fRTT 3 I ftim.iiE«ii gled underbrush, his old clothes had some fresh tears, and his hands were cut and bleeding. For three solid hours he had worked his way up through the tangled forest, and now, as he 6z TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS reached the little trail which was not without its own obstacles, it seemed almost like a paved thor- oughfare by contrast. "Thank goodness!" he breathed. "It's good he didn't have to go that way — I — could see his inish!" He was the scout now, the typical scout — de- termined, resourceful; and his tattered khaki jacket, his slouched hat, his rolled-up sleeves, and the belt axe which he carried in his hand, bespoke the rugged power and strong will of this young fellow who had trembled when Miss Margaret Ellison spoke pleasantly to him. He sat down on a rock and poured some anti- septic over the scratches on his hands and arms. "I can fight the woods, all right," he muttered, "even if they won't let me go off and fight the Germans." After a few minutes' rest he hurried along the trail, pausing here and there and searching for any trifling sign which might indicate that the path had been recently traveled. Once his hopes of finding Roscoe were dashed by the discovery of a cobweb across the trail, but when he felt of it and found it sticky to the touch he knew that it had just been made. AN ACCIDENT 63 At last, hard though the ground was, he discov- ered a new footprint, and presently its meaning was confirmed when he caught a glint of light far ahead of him among the trees. At the sight of it his heart gave a great bound. He knew now for a certainty that he was right. He had known it all along, but he was doubly assured of it now. On the impulse he started to run, but his foot slipped upon an exposed root, and as he fell sprawling on the ground his head struck with a violent impact on a big stone. After a few stunned seconds he dragged him- self to a sitting posture; his head throbbed cruel- ly, and when he put his hand to his forehead he found that it was bleeding. He tried to stand, but when he placed his weight upon his left foot it gave him excruciating pain. He sat down on the rock, dizzy and faint, hold- ing his throbbing head and lifting his foot to ease, if possible, the agonizing pain. "I'm all right," he muttered impatiently. "I was a fool to start running; I might have known I was too tired." That was indeed the plain truth of the matter; he was so weary and spent that when, in the new 64 TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS assurance of success, he had begun to run, his tired feet had dragged and tripped him. "That's what — you — get for — hurrying," he breathed heavily; "like Roy always said — more haste — less Ouch, my ankle!" He tried again to stand, but the pain was too great, and his head swam so that he fell back on the rock. "I wish Doc — Carson — was here," he managed to say. Doc was the troop's First-Aid Scout. "It — it was just — because I didn't — lift my feet — like Roy's always telling me — so clumsy!" He soaked his handkerchief in antiseptic and bound it about his forehead, which was bleeding less profusely. After a few minutes, feeling less dizzy, he stood upon his feet, with a stoical dis- regard of the pain, determined to continue his journey if he possibly could. The agony was excruciating, but he set his strong, thick lips tight, and, passing from one tree to another, with the aid of his hands, he managed to get along. More than once he stopped, cling- ing to a tree trunk, and raised his foot to ease the anguish. His head throbbed with a cruel, steady ache, and the faintness persisted so that often he AN ACCIDENT 65 felt he was about to reel, and only kept his feet by clinging to the trees. "This — this is just about — the time I'd be go- ing to that — racket " he said. "Gee, but that foot hurts!" He would have made a sorry figure on the plat- form. His old khaki jacket and trousers were almost in shreds. Bloodstains were all over his shirt. A great bloody scratch was visible upon his cheek. His hands were cut by brambles. There was a grim look on his dirty, scarred face. I am not so sure that he would have looked any nobler if he had been in the first-line trenches, fighting for Uncle Sam. . . . CHAPTER IX ROSCOE JOINS THE COLORS It was now nearly dark, and Tom worked his way along slowly, hobbling where there were no trees, and grateful for their support when he found them bordering the trail. His foot pained him exquisitely and he still felt weak and dizzy. At last, after almost superhuman efforts, he brought himself within sight of the dark outline of the shack, which seemed more lonesome and isolated than ever before. He saw that the light was from a fire in the clearing near by, and a smaller light was discernible in the window of the shack itself. Tom had always stood rather in awe of Roscoe Bent, as one