise from thewoods near by, as though a landslide might be in progress. Andaccompanying the racket they heard a feeble voice that must belong toBumpus, though no one recognized it, calling out:

  "Help! help! Oh, somebody come quick, and save me!"

  With that call every member of the scout patrol leaped erect, staring atone another in dismay.