THE BOY SCOUTS IN THE BLUE RIDGE
Or
Marooned Among the Moonshiners
by
HERBERT CARTER
Author of "The Boy Scouts First Camp Fire," "The BoyScouts On the Trail," "The Boy Scouts In the MaineWoods," "The Boy Scouts Through theBig Timber," "The Boy ScoutsIn the Rockies"
"Good shot, Bob!" cried Thad. "Get another stone, quick,for he's coming after you." Page 146.
--_The Boy Scouts In the Blue Ridge._]
A. L. Burt CompanyNew York
Copyright, 1913By A. L. Burt Company
THE BOY SCOUTS IN THE BLUE RIDGE.
THE BOY SCOUTS IN THE BLUE RIDGE
CHAPTER I.
THE HIKE THROUGH THE SMOKY RANGE.
"DID anybody happen to see my knapsack around?"
"Why, you had it just a few minutes ago, Step Hen!"
"I know that, Bumpus; and I'd take my affidavy I laid it down on thisrock."
"Well, don't whine so about a little thing like that, Step Hen; it ain'tthere now, and that's a fact."
"Somebody's gone and sneaked it on me, that's what. I'm the unluckiestfeller in the whole bunch, for havin' queer things happen to him. Justcan't lay a single thing I've got down anywhere, but what it disappearsin the most _remarkable_ way you ever heard of, and bobs up somewhereelse! I must be haunted, I'm beginnin' to believe. Do _you_ knowanything about my knapsack, Giraffe?"
"Never touched your old grub sack, Step Hen; so don't you dare accuseme of playing a trick on you. Sure you didn't hang it up somewhere; I'veknown you to do some funny stunts that way;" and the tall boy called"Giraffe" by his mates, stretched his long neck in a most ridiculousmanner, as he looked all around.
Eight boys were on a hike through the mountains of North Carolina. Fromthe fact that they were all dressed in neat khaki uniforms it wasevident that they must belong to some Boy Scout troop; and were off on alittle excursion. This was exactly the truth; and they had come a longdistance by rail before striking their present wild surroundings.
Their home town of Cranford was located in a big Northern State, and allthe members of the Silver Fox Patrol lived there; though several of themhad come to that busy little town from other sections of the country.
Besides two of those whose conversation has been noted at the beginningof this chapter there was, first of all, Thad Brewster, the leader ofthe patrol, and when at home acting as scoutmaster in the absence of theyoung man who occupied that position, in order to carry out the rulesand principles of the organization. Thad was a bright lad, and havingbelonged to another troop before coming to Cranford, knew considerablymore than most of his fellows in the patrol.
Next to him, as second in command, was Allan Hollister, a boy who hadbeen raised to get the bumps of experience. He had lived for a time upin the Adirondacks, and also in Maine. When it came down to showing howthings ought to be done according to the ways of woodsmen, and not bythe book, the boys always looked to Allan for information.
Then there was a slender, rather effeminate, boy, who seemed veryparticular about his looks, as though he feared lest his uniform becomesoiled, or the shine on his shoes suffer from the dust of the mountainroad. This was "Smithy." Of course he had another name when at home orin school--Edmund Maurice Travers Smith; but no ordinary boy couldbother with such a high-flown appellation as this; and so "Smithy" itbecame as soon as he began to circulate among the lads of Cranford.
Next to him was a dumpy, rollicking sort of a boy, who seemed so clumsyin his actions that he was forever stumbling. He had once answered tothe name of Cornelius Jasper Hawtree; but if anybody called out "Bumpus"he would smile, and answer to it. Bumpus he must be then to the end ofthe story. And as he was musically inclined, possessing a fine tenorvoice, and being able to play on "any old instrument," as he claimed itwas only right that he assume the duties of bugler to the CranfordTroop. Bumpus carried the shining bugle at his side, held by a thickcrimson cord; and when he tried he could certainly draw the sweetestkind of notes from its brass throat.
Then there was Davy Jones, a fellow who had a sinuous body, and seemedto be a born athlete. Davy could do all sorts of "stunts," and was neverso happy as hanging by his toes from the high branch of some tree; orturning a double somersault in the air, always landing on his nimblefeet, like a cat. Davy had one affliction, which often gave him more orless trouble. He was liable to be seized with cramps at any time; andthese doubled him up in a knot. He carried some pills given to him bythe family doctor at home, and at such times one of the other boysusually forced a couple between his blue lips. But some of the fellowswere beginning to have faint suspicions concerning these "cramps;" andthat the artful Davy always seemed to be gripped nowadays when there wasa prospect of some extra heavy work at hand.
