CHAPTER III.
THE SKULL AND CROSS-BONES.
If Marion Stanlock, "High Peak" in the trait and a torch bearer, hadread one of two letters, signed with a "skull and cross-bones," whichshe found lying on the desk in her room after the adjournment of theGrand Council Fire, doubtless there would have been an interruption,and probably a change, in the holiday program of the Flamingo CampFire. She saw the letters lying there and under ordinary circumstanceswould have torn them open and read them, however hastily, beforeretiring. But on this occasion she was rather tired, owing to theactivities and the excitement of the day and evening. Moreover, sherealized that she could not hope for anything but a wearisome journeyto Hollyhill on the following day unless she refreshed herself with asmany hours sleep as possible before train time.
So she merely glanced at the superscriptions on the envelopes to seeif the letters were from any of her relatives or friends, and, failingto recognize either of them, she put them into her handbag, intendingto read them at the first opportunity next morning. Then she went tobed and fell asleep almost instantly.
Marion was awakened in the morning by her roommate, Helen Nash, whohad quietly arisen half an hour earlier. The latter was almost readyfor breakfast when she woke her friend from a sleep that promised tocontinue several hours longer unless interrupted. She had turned onthe electric light and was standing before the glass combing her hair.Marion glanced at the clock to see what time it was, but the face wasturned away from her and the light in the room made it impossible forher to observe through the window shades that day was just breaking.
"What time is it, Helen?" she asked. "Did the alarm go off? I didn'thear it. What waked you up?"
Helen did not answer at once. For a moment or two her manner seemed toindicate that she did not hear the questions of the girl in bed. Then,as if suddenly rescuing her mind from thoughts that appealed to havecarried her away into some far distant abstraction, she replied thus,in a series of disconnected utterances:
"No, the alarm didn't go off--a--Marion. I got up at 6 o'clock. Iturned the alarm off. It is 6:30 now. I don't know what woke me. Ijust woke up."
Marion arose, wondering at the peculiar manner of her roommate and thestrained, almost convulsive, tone of her voice. She asked no furtherquestions, but proceeded with her dressing and preparation forbreakfast. For the time being, she forgot all about the two letters inher handbag that lay on her dresser.
In some respects Helen was a peculiar girl. If her speech and actionhad been characterized with more vim, vigor and imagination,doubtlessly she would generally have been known as a pretty girl. Asit was, her features were regular, her complexion fair, her eyes blue,and her hair a light brown. Marion thought her pretty, but Marion hadassociated with her intimately for two or three years, and haddiscovered qualities in her that mere acquaintances could never havediscovered. She had found Helen apparently to be possessed of astrong, direct conception of integrity, never vacillating in manner orsympathies. Moreover, she exhibited a quiet, unwavering capability inher work that always commanded the respect, and occasionally theadmiration, of both classmates and teachers.
Not only was Helen quiet of disposition, but strangely secretive oncertain subjects. For instance, she seldom said anything about herhome or relatives. She lived in Villa Park, a small town midwaybetween Westmoreland and Hollyhill. Her father was dead, and, when notat school, she had lived with her mother; these two, so far as Marionknew, constituting the entire family.
Marion had visited her home, and there found the mother and daughterapparently in moderate circumstances. Naturally, she had wondered alittle that Mrs. Nash should be able to support her daughter at aprivate school, even though that institution made a specialty ofteaching rich men's daughters how to be useful and economical, butthe reason why had never been explained to her. Helen got herremittances from home regularly, and seemed to have no particularcause to worry about finances. She had spent parts of two vacations atthe Stanlock home and there conducted herself as if quite naturallyable to fit in with luxurious surroundings and large accommodations.
Only a few days before the Christmas holidays, something had occurredthat emphasized Helen's secretive peculiarity to such an extent thatMarion was considerably provoked and just a little mystified. A youngman, somewhere about 25 or 27 years old, fairly well but notexpensively dressed, and bearing the appearance of one who had seen agood deal of the rough side of life, called at the Institute and askedfor Miss Nash. He was ushered into the reception room and Helen wassummoned. One of the girls who witnessed the meeting told some of herfriends that Miss Nash was evidently much surprised, if notunpleasantly disturbed, when she recognized her caller. Immediatelyshe put on a coat and hat and she and the young man went out. An hourlater she returned alone, and to no one did she utter a word relativeto the stranger's visit, not even to her roommate, who had passed themin the hall as they were going out.
