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Title: Lucky, the Boy Scout

Author: Elmer Sherwood

Illustrator: Alice Carsey

Release date: October 2, 2024 [eBook #74504]

Language: English

Original publication: Racine: Whitman Publishing Company

Credits: Susan E., David E. Brown, Rod Crawford, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LUCKY, THE BOY SCOUT ***


[Illustration: HIS LITTLE FORM HURLED ITSELF THROUGH THE AIR (_See Page
37_)]




  LUCKY, THE
  BOY SCOUT

  _by_
  ELMER SHERWOOD

  [Illustration]

  _Illustrated by Alice Carsey_

  WHITMAN PUBLISHING CO.
  RACINE, WISCONSIN




  COPYRIGHT, 1916
  By
  WHITMAN PUBLISHING COMPANY

  Printed in U. S. A.




  To the Boy Scout
  Who Strives to
  Live Up to His
  Pledge

[Illustration]




CONTENTS


      I. LUCKY MEETS JOHN DEAN             13

     II. MISS WHITE’S STORY                20

    III. THE FIRE                          31

     IV. JOHN DEAN FINDS A “FRIEND”        41

      V. NEWS FOR THE DOUBLE X             47

     VI. DEAN MEETS COLONEL SANDS          56

    VII. TED AT HOME AT THE DOUBLE X       63

   VIII. RED MACK AND TED INVESTIGATE      69

     IX. THE MARSHES PAY A DEBT            77

      X. A LOSING GAME                     83

     XI. TED AT WAYLAND                    92

    XII. THE TRAIN-WRECKERS               102

   XIII. TED IS CHOSEN FOR A MISSION      111

    XIV. BOUND FOR CHICAGO                118

     XV. PLANS ARE MADE TO MEET TED       126

    XVI. TED ARRIVES IN CHICAGO           135

   XVII. TED MEETS STRONG                 141

  XVIII. SETTING A TRAP                   149

    XIX. STRONG SEEMS CHECKMATED          159

     XX. THE DICTAPHONE AT WORK           170

    XXI. WINCKEL CALLS A HALT             182

   XXII. AT OTTAWA                        189

  XXIII. TED RECEIVES A REWARD            196

   XXIV. TED GOES BACK                    203

    XXV. THE MARSHES REUNITED             210




ILLUSTRATIONS


  HIS LITTLE FORM HURLED ITSELF THROUGH THE AIR      FRONTISPIECE

  DOWN TO THE LAKE FOR A SWIM                                  27

  RED CAME SHEEPISHLY FORWARD                                  61

  TWENTY MEN WERE OFF TO BRAND CATTLE                          70

  THE MEN FROM THE OUTSIDE CREPT CLOSER                        90

  THE TWO BOYS WENT ON A FISHING TRIP                          97

  HE WAVED THE RED SWEATER                                    109

  TED FREES THE PRISONERS                                     179




Lucky, the Boy Scout




CHAPTER I

LUCKY MEETS JOHN DEAN


“Watch my papers, will you please, Mister?” Scarcely waiting for a
reply, the bright eyed little newsboy left his stand and darted across
the street, where he confronted a ragamuffin, nearly a head taller than
himself.

“You have to play fair,” he began hotly, “or you can’t sell papers in
this block.” Then calling to a youngster who looked little more than a
baby, and who was standing several yards away where the bigger boy had
chased him, he said:

“Come back here, Billy! You have as much right to this corner as Spot.
And don’t you forget that, you Spot,” he flung back over his shoulder
as he recrossed the street.

The big stranger who had been left in charge of the papers, watched
the proceedings with considerable amusement.

“What’s the trouble, sonny?” he asked, and beneath the stern lines of
his face lurked a smile that invited confidence.

The boy recognized him as a rancher, for many of his type came to this
great packing center, bringing their herds from the big ranches of the
West. You could easily tell them by their breezy manners and friendly
ways.

“Oh, that Spot chases every little feller off the block, so there won’t
be any com--com--”

“Competition?” the ranchman suggested.

“That’s it--competition. Spot’s nothing but a bully. He won’t pick on
anyone his size.”

“And you take it upon yourself to ‘beard the lion in his den’ and act
as champion?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” replied the boy, flushing, “but how
are all these little fellows going to get a start in business unless
somebody takes their part?”

The cattleman eyed the boy keenly. He was quite different from the
other little “newsies” shouting hoarsely the startling news of their
papers’ headlines. He appeared underfed, as did many of the children of
the slums crowding the streets; his clothes were patched and repatched,
but they were clean. His face, too, was clean, and his hair, somewhat
ragged and uncut, showed the industrious use of comb and brush. He was
a lad of about twelve.

John Dean--for that was the stranger’s name--looked down the narrow,
dirty, ill-smelling street, with its crowds of surging humanity, down
the dingy rows of tenement houses with their crying children and
their scolding mothers standing in the doorways. He saw the heavy
trucks pounding over the brick pavements, and the rattling wagons, and
he thought of the calm that rested over his own boundless country.
What a difference there was between the fetid air that rose from
this cavernous street and the invigorating breeze that swept across
his prairie lands out West! What a difference there was between his
stalwart, robust cowboys and the wan-faced, hollow-chested men he saw
about him!

The boy before him, according to all the rules of the game should have
been another victim of the environment in which he lived. Dean found
himself liking the lad, his actions, and especially his championship of
the weak. Was there much of such material in this crowded, unwholesome
place, he wondered, as he continued on his way.

The business that had called Mr. Dean to Chicago was completed and yet
he was compelled to wait four days more because he had promised to meet
a certain man, who would not arrive in Chicago until then. Time would
hang heavily on his hands, he thought. His thoughts traveled back to
the newsboy.

There came to him a sudden impulse; he decided to follow it and so he
retraced his steps to where the boy was stationed.

“Back again, mister?” The boy smiled in greeting as if to an old
friend. But it could be no more than a second’s greeting, for customers
kept him busy.

“What’s your name, sonny?” the man asked, when the opportunity offered.

“Ted--Ted Marsh,” answered the boy.

“Will you soon be through?” Dean inquired. “I’ll tell you why I ask. I
should like you to take me about the city. I know something about it,
but there are lots of places I want to see which you can show me. I
will pay you for your time, of course.”