of humble origin and simple ways is apt to feel toward those who live in a different world. And even now, in this altogether strange situation and with all the advantages both of right and courage on his side, he could not repress something of the same feeling, as he approached the little camp. He dragged himself to within a few feet of the 66 ROSCOE JOINS THE COLORS 67 fire and stood clutching a tree and leaning against it as Roscoe Bent, evidently startled, came out and faced him. A pathetic and ghastly figure Tom must have looked to the fugitive, who stood staring at him, lantern in hand, as if Tom were some ghostly scarecrow dropped from the clouds. "It's me — Tom Slade," Tom panted. "You — needn't be scared." Roscoe looked suspiciously about him and peered down the dark trail behind Tom. "What are you doing here?" he demanded roughly. "Is anybody with you? Who'd you bring " "No, there ain't," said Tom, almost reeling. His weakness and the fear of collapsing before he could speak gave him courage, but he forgot the little speech which he had prepared, and poured out a torrent which completely swept away any little advantage of self-possession that Roscoe might have had. "I didn't bring anybody!" he shouted weakly. "Do you think I'm a spy? Did you ever know a scout that was a sneak? Me and you — are all alone here. I knew you was here. I knew you'd come here, because you're crazy. I seen — saw — 68 TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS It was characteristic of Tom that on the infre- quent occasions when he became angry, or his feel- ings got the better of him, he would fall into the old illiterate phraseology of Barrel Alley. He steadied himself against the tree now and tried to speak more calmly. "D'you think just 'cause you jollied me and made a fool out of me in front of Miss Ellison that I wouldn't be a friend to you? Do you think" — he shouted, losing all control of himself — "that because I didn't know how to talk to you and — and — answer you — like — that I was a-scared of you? Did you think I couldn't find you easy enough? Maybe I'm — maybe I'm thick — M V( (U'VE < IOME-TO SHOW ME THE RIGHT WAV, JUST AS YOU DID BEFORE." Page 202 ROSCOE BREAKS HIS PROMISE 205 "Sure, now?" "I ain't the kind that breaks my word," said Tom dully. "But besides that, I want to hear you." Roscoe held his hand tight for a full minute. Then they parted and he hurried along the River Road. He was already late, but he would probably have hurried anyway, for when the heart is danc- ing it is hard for the feet to move slowly. And Roscoe's heart was dancing. He could "see straight" now, all right. To be a soldier you must see straight as well as shoot straight. He swung along the River Road with a fine air, as if he owned it, and passing a small boy (bound across the river, perhaps) he lifted the youngster's hat off and handed it to him with a laugh. When he reached the Ellison cottage he deliberately kept pushing the bell button again and again, just out of sheer exuberance, until Margaret herself threw the door open and ex- claimed, "What in the world is the matter?" "Nothing; can't you take a joke?" "You're late," she said. "Sure; I'm a punk soldier. That's a swell hat 2o6 TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS you've got on. Can you hustle? If you don't mind, we'll take the short cut through the grove." It was a swell hat, there is no denying that, and she looked very pretty in it. "I'm taking my knitting," she said, handing him one of those sumptuous bags with two vicious- looking knitting needles sticking out of it. "I hate to go through the grove, it's so spooky," she said, as they hurried along. "I'm always seeing things there. Do you, ever?" "Oh, yes." "Really? What?" "Oh, lions and tigers and things." "Now you make me afraid," she shuddered. "I met a lion in there to-night," he said; "that's what delayed me. If I see another one, I'll jab him with one of these knitting needles. Hear that screech-owl? He sounds like the Kaiser'll feel next year. — Do you know that Blakeley kid?" "Roy? Surely I do. Everybody knows him." "He's all wool and a yard wide, isn't he ?" "Yes, he's fine." "Look out you don't trip on that rock. — He walked down the street with me last night and talked about — about that Slade fellow." 