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Boy Scouts in the Blue Ridge

<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> <h3>SEEING GIRAFFE THROUGH.</h3> "Quicksand!" shrieked Step Hen, who happened to be keeping company with Davy Jones just ahead of the two leaders of the patrol. "Hey! hurry your stumps, fellers, and get there before poor Giraffe is pulled under. Ain't it lucky he c'n stretch his neck so far? Anyhow he ought to keep his head above water." Everybody was on the run by now, and as Bumpus kept sounding the assembly on his silver-plated bugle, what with the shouts of the advancing khaki-clad boys, the picture was an inspiring one. When they reached the border of the little stream that crossed the mountain road, sure enough, there was the tall scout up above his knees in the water, and looking rather forlorn. "What had I ought to do, Allan?" he bawled out, naturally appealing to the one whose practical experience was apt to be of more benefit to him at such a time than all the theories ever advanced. "You see, I was crossing here, and stopped right in the[12] middle to turn around and say somethin' to Bumpus. Then I found that both my feet seemed like they was glued down. When I tried to lift one, the other only sank down deeper. And it came to me like a flash that I was gripped in quicksand. When I told Bumpus here he squawked, and blew his horn to beat the band." "Horn!" echoed Bumpus, indignantly; "why can't you ever learn to say bugle. You're the only one I know of that owns to a horn; and you blow that often enough, I'll be bound." "Ain't you goin' to get me out?" demanded the now alarmed Giraffe, as he felt himself slowly but surely sinking deeper. "Say, is that the way to treat a fellow you all have known so long? I ain't foolin', let me tell you. And if you stand there much longer, grinnin' at me, it'll be too late! You'll feel sorry when you only see the top of my head above water. I tell you there ain't no bottom to this crick. It goes clean through to China, it does, now. Give us a hand, Allan, Thad. One scout ought to help another, you know; and I bet some of you haven't done a single good deed to-day, to let you turn your badge right-side up." Among Boy Scouts it is considered the proper thing to invert the badge every morning, and not change its position until the owner has something worth while to his credit, even though it may only be the helping of an old man across the busy street; or[13] the carrying of a basket for a lame woman coming from market. This was what Giraffe evidently had in mind, when trying to spur his comrades on to helping him out of the mire into which he had fallen. "What can be done for him, Allan?" asked the scoutmaster, turning to the other. "Yes, think up something, Allan; and for goodness sake be quick about it," called the one in the water. "Just hear how that sucks, will you, when I work my foot up and down? And now, there, the other leg's deeper by two inches than it was. Be quick about it, or you'll be sorry." "If there was a tree above his head I'd say get a rope over a limb, make a loop at the end, and drag him out that way," remarked Allan. "And pull my neck longer than it is; I'm glad then there ain't no tree!" snapped the alarmed Giraffe. "Oh! rats, he meant we'd put the loop under your arms, silly!" called out Davy. "Some of you get hold of those old fence rails over there," Allan went on. "We can make a mattress of them, and get over to Giraffe in that way. Jump, now, boys, for he is really and truly in a bad fix; and if left alone would sure go under." "Hurry! hurry!" shouted Giraffe, waving his long arms; "don't you hear what Allan says? It's sucking like anything. P'raps it'll open up, and pull me under before you can get started. Quick, boys![14] For the love of misery stir your stumps like true scouts!" They came running up, each bearing one of the old fence rails that had been at some time washed down the stream during a freshet. Allan took these as they arrived, and began to make a species of corduroy road out to the boy who was caught fast in the grip of the quicksand. "Throw yourself forward as much as you can, Giraffe," he said. "Never mind about whether you soil your uniform or not. You can get a new one; but you never will have another life you know. There, rest your weight on that rail, and begin to work both feet free. When you get to lift them up, we'll lend a hand, and yank you out in a jiffy. Get busy now, Giraffe!" And the one addressed certainly needed no second urging. He worked with a vim, and presently called out exultantly: "She's coming now, boys; I felt both feet give that time. Oh! it's going to be all right, after all. Bumpus, I promised you my stamp book; but I reckon I'll need it a while longer myself, so consider the thing off. Please come out, and give me that lift now, Allan. Two of you can do it easy enough." Bob White, with his usual promptness, when any one was in need of help, volunteered to assist Allan. Between them they succeeded in dragging the scout who was trapped in the quicksand, out of his unpleasant[15] predicament; and while about it all of them crossed to the other side of the creek, where they were speedily joined by the balance of the patrol; though every boy took advantage of the fence rails that lay scattered through the shallow water, in order to prevent any possibility of a repetition of the disaster that had overtaken their comrade. A halt was called, to enable Giraffe to wipe some