The boy thought for a minute. He turned and looked squarely at the man.
Dean liked that--he met his eye.

“You will have to wait until I finish my papers,” the boy said. “Then
I will have to run home and let my mother know. Otherwise she would
worry. But I’ll tell you what, sir”--a new idea had come to him--“I can
take you down to the Settlement; you can see that while I finish up.”

“That’s all right, lad. I’ll watch awhile and see you doing business.”

This promised to be quite interesting, John Dean decided, with a sudden
zest. He looked forward to the evening before him. He watched the boy,
his quickness and his method, and he noted that Ted was the least bit
quicker than the other boys and that he seemed to enjoy the competition
and the struggle of selling papers. Dean decided it was a hard game.
The boy’s stock of papers was rapidly diminishing.

“I can take you over now, Mr.----”

“Dean,” answered the owner of that name, smiling.

“Then I can return and finish up, get home and be back, all in about an
hour. Will that be all right?”

“It will--fine,” was the reply.

The two walked down to the Settlement. On the way Ted explained how
fine a place it was, just what it did, the clubs in it, and the
gymnasium classes. He told the man, quite proudly, that he was a Scout.

“My! I wish you could meet Miss Wells,” the boy added.

The man started. He turned eagerly at the name. He was about to ask a
question--stopped--changed his mind and allowed the boy to continue
telling of the many fine points of the place to which he was being
taken. The boy did so with tremendous pride.

“I suppose you go to the Settlement often?” he remarked.

“Sure,” was the reply. “It’s better than idling about on the corners.
More fun, too,” he added.

The man’s interest grew. He asked many questions, all of which the boy
answered as best he could.

Miss White, one of the workers, came to the door.

“Hello, Ted,” she greeted him pleasantly. She also smiled a welcome to
the man.

“This is Mr. Dean, a friend of mine,” said Ted. “Is Miss Wells in, Miss
White?”

“No, she will not be in until late in the evening. Can I do anything?”

The boy explained and added that he wanted Mr. Dean to know the place.
Miss White promised to show it to him, while Ted hurried back to finish
the sale of his papers before going home.

To Miss White, who was very friendly and likable, Dean explained his
impulse and his impressions, his desire to know more of the boy. Miss
White was fully acquainted with the facts, she knew Ted quite well and
also knew his family.

The man listened closely while she told the boy’s history.




CHAPTER II

MISS WHITE’S STORY


The story, as Miss White told it, was not unusual in that part of the
city, but to John Dean there was every element of newness in it.

He listened without interruption as the story unfolded itself.

Mrs. Marsh, Ted’s mother, had had a hard time of it. Bill Marsh had
married her eighteen years ago. Bill was a good mechanic, but after
about six years of happiness things began to go wrong. He lost his
position and at that time work was not easy to get. Day after day he
had searched for something to do. Discouraged, he had taken to drink.
Then there was a day when Bill did not return. In all these years Mrs.
Marsh had never heard of him. She felt he was dead, yet even that she
did not know.

It was a hard struggle afterward. Sewing and washing, early and late,
and many a day she went hungry, so that the two children could eat.
The mother often spoke of how Ted, when eight years old, had gone out
one afternoon and had not returned until seven o’clock. Without a word
he had put fifteen cents on the table and then had turned to eat. He
showed by the way he ate how hungry he was. After the meal was over, he
explained how he had made up his mind to support the family, and so he
had bought some papers; the fifteen cents was profit. His capital, also
some extra pennies, was intact, so that he could buy more papers.

“I’m going to support this family,” Ted had said, “I’m the man and it’s
up to me.”

That was the beginning of Ted as a newsboy. He was very proud of his
newsboy badge, and gradually, as he grew older, his help was quite a
big share of the family expense, it counted against the family burden.

When Ted was almost eleven, he had joined the Settlement. Miss Wells,
who grew to know the boy, his fine qualities, his independence and
manliness had had a wonderful influence upon him. But there was also
in Ted that mischievous streak, that spirit of fun, and even of
trouble-making that every healthy, normal boy has.

It was through one of these mischievous pranks that Miss Wells had
first met Ted. One day the boys had shut themselves in a room, six
or seven of them, and bolted the door. When Mr. Jones, who was the
Settlement Boys’ Worker, had asked them to come out, none of them
wanted to show the white feather, and so they had not answered him,
but had continued to stay in there. Mr. Jones locked the door with a
key and left them, expecting that very soon they would call out, send
an S. O. S., and beg to be let out. But there was no call, and after a
half hour or so he had gone back to the door. It was very quiet within,
unusually so. He managed to open the door after quite a lot of work.
The room was empty.

There was only one other way out, through the window. It was a sheer
drop of twenty or more feet, so to escape from there seemed out of the
question. The last boy dropping out of the window could not, of course,
stop to close it, and the fact remained that the window was closed.

Could they have come out through the door? He was sure they had not
done so, as he had been very near the room all of the time. Then, too,
it was hardly likely that any of the boys would have had a key to fit
the rather unusual lock.

Cautious was Mr. Jones. These observations had to be made without
creating any suspicion in any of the other watching, grinning boys
all about. He did not wish them to know that things were not as they
should be and that he was at sea as to how they had made their escape.
Pretty soon the boys who had been in that room, one after another, came
into the building. They were all so innocent looking, butter would not
have melted in the mouths of any of them. They never did tell him, but
they did tell Miss Wells and the rest of the workers, how Ted would
not let them open the door and had refused to let them call Mr. Jones
when the door had been locked a half hour. How he had called for help
to some older boys who had been passing in the street below. They were
not members of the Settlement and were ready for any mischief. They
had obtained a ladder that Ted told them was lying on the ground near
a close-by fence. He had been the last to leave on that ladder, which
almost touched the window-sill, and he had carefully closed the window
after him. He warned them not to tell Mr. Jones, but it was too good a
joke not to tell others.

It was after this that Miss Wells had spoken to Ted and had realized
how much fineness there was in the boy, in spite of his mischievous,
fun-loving disposition. There were other times Ted had been caught in
mischief, but there never had been any suspicion of meanness in any
of the escapades. He was honest, you felt that, and he looked at you
fearlessly, truthfully. He learned to love Miss Wells; she could do
things with him, when others could not. She could make him see what
was right and what was wrong, what was fair and what was not fair. She
made him see ahead, too; to have ambitions and a desire to be something
worth while. He had a good head and he often used it, too.