1 om, you mean r ROSCOE BREAKS HIS PROMISE 207 "Yes ; he's a staunch believer in Tom, even yet." She made no answer. "I think you kind of liked that fellow," said Roscoe teasingly. "I always said if he ever made up his mind to do a thing he'd do it." "Well, I guess he went and done it, as my old school grammar used to say." "I don't like to hear you speak flippantly about him." "How about me? Suppose I should make up my mind to do a thing " "Here we are at the bridge already," she said. The new Y. M. C. A. Assembly Hall presented a gay scene, and they pushed through the crowd, Roscoe opening a way for the girl to pass, greeted on both hands by his friends and former com- panions. It seemed as if all the young people of the town were on hand; scouts were conspicuously in evidence, and among them all Mr. Ellsworth hustled genially about attending to a hundred and one duties. "There you are," said Roscoe; "take that seat. Reminds you of that meeting on June fifth last when I wasn't with you — and Slade didn't show 208 TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS up either. Now, don't forget to clap when I stand up, will you?" He swung up onto the platform, where Roy and Pee-wee and Doc Carson and Connie Bennett and the whole tribe of Silver Foxes clustered about him, helping him out of his big military coat and hovering about the chair he sat in. Even Dr. Wade, of the Y. M. C. A., and the gentlemen of the Local Scout Council received less attention. As he sat there waiting, one or two of the scouts noticed (for scouts are nothing if not observant) that he craned his neck and looked far back into the lobby. If they thought twice about it, how- ever, they probably attributed it to nervousness. At last, after much impatient handclapping, all except the stage lights were dimmed, and Roy no- ticed again how the soldier peered searchingly into the back of the hall. "Your mother and father coming?" he asked. "They might stroll around." "You look dandy," Roy whispered. Roscoe grabbed him by the neck pleasantly and winked as he reached slyly over and pulled Pee- wee's belt axe from its martial sheath, to the amusement of some boys in the audience. But it was no matter for laughing, for if the Germans ROSCOE BREAKS HIS PROMISE 209 should break through the French lines at Verdun, say, and push through to Bordeaux, capture all the French transports, run the British blockade and make a sudden flank move against Bridgeboro, Pee-wee would be very thankful that he had his belt-axe along. It was a great affair — that meeting. Dr. Wade told of the aims of the new Y. M. C. A.; the Methodist Scouts gave an exhibition of pole jump- ing; the Elks (one member short) gave a demon- stration of First-Aid bandaging, and a Red Cross woman gave a demonstration of surgery, for (as Roy said) she extracted one bone from everybody in the audience. Oh, it was a great affair! They had a movie play, Scouts in Service; the Bridge- boro Quartette sang Over There; a real, live Bel- gian refugee told how the gentle, kind Germans burned his little home and sent his sisters and brothers into slavery. Perhaps it was this tragic story fresh in their minds which caused the crowd to clap vigorously when Private Bent, Second Infantry, U. S. A., jumped to his feet as Mr. Ellsworth finished in- troducing him and stood, feet close together, straight as an arrow, a little flush of embarrass- ment upon his handsome face, and threw his head 210 TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS back suddenly to- get his little forelock of wavy hair out of the way. It is no discredit to Dr. Wade or to Mr. Perry, of the Local Council, that Roscoe caught the audi- ence with his first words. He was so young and fresh, so boyishly off-hand — so different from the others who had spoken. And then his straight young figure and his uniform ! "I don't know exactly why I'm here," he said; "I got this thing wished on me and you've got me wished on you. I'm sorry for you. So far as I'm concerned I guess I don't deserve any sympathy. I ran right into Scoutmaster Ellsworth with my eyes wide open [laughter] and he nabbed me. I should have kept my fingers crossed when I came back to Bridgeboro. He took me to his house and fed me on sugar " "You're lucky," some one called. "And what could I do after that?" "If I ever get clear of the Boy Scouts, believe me, I'll never get tangled up with them again. [Laughter.] But they tell me I'll see more of them in England and still more of them in France — so I guess there's no hope of getting away from them. [Laughter and applause.] "If this thing keeps up we'll have to start a ROSCOE BREAKS HIS PROMISE 211 campaign' to swat the scout, and see if we can't exterminate them in that way. [Uproarious shouts from Pee-wee.] "But, ladies and gentlemen and scouts — not that scouts aren't gentlemen [laughter] — I don't think soldiers ought to be expected to make speeches. Actions speak louder than words, as the Kaiser will find out [Pee-wee was re- strained with difficulty.] So I'm just going to do something instead of standing here talking. Scout- master Ellsworth said for me to put plenty of pep into my little performance. And I'm going to put some tabasco sauce in it [Pee-wee again] and I hope it will hold him for a while. "He introduced me as an enlisted soldier. Two thousand eight hundred and fifty-seven times in the last two days, he's called me that. It's a base libel ! I didn't enlist; I was drafted. [Laughter.] "And