Helen Nash was a member of the Flamingo Camp Fire and accompanied theother members on their vacation trip to the mountain mining district.The other eleven who boarded the train with Marion, the holidayhostess, were Ruth Hazelton, Ethel Zimmerman, Ernestine Johanson,Hazel Edwards, Azalia Atwood, Harriet Newcomb, Estelle Adler, JuliettaHyde, Marie Crismore, Katherine Crane, and Violet Munday.
Miss Ladd, the Guardian, also was one of Marion's invited guests. Theparty took possession of one end of the parlor car, which,fortunately, was almost empty before they boarded it. Then began achatter of girl voices--happy, spirited, witty, and promising tocontinue thus to the end of the journey, or until their kaleidoscopicsubjects of conversation were exhausted.
Every thrilling detail of the evening before was gone over, examined,given its proper degree of credit, and filed away in their memoriesfor future reference. There was more catching of breath, morecheering, more clapping of hands; but no mock jeers, now that the boyswere absent, as the events of the Boy Scouts' invasion and the manyincidental and brilliant results were recalled and repictured.
"I wonder what Harry Gilbert meant when he said some of them wereplanning another surprise nearly as thrilling as the one they sprunglast night," said Azalia Atwood, with characteristic excitableexpectation. "He addressed himself to you, Marion, when he said it;and he's a close friend of your cousin, Clifford Long. Whatever itis, I bet anything it will fall heaviest on this Camp Fire when itcomes."
"Maybe it was just talk, to get us worked up and looking for somethingnever to come," suggested Ethel Zimmerman. "It would be a pretty goodone for the boys to get us excited and looking for something clear upto April 1, and then spring an April fool joke, something like a bigdry goods box packed with excelsior."
"Oh, but that wouldn't measure up to expectations," Ruth Hazeltondeclared. "It wouldn't be one-two-three with what they did last night,and they promised something just about as interesting."
"You don't get me," returned Ethel. "The dry goods box filled withexcelsior would be the anti-climax of wondering expectations."
"You're too deep for a twentieth century bunch of girls, Ethel," HazelEdwards objected. "That might easily be mistaken for the promised bigstunt. They might compose a lot of ditties and mix them up with thepacking, something like this:
"'Believe not all big things that boys may tell thee, for Great expectations may produce excelsior'."
"Very clever, indeed, only it sounds like an impossible combination ofAlice in Wonderland and an old maid," said Harriet Newcomb, with atoss of her head. "I'm surprised at you, Hazel, for suggesting such athing. If the boys should put over anything like that, we'd break offdiplomatic relations right away. If they wanted to call us a lot ofrummies, they couldn't do it as effectively by the use of directlanguage. Cleverness usually makes a hit with its victims, unless itcontains an element of contempt."
"That is really a brilliant observation," announced the Guardian whohad been listening with quiet interest to the spirited conversation."Continued thought along such lines ought to result in a Keda NationalHonor for
you, Harriet."
"I'll agree to all that if Harriet will take back what she said aboutmy being an old maid," said Hazel with mock dignity.
"I didn't call you an old maid, my dear," denied the impromptu poetpertly. "I merely said, or meant to say, that the idea you expressedmight better be expected from an old maid, although I doubt if manyold maids could have expressed it as well as you did."
"Girls, Girls, are you going to turn our vacation into a two-weeksrepartee bee?" Marion broke in with affected desperation. "If you do,you will force your hostess to go way back and sit down, and thatwouldn't be polite, you know. By the way, if you'll excuse me I'll dothat very thing now for another reason. I've got two letters in myhand bag that I forgot all about. I'm going to read them right now.You girls are making too much chatter. I can't read in your midst."
So saying, Marion retired to a chair just far enough away to lendsemblance of reality to her "go way back and sit down" suggestion, andsettled back comfortably to read the two missives that arrived withthe last evening's mail at the Institute.
"Settled back comfortably"--yes, but only for a short time. Marionnever before in her life received two such letters. Both wereanonymous. The first one that she opened aroused enough curiosity to"unsettle" her. She thought she knew whom it was from--those ingeniousBoy Scouts of Spring Lake--perhaps it was written by cousin Cliffordhimself. It was just like him. He was a natural leader among boys, andoften up to mischief of some sort. Marion was sure he was one of theprime movers of the Scout invasion of Hiawatha Institute.
But the next letter was the real thriller, or rather cold chiller. Sheknew very well what it meant. From the point of view of the writer itmeant "business," a threat well calculated to work terror in her ownheart and the heart of every other member of Flamingo Fire. It was athreat couched in direful words, warning her and her friends not to goto Hollyhill on their charity mission, as announced, and predictingserious injury if not death to some of them. It was signed with askull and cross-bones.
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