A great opportunity came to Ted and to the other boys. A scout master
came to the Settlement and Ted, now over 12, became a Scout. He did
many extra little things so that he could earn the necessary money
for the suit and the other expenses, such as initiation and dues. The
sale of the Posts helped him and he eagerly watched the announcements
of the many awards of the Saturday Evening Post. While not often
successful in prize-winning, the help he received from his sales was
invaluable. He soon passed his tenderfoot test and earnestly and
successfully tried to understand woodcraft and all the other things a
Scout should know. He was loyal to his oath. It had to be a very good
deed each day for him to be satisfied. Being a good Scout was a great
ambition, so he found.

Much trouble he had had with the boys of the neighborhood. Once he had
seen three or four of them laughing at and poking a tiny mongrel to
whose tail they had tied a tin can almost as big as the pup itself.
There was a good deed to do, and so he sprang at the laughing, jeering
urchins, who gave way for but a moment and then proceeded to pound him.
It was a hard fight and they were succeeding fairly well when two of
the Settlement boys came along and the other youngsters scampered.

The poor pup, after Ted had untied the string, licked his shoes,
whining eagerly, and so, with a sudden impulse, the boy had picked
up the pup and brought him home. Mrs. Marsh had not been specially
pleased, but she let Ted have his way. The dog stayed.

Between school and the Settlement Ted was receiving an education equal
to that of any one. Only the summer before Miss Wells had spoken to
Mrs. Marsh and then both of them had insisted that Ted was to go to the
Settlement Camp for two weeks.

“I can’t go,” answered Ted. There was regret in his voice. To go seemed
the most wonderful thing in the world. “Who’s going to tend to my
papers and my Posts? I’m not going to lose my customers; can’t afford
to build up a new business.” The voice sounded final.

“You can get some of the other boys to do it for the two weeks,” Miss
Wells replied. “I’m sure Tom and Arthur would do it for you and then,
when they go, you can help them.”

That plan suited Tom and Arthur just as much as it did Ted. So he went
to camp for two weeks. I do not have to tell any of the boys who read
this of the fun he had. Tramping, going to the village, swimming,
rowing.

[Illustration: DOWN TO THE LAKE FOR A SWIM]

The bugle awakened them at six-thirty. Down to the lake for a swim and
setting-up exercises. Or, if you happened to be on the Cook, Waiters’
or Mess Tent Committee, you had to arise at five-thirty to prepare
breakfast. At seven you were so hungry you could eat shoeleather. At
seven-fifteen, you went to it.

Then your work, whatever committee you were on, Grounds, Tent, Water,
such as it was, had to be done. At ten-thirty, inspection, then a tramp
or another swim, perhaps rowing or reading, if you were lazy. Dinner,
for which you were quite ready, or, perhaps, this was the day for a
long “hike” and you were off somewhere, with lunch.

There usually was a baseball game in the afternoon. Some of the boys,
Ted too, caddied for a neighboring golf club several afternoons of the
week. The money thus earned paid for Ted’s stay at camp.

At night there was a campfire and songs. Ted had a wonderful time, but
the two weeks were up very, very soon. Without a useless regret, he
went back to his papers and his daily job.

Mrs. Marsh’s lot became a little easier. Thanks to her daughter
Helen’s wages and Ted’s earnings, things had been bettered.

Miss White went on to explain about Helen. She was sixteen years old,
for more than a year she had been one of the many salesgirls in one of
the big department stores of Chicago. She was a bright girl, always
willing, and so attentive that the miserable wage with which she had
started had been doubled in the one year. It was still pitifully small
notwithstanding.

“Mrs. Marsh has often said, ‘I am rich in my children, if in nothing
else’,” she quoted.

“She certainly is,” John Dean answered heartily.

There were more things Miss White told John Dean. As he listened he
made up his mind to do what he could, for here was a youngster who had
the makings of a fine man. Dean felt that this was a great opportunity
for him.

When Ted came in soon after he found his two friends going through
the Settlement and Miss White explaining to an interested and earnest
listener the things the Settlement was doing, just how it was making
good future citizens.

As Mr. Dean turned to leave, he asked Miss White for pen and ink and
left a check for a large amount with her.

“Just a little to help in the work,” he remarked. And because he was a
modest and a very bashful man, he blushed. Ted and he hurried out.




CHAPTER III

THE FIRE


“Ted,” Dean turned to the boy, “I should like to go through that part
of the city in which you live. I want to see the streets around there
and what is on them.”

Ted wondered why anyone should want to see that part if they did not
have to do it. But he did not question; after all, it was for his
friend to say what to do and where to go.

So they walked that way. After fifteen minutes or so, Ted turned to
Dean and said:

“This is my street.”

They walked a few more blocks and Ted added, “I live a little way
further up.” The man continued observing and made no comment. He was
thinking--thinking hard. He turned to the boy and was about to speak.

“Ted, how long--”

Even as he spoke came the distant, insistent clang of bells, the blare
and blast of many whistles, shrieking their warnings. It seemed but
a second later when a belching fire-engine, followed by a stream of
trucks, dashed perilously through the crowded street, while in their
wake came a mob of hurrying people pouring from the dark doorways of
the tenements. From a side street came a police patrol.

The boy climbed to the top of a stand and from that vantage point he
saw a cloud of smoke issuing from a tenement building a couple of
blocks away. As he looked a tongue of fire shot from one of its windows
and licked its way up the side of the building.

“That’s down near where I live,” John Dean heard the boy say, as he
leaped down from the box and started on a run. The rancher hastened
after him, threading his way through the crowd. Back of them came
another newsboy.

“Your house is burning up, Ted,” he shouted, but Ted had already seen
the disaster that had come upon his home. It was a poor one indeed, but
a home, nevertheless, that sheltered his mother. Ted wondered where
she was. He knew that Helen at least was not there.

The cattleman had never seen a city fire. Before they arrived at the
burning building, the police had driven back the fighting crowds and
had drawn ropes across the street, past which no one dared go. Helmeted
firemen rushed through doorways, drawing long lines of hose, while now
and then, through the smoke and fire pouring from the windows, heroic
men could be seen clinging to the face of the dingy building, pushing
upward from ledge to ledge with their line of ladders.