now I'm going to let you into a secret. Before Registration Day I felt pretty much as I felt about coming here to-night — I had cold feet. I have only the one thought now," he added, speaking more earnestly, "and that is to get over there and get one good whack at that crew of bandits and murderers ! [Loud cheering.] "But before Registration Day I was scared — 212 TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS just plain scared. You soon get rid of that when you get into the uniform. [Applause.] Well, I'm ashamed to say it, but I ran away. I had a crazy notion I could get away with it. I went up to a lonely place on a mountain near that big scout camp." You could have heard a pin drop in the hall now. "And one of these fellows — these scouts — sus- pected where I had gone and came up there after me and brought me to my senses." Roscoe's voice had grown gradually lower, and he spoke hesitat- ingly now, but the silence was so intense that every word was audible. "He pawned a gold medal he had to pay his way up there and he made me come back. here. He missed his part in the big rally. He couldn't come back himself because he'd hurt his ankle. — He made me come back here where I belonged — to register! "And then when he found No, wait a minute, I'll read you the letter!" He was in a fine frenzy of enthusiasm again now that he had finished the recital of his own shameful part in the affair. He took out Tom's letter and read it — read every word of it — and ROSCOE BREAKS HIS PROMISE 213 finished it with his cheeks flushed and his voice ringing: ". . . so I'm going away to help in a way I can do without breaking my word to any- body. The thing I care most about is that you got registered. And next to that I'm glad because I like you" — Roscoe shook his head hastily and stopped for a second to con- trol his voice — "because I like you and I al- ways did — even when you made fun of me " "What he liked me for, I'm hanged if / know — but that's the kind of a fellow Tom Slade is- " Whatever became of him?" some one on the platform whispered to some one else. There was a slight sound back in the lobby of the hall. "Somebody down there head him off; don't let him get away!" called Roscoe, stepping right to the front of the platform. "Start him down here! He didn't get away, did he?" Roy Blakeley, vaulting over two rows of chairs, was in the aisle in three seconds. Everybody turned and looked toward the back of the hall. 2i 4 TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS Some stood, peering cautiously into the dim lobby, where a little scuffle seemed to be going on. Then Roscoe himself leaped straight over the orches- tra's space and started up the aisle. But he was not needed. For Mr. Ellsworth himself had caught Tom by the collar, thrusting him out into the aisle, where Roy clutched him by the arm. And then the crowd saw him; saw him standing shamefacedly there as if still inclined to break away and run for it; his head hanging down, his big hand moving nervously on the old book-strap which he wore for a belt. The necktie, which presumably Mrs. O'Connor had furnished him, was all awry, and in the half light they could see, too, that his old clothes were faded and torn. He seemed quite indifferent to everybody and every- thing — even to Mr. Ellsworth — though he smiled nervously at Roscoe. But Roy Blakeley, clinging to his arm, could feel what no one else could feel or see — Tom's hand pressing his wrist like a wireless signal, and Roy, like the bully scout he was, understood the code, took the message, and was silent. CHAPTER XXVII THE END OF THE TRAIL Yes, that was a great meeting — it was a peach of a meeting! "You broke your word," accused Tom, as Ros- coe elbowed his way in. "I did nothing of the kind. I asked you to trust a soldier's honor. You know more about a sol- dier's honor now than you did before, don't you?" "Good-night!" laughed Roy. "No more sol- dier's honor for you! Hey, Tomasso? You've had enough of it." Indeed he had had altogether too much of it. But his embarrassment passed as the bulk of the crowd, not involved in this surprising turn of af- fairs, took its way homeward, leaving the scouts and a few others in the hall. And soon things worked around so that Roscoe saw Tom alone. Not altogether alone, either, for Margaret Ellison was with him. How Roy and Pee-wee chanced to miss this I do not know. 215 2i 6 TOxM SLADE WITH THE COLORS The girl said very little, but stared at him until at last he said, "Are you looking at that scar? It don't look good, but it'll go away, I guess." "How did you get it?" she asked. "He gave his place to another man," said Ros- coe, "and was dumped into the ocean alone." "A chunk of wood banged me in the forehead," said Tom simply. "Tom, I want you to do me a favor," said Ros- coe, while Margaret continued to gaze at him. "It's a terribly impolite thing to