The last of the eight boys was a dark-haired lad, with a face that,while handsome, was a little inclined to be along the order of theproud. Robert White Quail was a Southern-born boy. He came from Alabama,but had lived many years in this very region through which the SilverFox Patrol was now hiking. Indeed, it had been at his personalsolicitation that they had finally agreed to take their outing inclimbing the famous Blue Ridge Mountains, and tasting some of thedelights of a genuine experience in the wilderness. Among hiscompanions the Southern lad went by the name of "Bob White;" andconsidering what his last name happened to be, it can be easilyunderstood that nothing else in the wide world would have answered.
Of course Step Hen had another name, which was plainly Stephen Bingham.When a mite, going to school for the first time, on being asked his nameby the teacher, he had spelled it as made up of two distinct words; andso Step Hen he was bound to be called by his comrades.
Giraffe also was known in family circles as Conrad Stedman; but if anyboy in Cranford was asked about such a fellow, the chances were he wouldshake his head, and declare that the only one he knew by the name ofStedman was "Giraffe," For some time he had gone as "Rubberneck," butthis became so common that the other stuck to him. Giraffe loved eating.He was also passionately fond of making fires, so that the others calledhim the fire fiend. When Giraffe was around no one else had the nerve toeven think of starting the camp-fire; though after that had been done,he was willing they should "tote" the wood to keep it running.
The day was rather warm, even for up in the mountains, and if the signstold the truth they might look for a thunder storm before a great while.
As the scouts had no tents along, and were marching in very light order,they would have to depend upon their natural sagacity to carry themthrough any emergencies that might arise, either in connection with theweather, or the food line. But they knew they could place unlimiteddependence on their leaders; and besides, as Bob White had spent manyyears of his young life in this region, he must know considerable aboutits resources.
They were now in what is known as the Smoky Range, a spur of the BlueRidge Mountains, which borders on Tennessee. Not a great many miles awaywas Asheville, a well-known resort; but few of the society peoplefrequenting that place had ever ventured up in these lonely localities;for they did not have the best reputation possible.
Among these wild peaks dwelt men who, in spite of the efforts of revenueofficers, persisted in defying the law that put a ban on the making ofwhat has always been known as "moonshine" whiskey. Occasionally anarrest might be made; but there was much danger attached to this thing;and the country was so rugged, that it would take an army of UnitedStates regulars to clean out the nests of moonshiners holding forththere.
It would seem as though this might be a rathe
r strange region for thehike of a Boy Scout patrol; and had the parents or guardians of the boysknown as much about it as those living in Asheville, they might havethought twice before granting the lads permission to come here.
But it had been partly on the invitation of Bob White that theexpedition had been planned and mapped out. He seemed to have a strangeyearning to revisit the region that had been his former home; and whensome one proposed that they explore some of the mysteries of the famousBlue Ridge, Bob eagerly seconded the motion, in his warm Southern way.And that was how it started. Once boys get an idea in their heads, itsoon gains weight, just like a rolling snowball.
And now they were here, with the grim mountains all around them, silencewrapping them about, and mystery seeming to fill the very air. Buthealthy boys are not easily impressed or daunted by such things; andthey cracked jokes and carried on as boys will do with the utmostfreedom.
The conversation between Step Hen, Bumpus and Giraffe having attractedthe attention of the scoutmaster, he called out at this juncture:
"Whose knapsack is that you've got strapped on your back right now,Number Eight?"
A shout went up as Step Hen, quickly turning the article in questionaround surveyed it blankly; but apparently both Bumpus and Giraffe hadknown of its presence all the while, though pretending ignorance.
"Who strapped that to my back?" demanded the owner. "I don't rememberdoing it, give you my word for it, fellers. Mighty queer how thingsalways happen to _me_, and nobody else. But anyhow, I'm ready tocontinue the march, if the rest of you are."
Five minutes later, and the boys were straggling along the rough roadthat wound in and out, as it pierced the valleys between the peakslooming up on either side. There was no attempt at keeping order on themarch, and the boys, while trying to remain within sight of each other,walked along in groups or couples.
Giraffe and Bumpus, a strange combination always, yet very good chums,were at some distance in the lead. Bringing up the rear were Thad andAllan, examining some chart of the region, which Bob White had drawn forthem, and talking over what the plan of campaign should be.
In the midst of this pleasant afternoon quiet there suddenly arose thepiercing notes of the bugle, followed by a loud and hoarse shout; andlooking up hastily, Thad Brewster was surprised to see Bumpus wildlywaving both his arms. Although he was at some little distance away, andat the bottom of the decline, what he shouted came plainly to the earsof the young scoutmaster, giving him something of a thrill:
"Hey! come along here, you fellers; Giraffe, he's got stuck in thecrick, up to his knees, and he says it's quicksand!"