Some of the men entered through the broken windows, only to appear
again suffocated and choking from the smoke and flames, then returning
to risk life and limb for those who might still be in the house, cut
off from escape.

John Dean saw little of this, however. Back and forth he tramped
through the crowds, never losing sight of his little newsboy friend.
Ted’s face was white and tense.

“Has anybody seen Mrs. Marsh? Anybody seen mother?” he inquired on
every hand, and the man took up the question, “Has anyone seen Mrs.
Marsh?” But no one had.

They pressed their way to the rope, searching the faces of the long
line of spectators.

“Move back there!” commanded the officer, and pushed the crowd from the
straining rope. Ted scarcely heard the warning. He was standing gazing
at a certain curling line of flame eating its way up the casement of a
fourth floor window, and as the heated pane cracked and fell shattered
to the pavement below, a sob broke from his lips. An instant later
he darted beneath the rope, past the officer and toward the burning
building.

“Stop that boy!” shouted the officer. “The little fool! Heaven help him
get out of there,” for Ted had slipped past the clutching hands of the
firemen and had entered the burning building.

People who had seen the boy rush in, shuddered with apprehension. A
second officer stood threatening big John Dean, forcing him back into
the crowd.

“You go after that kid and I’ll arrest you,” he said, flourishing his
club. “His mother isn’t in there, anyhow. The firemen will take care of
the boy.”

The restless, surging crowd, after a time, became hushed and silent.
Only the hissing engines and the captain’s orders could be heard above
the crackling flames, except as shattering glass and falling brick told
how surely the fire was gaining headway.

As moment followed moment and Ted failed to appear, the officer took
the anxious cattleman by the arm.

“Stay where you are,” he admonished. “You couldn’t get the boy if
you went in. I have a youngster of my own,” he added. Then excitedly
they pointed to an upper window. “They’ve got him,” he cried, and all
through the crowd went a ripple of expectancy.

But the form that was slung across the fireman’s shoulder, as he
climbed through the window onto the ladder, was not that of the little
newsboy. It was the limp body of a brother fireman rescued from the
smoke, the last of the firemen who had followed Ted into the seething
tenement. A waiting ambulance hurried the unconscious man to a hospital.

Presently a warning cry from the chief caused the firemen to retreat
hastily, withdrawing their lines of hose, as their attention was called
to a long, widening crack zigzagging its way across the face of the
building.

“The wall is going,” the officer told Dean, and the words struck a
chill into the heart of the big Westerner. He turned his back. For
what seemed to him hours he waited for the impending crash that meant
the destruction of his heroic little friend. Suddenly a resounding
cheer broke from the crowd. Dean turned and saw, high upon the edge
of the building, battling his way along through the smoke, appearing
for an instant and then lost to sight, Ted’s figure creeping along the
cornice. One arm was held tightly to his bosom.

“Easy, lad, easy,” the chief called up encouragingly through his
megaphone to the boy. A dozen firemen had seized a blanket and stood
with it outspread, waiting for Ted to jump. “Are you afraid?” the
chief shouted, and he glanced anxiously at the widening crack. “All
right, boy. One--two--” Ted straightened up slowly. A cloud of smoke
enveloped him, but through it, five stories above, the crowd saw his
little form hurl itself through the air and drop into the blanket
below. A crashing wall drowned their cheers.

All up and down the rope barrier the officers were forcing back the
excited spectators, but out of the crowd came a little pale-faced,
anxious woman. She hastened to the side of the doctor, who bent over
Ted as he lay in the blanket. John Dean hurried after her unmolested,
and as he saw what Ted had held so tightly to his breast, he uttered an
exclamation.

“By George! Now what do you think of that!” he cried, for there,
whining and nosing about the boy’s feet stood a weak-limbed, helpless
little puppy. The doctor was making a hasty examination.

“No, Mrs. Marsh,” he repeated again and again, “your boy is not dead.
He will come around soon; pretty much shaken up. No bones broken. Yes,
of course he is breathing. Hospital? Yes, but don’t you worry about
the expense; arrangements can be made.”

“Doctor, see that he has the best there is; I will foot the bills, for
Ted is a friend of mine,” Dean broke in impulsively.

A waiting ambulance, which the doctor beckoned, drew up and cut off any
further conversation. As they placed Ted on the stretcher, John Dean
hailed a taxi and helped Mrs. Marsh in. “Follow that ambulance,” he
directed, as he stepped in beside the little mother.

A few moments later they were seated in the waiting room of the
immaculate hospital. Mrs. Marsh sat opposite the doorway watching
anxiously each trim, white-capped nurse as she sped noiselessly down
the hall, and feeling strangely out of place in the fine surroundings,
so different from the sordid tenement she had called home.

“I hope my daughter has not heard of this as yet. She would be so
worried. I wish I could get a message to her, so that she will know
things are not so bad,” said Mrs. Marsh anxiously.

“If you will give me the address I will attend to that,” said Dean.

Mrs. Marsh gave him the address. He summoned a messenger boy and wrote
a reassuring message to the girl and added that she should come to the
hospital when she could.

“You are all so good,” the woman said, gratefully. “I do not know what
I would have done without you, sir, and I do not know how I can ever
thank you.”

“That will be all right, Mrs. Marsh,” the man answered. “I know Ted; he
and I are friends.”

Very briefly, he explained his acquaintance.

“Mrs. Marsh,” he added quietly, “you need not worry because of the fact
that Ted is in the hospital. Do you know what you are going to do? No?
Well, I am going to tell you. There is good stuff in that boy of yours,
Mrs. Marsh, and I feel sure that he won’t always be a newsboy. I am
going to loan to you, through him, one hundred dollars. No, I won’t
listen to any objections. I tell you it is only a loan. And out of that
hundred dollars you can buy such things as you must have at once.”

With that he removed the broad leather belt he wore and from it drew
an astounding roll of bills of large denomination. He thrust five of
them into Mrs. Marsh’s hands with an air of finality that gave her no
reason to refuse.




CHAPTER IV

JOHN DEAN FINDS A “FRIEND”


The next half hour was an anxious one. Then Helen appeared. Dean liked
her looks. Things were explained to her. She did not become hysterical,
but gave her attention and thoughts to the comfort of her mother.