suggest, but if you'd be willing to walk over to East Bridgeboro with Margaret, I could go home and get my things together. I'm afraid I'll miss the only train. You come to my house afterward and go to the train with me. You don't mind, do you, Marge? He'll protect you from the lions and tigers." If she minded she didn't show it. "I — ain't dressed up," said Tom awkwardly. "I'm so glad of that!" she said. Never in his life had he walked with a girl anywhere near his own age, and he felt just as he had felt that gala day when he had chatted with her in Temple Camp office. And because he was THE END OF THE TRAIL 217 flustered and knew of nothing in particular to say, he repeated just what he had said then — that he could see she liked Roscoe, and he added that he didn't blame her, for Roscoe was "so good- looking in his uniform — kind of." To this she made no answer; but after a few minutes she said, "Will you take me through Barrel Alley where you used to live?" So Tom took her through Barrel Alley, an- swering her questions about his experiences and telling of spies and torpedoings and his rescue and cruise to South America simply, almost dully, as if they were things. which were not worth talking about. When they came behind John Temple's big bank building, they stood on the barrel staves whence the alley derived its name and counted the floors and picked out the windows of Temple Camp office. "You'll come in and see Mr. Burton in the morning, won't you?" she said. "Maybe," said Tom. The good scout trail, which had wound over half the earth, took them on down that poor, sordid alley, and he showed her the tenement where he had once lived. 2i 8 TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS "The day we got put out," he said simply, "the sheriff stood a beer can on my mother's picture." "Oh!" she said; "and then?" "Nothing then," said Tom, "only I knocked him into the gutter. I got arrested." They came out into the brighter light and clearer air of Main Street, and now the good scout trail, which indeed had not disappointed him, led them toward the quiet river and the wil- lows and the hilly banks and across the bridge, from which he showed her the troop's cabin boat (soon to be plastered with Liberty Loan posters) , and into the rural quiet of East Bridgeboro. "I said it was a trail," said Tom. "Yes?" "I mean everything you do — kind of. It's just a trail. You don't know where it'll take you." "It's just brought you back to the same place, hasn't it?" she said. "But it won't stop," said Tom. "It don't make any difference, anyway, as long as you hit the right one. Once I thought it was kind of a crazy notion about everything you do being a trail. But now I know different. And if you do the wrong thing, you get on the wrong trail, that's all. Maybe you don't understand exactly what I mean." THE END OF THE TRAIL 219 "I do understand." "It's brought me right back to where I'm talk- ing to you again the same as on Registration Day. So you see it's a good trail. I got a kind of an idea that there can be a trail in your brain — like. — Often I think of things like that that I can't make other people understand — not even Roy sometimes. — I guess maybe girls understand better." "Maybe," she said. "Do you see I'm wearing the little badge you gave me yet?" They strolled on, following the trail, and neither spoke for a few minutes. "In the end you don't get misjudged," said Tom simply, "because if you get on the right trail it'll bring you to the right place. If you've got the right on your side, you got to win." "And that's why we'll win the war," she said. "A feller that maybe got drowned told me about a little girl in London that got blown up while she was studying her lessons. And when I heard that I knew we'd win." "Uncle Sam's like you, Tom," she laughed. "When he makes up his mind to do a thing . . . Do you remember how you told me you had a 220 TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS good muscle? Uncle Sam's got a good muscle, don't you think?" "I was thinking something like that when I looked at Roscoe to-night," he said. "We got to trust to Uncle Sam." "The whole world is trusting to Uncle Sam now." "He's got the muscle," said Tom. "Yes." The trail led through a fragrant avenue of evergreens now, through a solitude where Tom had often hiked, and presently they turned into the path which formed the short cut to the girl's home. Across the river, on the top of the bank building, they could see the Stars and Stripes wav- ing in the small field of brightness thrown by the searchlight. And all else was darkness. So, chatting idly, but all the while coming to know each other better, they passed the log on which Tom and Roscoe had sat and talked, and strolled on through the dark, silent grove, where the lions and tigers were, and where the lonely screech-owl still hooted his dismal song. THE END ft a