of the mud from the lower portions of his uniform. And of course all sorts of talk passed back and forth, as might be expected among a parcel of lively boys out for a good time. Even the one so lately in dire danger had apparently gotten well over his nervous shock, for he laughed with the rest at the ludicrous nature of the event. "Say, what kind of natives do you have down here, Bob White?" asked Bumpus. "The same kind, I reckon, suh, that they raise in all mountain regions," came the ready reply of the sensitive Southern boy. "Some are pretty tough; but then again, I give you my word, suh, that there are others you can't beat for being the clear quill. But may I ask why you put that question to me, Bumpus?" "Sure. There was a feller perched up on that rock stickin' out above us," declared the fat boy, pointing his finger upward along the rugged and rocky face of the mountain side; "I called to him to come and help get poor old Giraffe out; but he[16] never made a move; just sat there, and grinned. He had a gun along with him, and I s'pose he was a specimen of the Blue Ridge mountaineer. Gee! you ought to a seen the long white beard the old feller sported!" "Oh!" exclaimed Bob White, looking excited, a fact that aroused the keen interest of all his comrades at once. "Do you know who he was?" demanded the indignant Bumpus. "I'm sorry to say, suh, that I think I do," replied the Southern boy, slowly. "If your description is correct, and believe me, I have no reason to doubt it, that man you saw must have been no other than Phin Dady!" "Phew! ain't that the moonshiner we heard so much about over in Asheville?" asked Step Hen. "The same man," answered Bob White, glancing a little nervously up toward the rock indicated by his comrade, and which, jutting out from the steep face of the mountain; offered a splendid outlook for any one who wished to see who might be coming along the winding road. "Well, I don't like his ways, that's all," muttered Giraffe, who was still trying to make his uniform look half-way decent after its recent rough usage. "Anybody with one eye could see that I was bein' sucked down like fun; and for him to just watch[17] Bumpus here, blowin' his bugle, and shoutin' for help, without offerin' to lend a hand, wasn't—well, decent, that's what. P'raps some day it'll be my turn to grin at him when he's in trouble." "But you wouldn't do it, you know that, Giraffe," said Thad, smiling. "You don't forget that a true scout must return good for evil. And if the time ever comes when old Phin Dady needs help that you can give, I'm dead sure you wouldn't hold back." Giraffe grumbled some more, but the scoutmaster knew that at heart he was not an ungenerous boy, though a little inclined to hold a grudge. "What are you thinking about, Bob White; you look as sober as though you didn't just like the looks of things any too much?" asked Allan, turning upon the other. "That's just right, suh, I can't say that I do," replied the Southern lad. "You see, I was wondering what old Phin would think about us. He's the most suspicious man in the mountains, and with reason, suh. Foh years, now, he's been hunted high and low by the revenue agents. They've done all sorts of things trying to capture old Phin, and raid his secret still; but up to now it's never been done. He likes a revenue man like he does a rattlesnake; and I give you my word for it, suh, the next thing on his list of hates is the uniform of a soldier!" Thad uplifted his eyebrows to indicate his surprise.[18] "I think I get your meaning, Bob White," he remarked, slowly and seriously. "Our uniforms might give this old moonshiner the idea that in some way we must be connected with the army; perhaps a detachment of scouts sent in here to get him in a corner, and knock his old moonshine Still, to flinders. Is that it, Bob?" "You hit the nail on the head when you say that, suh," replied the other. "When I lived down this way, I used to hear a heap about Old Phin; and I reckon he'd know who I was if you mentioned my name to him. That's the main reason why he just sat and laughed to see the wearer of the hated uniform now used by the United States army stuck in the quicksand. I reckon he only thought that it would mean one the less enemy for the Blue Ridge moonshiners to go up against." "It seems to me," spoke up Smithy at this juncture, "that in justice to ourselves we ought to seek an early opportunity to secure an interview with this gentleman, and explain our position. He should know that we have no relation with the army, and that in fact the mission of a Boy Scout is peace, not war." "Second the motion, boys!" exclaimed Bumpus; "and I hope our scoutmaster will appoint a committee of three, Bob White, Allan, and, well, Smithy here, to hunt up the said gent, and show him—hey, jump out of the way there, Step Hen; the whole[19] side of the mountain's coming down on top of you! Hurry! hurry!" But as the startled Step Hen hastened to obey, with considerable alacrity, Thad Brewster, looking up, saw a head withdrawn from the point whence the round stone that was rolling down the side of the steep incline must have had its start. Jumping in zigzag curves from one side to another, the rock finally landed with a great crash in the mountain road not ten feet from where the scouts were huddled in a group, watching its coming with staring eyes. <hr style="width: 65%;" />[20] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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