“There is nothing to worry over, mother. Ted will soon be well and as
for the things that are burned, at least we are insured. Think of the
many people who could not afford insurance, they are in a much worse
plight than we are.” She certainly was a brave soul, Dean thought.

Dr. Herrick came in a little later. He smiled reassuringly. Turning to
Mrs. Marsh he said:

“There is a little boy in Room 30 that wants to see his mother. Second
door, main hall, to the right. Miss Wells just came. She has a very
busy night before her, don’t you think, Mrs. Marsh?”

“Bless her kind heart! That is just like her,” Mrs. Marsh exclaimed
fervently. “She is an angel, Mr. Dean. A friend of every poor child and
mother in the district. She is a real lady, too; not like the kind of
folks that live on our street, you know--but you have no idea the good
she does nor the comfort she gives.”

The doctor had motioned the cattleman to go with Mrs. Marsh and Helen,
and as they entered Room 30, Mrs. Marsh ran quickly to the side of the
small white bed where the brave little patient lay. For an instant
Ted’s eyes fluttered open, and then shut. A look of contentment passed
over his pain-drawn face.

Facing the window, speaking in a low, soft voice to the nurse,
Dean noticed the young woman Dr. Herrick said would be there. “The
settlement worker,” he said to himself. Then, as the girl turned in the
full light of the window, a gasp of astonishment escaped him.

“Amy Wells! So you are the Miss Wells? Oh, Amy! Amy! I might have
known--” but what John Dean might have known was not said just then,
for the young woman, equally as surprised as he, held up a warning
finger and quickly led him out into the broad hall.

Now what was said between them matters but little, but the poor
people who lived on Ted’s street afterwards told how a fabulously
rich cattleman spent half the night helping Miss Wells find homes for
all those who were made homeless by the fire that destroyed the big
tenement house. They exaggerated and repeated the stories so often
that had big-hearted John Dean heard but half of them, he would have
reddened with embarrassment. Nevertheless, it was true that many of the
poor families had their empty pocket books replenished that night by
the generous stranger.

A week later, more news spread up and down the street, to the effect
that Miss Wells, too, had once lived in the West, where she and John
Dean had been the very, very best of friends, but somehow they became
not-friends, and now they were reconciled, and Miss Wells was going
to leave them all and go back with John Dean to a wonderful new home.
But the news brought much unhappiness to the mothers on that street,
and many a little group stood in the hot, dirty stairways and told how
the pretty settlement worker, whom they all loved, had saved their
babies when they were expected to die, and had watched over their sick
children night after night when the heated city gave no relief to the
fever patients.

And Ted Marsh, to whom the news had slipped in, was unhappiest of all.

“Aren’t we ever going to see Mister Dean and Miss Wells any more after
they leave, mother?” Ted asked the seventh afternoon as he lay in the
hospital. Mrs. Marsh did not speak for a minute. Finally, evading his
question, she answered:

“They will be here to see you this afternoon.” And then, as she heard
footsteps in the hall, “There they are now.”

But the visitor proved to be Dr. Herrick. Walking over to where Ted was
sitting up in bed, he began to examine him thoroughly, after which he
stood back and surveyed him with a good-natured smile.

“Well, lad, you have pulled through pretty well. Hair a little singed,
but that will grow out--hands healing nicely, and lungs in good shape.
I tell you, boy, you are fortunate. A few weeks out in the country
would be all that could be asked to make you sound as a bell.”

“Is that all that is required, Doctor?” asked Mr. Dean, for he and
Miss Wells had stepped into the room, just in time to hear the last
sentence. “Don’t you think I owe Ted a few weeks in the country for
finding Miss Wells for me again, when I hadn’t seen or heard from her
for five years? Ted, you are a regular little mascot.”

At the word “mascot” a sudden idea seized John Dean. Drawing Amy Wells
aside, he began speaking rapidly in a low voice. What he had to say
evidently pleased her very much, but a look of doubt caused her to knit
her pretty eyebrows. Mr. Dean, too, looked more sober, but he turned
and came directly to Mrs. Marsh.

“Mrs. Marsh,” he began without preliminaries, “Ted, here, must go west
with Amy and me. He has the kind of stuff in him that goes to make a
man, and we can’t get too much stock of that sort out in our part of
the country. You owe it to him--we all owe it to him--to get him out of
the life he must face if he goes back to the street and his news-stand.
He needs opportunity, and a chance to live in a place where he can fill
both lungs with clean, fresh, health-giving air. He can’t get it in the
city; he can on the ranch, and I’ll see to it that he gets the best
education that money can obtain. Ted is our mascot. Amy and I can’t
leave him here.”

Ted listened, open-mouthed, to all that was said that afternoon, for
John Dean’s speech brought forth a long and earnest discussion in Room
30. Little Mrs. Marsh’s protests became fainter and fainter, until
finally she reluctantly gave her consent, realizing it was a great
opportunity for Ted.

It was Helen who had really convinced Mrs. Marsh when she said: “We
must let Ted have his chance, mother. We must not be selfish.”

A few days later found Ted Marsh standing, bright eyed, on the
observation platform of a Pullman, watching the country roll behind
him.




CHAPTER V

NEWS FOR THE DOUBLE X


“Say, boys, the boss is coming tomorrow.” Smiles, the speaker, proved
the correctness of his nickname, for there was a broad grin on his
countenance as he gave the message.

Fourteen men were sitting about a table. Busily, noisily too, they were
clearing away the food. There was no pretense as to the finer points of
table etiquette, the food came and it went; speed was the object. They
were hungry men.

“How do you know he’s coming?” asked Pete.

“Jim Wilson passed by and left the message. Telegram. What’s more,
here is the real news. He is not coming alone, he’s married.” And
Smiles--Arthur Holden, at such times when his dignity and his position
as foreman of the Double X required it--grinned with the full
appreciation of the sensation his words caused.

“Married?” echoed Pete, who seemed to be the only one whose tongue did
not seem paralyzed. “To whom?”

“Well, you see, it’s like this.” The first speaker drawled out the
words. “I hate to confess it, but Jack neither asked me nor told me the
particulars. I shall have to chide him, I fear.”

“I suppose he should have asked your permission,” Pete agreed.

“What I want to know is, would you have given it?” This, from another
of the men, Al Graham.

“Yes, Smiles, with your experience, how would you have decided?”

Smiles was notoriously bashful and could never be found when any women
folks were about.

“I guess Smiles’ experience in the last twenty years has been seeing
the Wells over beyond. If he saw them first he’d vanish, pronto.” The
last speaker was older than the rest, quiet appearing, a little sad.
They knew him as Pop. He had given his name as Dick Smith, when he
first came, many years ago. The ethics of the West is never to ask
questions of a man’s past. It judges a man by his present. The speaker
continued: “But I tell you fellows, being married is too good for most
of us It’s a wonderful thing, if you can make a go of it, if you can
support the proposition.”

The talk continued about the surprise and an eager desire to see the
couple was expressed by many of the men. There was a general feeling of
pleasure, also, at Dean’s coming home. These men were all good friends
of John Dean. But, mixed with it all, curiously, was that tone of
sadness and regret, as if the subject of the conversation had gone from
them. They all seemed to feel that his being married placed them beyond
his pale.

“Do you know, some day I expect Jack Dean to get very tired of this
neck of the woods and pull up his stakes. He will be one more of the
many who drift to the big town and think that that is the life. I
wonder how Mrs. Dean--sounds funny, doesn’t it?--” continued Al Graham,
“is going to stand it? It’s hard for anyone who doesn’t like it.”

“Well,” said Pete, “that’s just it, Al. Jack likes it as much as any of
us. He can’t stay away from it. It calls him, same as it does you and
me. But as to Mrs. Dean, I’m doing some wondering myself.”

“Seems to me,” Red Mack spoke for the first time, “you folks had better
not worry too much over it. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if they had
thought of that matter a little bit themselves. I gather they must
have, since it’s their particular business.”

Someone threw a boot at the speaker. “You sarcastic creature,” said
Pete, lovingly. “But, anyway, I hope Mrs. Dean will like us.”

Pipes were lighted now, the men were comfortably lolling about; it
was a period of rest and calm. The light of day held a touch of the
gathering twilight--it seemed as if some master painter was tingeing
his colors, so bringing a darker shade. Some of the men drifted away,
lazily bound for some little task or pleasure. Some of them remained
ready for anything that might come.

It was not always so quiet at this hour. Possibly the news that they
had heard had a sobering effect. Then, too, most of the men were off
on a roundup and the few that were left felt lonesome.

“I feel,” said Pete, “that things are becoming so quiet around here
we’ll die of ennui.” Pete delighted in springing a new word upon the
crowd and he did it often to show his knowledge. The boys understood
the spirit of fun in which it was done and that it was not to show
superiority. He continued:

“Time was, when the Indians would give us some excitement. Now Lo, the
poor Indian, is so wealthy and has waxed so fat, thanks to a paternal
government, he won’t fight. The sheep-men seem to have found their
place, though if it were I who decided on the place they deserve, you
know where I’d be sending them. As it is, you never can tell when they
will make trouble. Here’s hoping it’s soon.”

“Well, there’s McGowan,” Pop said. “He and his followers are always
about, ready to oblige. Things can never be said to be quiet while they
are up and doing. As for myself, youngster, I find plenty of trouble
comes without going to seek it.”

“Yes,” added Smiles, “McGowan is a regular border lawyer. He always
manages to be mighty near it when the trouble has boiled. Although
there’s a crowd over in Montana that will be ready for him the next
time he crosses over.”

Then the conversation turned back to Dean. Said Pete:

“I guess Jack will not be doing some of the things he was in the habit
of doing. Mrs. Dean will see to that. Say, Al, what’s happened to Amy
Wells--Jack used to be sweet on her, if I remember rightly?”

“Seeing that things are as they are, Pete, and since she’s gone, I
guess I’ll tell. Jack may not like it, but then he needn’t know.”

“I think Amy Wells went back East. She came back here fresh from
college. Jack had known her since the time when they were just boy and
girl pals. Jack is not the kind that likes more than one for all time
and until now I didn’t think he’d ever like anyone else. When she came
back here he was very bashful. It bothered him so much that he spoke to
me about it.”

“‘You see, Al, it’s like this. There’s nothing here for a girl like
her; she’s East all over. She couldn’t be satisfied out here. I know
it. It came to me a while back. She doesn’t see me when I’m about and I
fear I don’t count at all.’

“Well, it was true; she didn’t seem to see him. You all know Jack.
Since she didn’t pay any attention to him, he saw to it he wasn’t there
much. Then, you remember that chap, Stephen Browne, with an e at the
end of Brown, if you please. He was very good-looking. A thoroughbred,
too. You only made the mistake once, of not thinking so. You had to
like him.

“Well, at that time, as some of you know, I was foreman over at the
Wells, so I had many chances to watch. I didn’t like Browne. I did like
Jack. That was so, at first, then I found myself liking this Easterner.
Hated to own up to it, but I did. You had to like him, he was such a
good scout. You could see how he felt about Miss Amy.

“Mr. Wells just sat back and watched it all. He was very fond of his
niece. He liked Jack and he liked this new fellow, too. He is not the
kind that would say much. Jack Dean’s staying away didn’t seem to help
Jack’s chances. Jack was not moping, but he felt he wasn’t wanted nor
needed.

“Then he had to go to Victoria. When he came back three months later
Miss Amy had gone East, so had Browne. He never asked any questions and
Mr. Wells never offered any information.

“If I had had half a chance, I’d have told him my suspicion. But you
can’t go to a man like Dean with a suspicion and nothing more. For
another thing, it was Dean’s fight and he wasn’t asking for any help.
But my suspicion is this, that Miss Amy didn’t care for Browne in that
way. I learned that from a word or two I overheard. I don’t know even
now whether she cared for Jack, she didn’t show her hand that easily.”

“How many years ago is that, Al?” asked one of the listeners.

“Nearly three years, I think. I suppose they both have forgotten each
other by now, at least Jack has, hasn’t he? It’s funny, is all I can
say.”

“Well, I’m for the hay,” said Smiles.

Some of the men still stayed about, others followed Smiles’ example.
Red Mack, who was to meet the returning party early next morning, had
long since retired.

A fast train, eating up the space, five hundred miles away, was
bringing a surprise to all of them. Throughout the shadows of the night
and on the wings of the morning the onrushing train with Mr. and Mrs.
Dean and Ted Marsh was speeding.

At four, when the sun was about to herald the new day, Red Mack,
driving a fast Packard, started on his five-hour journey. Skilled and
expert, even as much the master of this steel steed as of his beloved
Brownie, he raced onward at full speed, the joy of the morning and of
the wind in his blood.




CHAPTER VI

DEAN MEETS COLONEL SANDS


For two days the fast Canadian Pacific flyer had raced through changing
country and towns. To Ted, who had never before been on a railroad
train, every moment held fascination. He watched the flying country,
the busy stations and the people on the train. Very important people
some of them seemed to be.

But the luxuries of the Pullman service and the dining car were his
chief interest. It seemed so wonderful to be able to go the distance
they were going and still be so comfortable.

Trim and neat was Ted. You would hardly have recognized him as the same
boy. He was thoughtful, too. He realized that Mr. and Mrs. Dean liked
to be alone, so he passed much of the time in the observation car.

He was sitting out there on the platform, the second morning, when an
elderly, military-looking gentleman came and sat down beside him. They
were the only people on the platform, for it was a little too cool for
most of the passengers. Ted noticed that the man was looking at him and
so he smiled in friendly fashion.

“Belong to Canada or United States?” the man asked him.

“United States,” replied Ted.

“It’s a great country you belong to, my boy. Always be proud of it and
be ready to do more than just be proud of it.”

“I want to, sir,” Ted answered, “I am a Scout,” the boy added, proudly.

“That’s fine,” answered Colonel Sands. “Ready to do your share for your
country, aren’t you? Well, you can’t tell when you will be needed. If I
were not an Englishman, I would want to be an American--so be sure to
remember to be very proud that you are one. Are you traveling alone?”

“No, sir, I am with Mr. and Mrs. John Dean. We are going to the Double
X Ranch near Big Gulch.”

“Is Mr. Dean Canadian or American?” asked Colonel Sands.

“Canadian, sir. He’s a car or two further back. If you would like to
meet him--would you like me to take you to him?” he added.

“Yes,” said the colonel, “I should like to meet him.”

Colonel Sands met Mr. and Mrs. Dean upon Ted’s introduction. Mr. Dean
and he went to the smoking car and they stayed there for several hours.
Mrs. Dean spoke to Ted for a little while, then turned to a magazine.

It suddenly came to Ted, as it had not until then, that his mother and
his sister were there in Chicago and he would not see them for a long
time. He never would have admitted how near the point of tears he was,
as he wistfully peered out of the window. Many things passed his view,
flying swiftly past him; but he saw only Chicago, his home and his dear
ones. He began to wish he was home. Mrs. Dean looked up and caught
the wistful look on his face. She did not interrupt his thoughts,
but sat and watched him. Suddenly he looked up and smiled a little
shamefacedly, as he saw her watching him.

“Well, Ted, you will have lots of chances to show how much you are the
man of the family. You are getting older, you see, and a man’s work
lies before you.”

“Yes, I know,” he answered soberly, “I mean to make my way, so that
mother and Helen can come out to this country. Isn’t it fine to know
that you belong to it--that you are an American--there never was
anything like it.” Then he laughed, a little embarrassed. “Of course,
being a Canadian is almost the same,” he added loyally.

“Yes, we feel it is,” said Mrs. Dean, smiling.

The two men came back and Ted heard Colonel Sands say:

“We can’t tell when it will happen. But I think you should know. It is
likely to come any minute. When it comes Canada must and will do its
share. The Germans are prepared, tremendously prepared. I am off to
Australia in a week. If you will undertake what I suggest--I can leave
with the assurance that the matter is in safe and cautious hands. For
I want to tell you, Mr. Dean, it is a big undertaking. I’ll see you
again.”

When the colonel left, John Dean explained to his wife. There was the
possibility of war, the big European war that has since come, but which
then, only a few months before that fateful August, very few people
would have believed possible. There were some men in England who knew
it would come--but they were being laughed at--so they had to do their
work quietly. Colonel Sands was one of these men. He had been in Canada
for many months and now was on his way to Australia. They wanted men in
Canada, in Australia, in all the provinces, to prepare, to do what they
could. As John Dean spoke, there came to Amy Dean a feeling that if war
did come, her husband would be marching off to the front. And, with
this feeling of fear, there came also a great pride.

Ted listened, wide-eyed and interested. It stirred his fancy, his
thoughts. He was, he felt, an American always, but Canada held a close
second place. What if he could help?

Early the next morning the train pulled into Big Gulch. A car was
waiting for them. Red Mack came sheepishly forward. He stared
open-mouthed at Mrs. Dean.

[Illustration: RED CAME SHEEPISHLY FORWARD]

Things simply had to be explained to him. Ted also had to be explained.
Boy and man looked at each other with instant liking.

Still another passenger there was. They brought him from the baggage
car and he ran to Ted and kept close to Ted’s heels--the dog which Ted
had named Wolf that first day, hoping the name would make the dog.




CHAPTER VII

TED AT HOME AT THE DOUBLE X


The surprise of the cowboys who had speculated as to Amy Wells and Mrs.
Dean was so apparent that Jack Dean, who had an idea as to the reason
for it, felt quite embarrassed. It amused Mrs. Dean, who knew many of
the men and who with great tact made things easy. The men felt somewhat
guilty, especially Al Graham.

But things soon were normal again. John Dean knew that all these
men were friends of his, that they were his peers. His position was
such that he was their leader, but he never had to make them feel
that it was a case of employer and employee. He knew the sterling
independence of the West, which held no man superior to another. And
no one believed in the principle more than Dean. So that when the
men were at ease there were great doings. The cowboys, when alone,
were crude and rough. Now, with Mrs. Dean about, their manners were
such as any gentleman might own. Perhaps a little rough in manner and
appearance, but not one of them lacked manliness and gentleness, the
main requisites of a gentleman. Of course, breeding is more than mere
polish, but much more than just breeding is necessary for the true
gentleman.

The men liked Mrs. Dean from the first moment. Her charm and her
loveliness kept even the timid Smiles in the circle about her. She was
pleasant to all and enjoyed their company so much that they responded
naturally and their quick wit had full play.

Nor was Ted an outsider. Under the protecting wing of Red Mack the boy
had a chance of meeting the men without awkwardness.

The men took to him. They tested him to find out if there were a man’s
qualities in him. Your shrewd, self-reliant man of the plains soon sees
through a person.

They found Ted true. He had a good-natured grin and a fearless eye.
Green and new he was, and many pranks were played on him, but he took
them all good-naturedly. Despite the protection his closeness to the
boss, and the household would give him, it never entered Ted’s mind to
complain. From afar Dean watched the trying out of the boy’s mettle
with keen interest. He felt fairly certain of the result.

He learned to ride a horse in quick time. Red Mack felt that it was up
to him to give the boy the rudiments of the rancher’s education. Ted
could not have had a better teacher in the whole of western Canada.

The time passed very quickly in this way. Mrs. Dean attended to Ted’s
education and each day he had to give three to four hours to study. At
other times you could see him, sometimes with Smiles, sometimes with Al
or Pete, but mostly with Red. Wherever he went, Wolf was at his heels.
Wolf never would be a wolf, but he was growing and he was beginning to
hold his own. The West seemed to be the place for him.

But if Ted spent most of his time while in action with the three men
mentioned, he also liked to sit and listen to Pop, who had taken a deep
interest in the boy. The cowboys had seen how much it had affected the
older man when Ted came. They thought that perhaps Pop might have had
a boy of that age and so it had brought memories. But they forebore to
discuss or to question Pop, for, after all, it was his own affair.

There was, however, a good deal more to it than that. When Pop had
heard the boy introduced as Ted Marsh, a curtain seemed to have been
drawn aside--a curtain that had hidden about fourteen years of his
life. And from what Pop heard of the boy’s history through Dean and as
related by Ted himself, he realized that Fate had played a rather queer
trick. There came a great hope to Pop, or, rather, Dick Smith, as he
was known on the ranch. He dared to think that perhaps he could come
through and that Ted would be the means.

For Pop, as the reader may realize, was the long lost father of Ted. He
was the Bill Marsh that had disappeared and for whom Mrs. Marsh still
mourned, not knowing whether he was dead or alive.

The hard times of the Marsh family, many years before, had worried Bill
even more than Mrs. Marsh. A strong man, he brooded over his inability
to make things go, and gradually, as he grew more and more despondent,
took to drink. Then there had been a quarrel between husband and wife,
and the man had felt that he was useless. Mrs. Marsh had been the one
who had supported the family and this made the man morose and bitter.
He left home, intent upon getting what he could not earn. He had been
drinking heavily.

The only thing he remembered the next morning was that he had had a
terrific fight sometime during the night. If he had not remembered it,
he would have been sure to have known of it because of the condition he
was in. He had been sentenced to sixty days. He knew that he must not
let it be known who he was, as he did not want to disgrace his wife and
daughter. It was while he was in the workhouse that he decided he would
be of the greatest help to his family by dropping out altogether. He
felt that his wife never could have any further use for him. So he had
gone west and gradually had found things as satisfactory as anything
could be under the circumstances at the Double X. He had sworn off
drinking.

Now Ted, the babe that was born after he had left Chicago, was here.

He decided not to say anything, but let events develop. He must not
force himself back into his family, for they seemed happy and contented
as they were. But he was bound up in the boy. From him the boy also
learned much. To him, also, the boy often spoke of the folks at home,
because, instinctively, he felt that the man was interested.

The winter came on and Ted found many new things to interest him. There
was skiing, skating, and then there would be times when, wrapped up in
warm clothes, they would go off in sleighs to great distances. It was
often 50 degrees below zero. Ted grew strong and Wolf especially seemed
to acclimate himself.

And then spring came.




CHAPTER VIII

RED MACK AND TED INVESTIGATE


Ted was to leave for Wayland Academy the latter part of April. Mrs.
Dean thought that he would be able to enter then and still be up with
his class, thanks to the studying he had done at the ranch. Ted liked
the ranch so much he was not looking forward any too anxiously to
schooltime.

Ted was one of the twenty who went off one April morning for a great
roundup and branding of cattle. Suspicion was afoot that the Double X
cattle were being stolen. The Wells had also reported trouble at the
Double U, so stock was to be taken.

Ted took great pride in his place among the men. He had begged to be
allowed to go with them, since his days were to be so few at the ranch,
and Mrs. Dean had permitted him to go.

[Illustration: TWENTY MEN WERE OFF TO BRAND CATTLE]

The men had a busy day and Ted played a useful part. They pitched
camp early. Supper was soon over and most of the men decided to turn in
at once, for they wanted to start work early the following morning.

“Want to go a little way?” asked Red Mack.

“Certainly,” answered Ted, who was not at all sleepy.

“All right, then, let’s start.”

Off they went, at a steady trot. Red did not say just where they were
going. He usually, Ted had found, did not volunteer information.

“Why don’t you use the car more, Red?” questioned the boy.

“A car is all right, but the horse for me. Brownie and I”--he fondled
the horse’s neck--“are chums, have always been. Haven’t we, old horse?”

The horse looked up at Red understandingly. Ted hoped he and his horse,
Scout, would be on such good terms.

Red understood the boy’s thoughts.

“Treat him kindly always. Make him understand he amounts to something,
that he has a friend. Horses need more kindness than human beings.”

They rode for more than a half hour. Then Red spoke again.

“Ted, I have a suspicion there are some thieves about. Cattle thieves.
I think I know where they are.” He paused. “I didn’t want to say much
until I was sure, but I’ll make sure very soon. Perhaps you can help.”

The boy’s pulse beat faster. He didn’t know just how he could help, but
he knew he didn’t want to fail his friend.

“I know you have grit, from what Jack has told us. But you also have to
keep your head here,” Mack added.

They rode about three miles more. “There is a cave a little further up
there, a good and likely place for them. Let’s turn our horses back
into the woods here. No noise, now.”

Silently, slowly, they worked their way forward. There was but a touch
of the waning day to show them the way.

They stopped often and listened. It was slow progress. Then they heard
the faint murmur of voices. Mack drew nearer and tried to make out the
voices or what was said, but found it impossible. He came back and
motioned to Ted that they were to go back. And just as slowly they
worked their way to the starting point.

“Can’t tell who they are, can we?” Red mused. “They may be peaceable,
law-abiding citizens. They might be folks with business which isn’t my
particular concern. I’d hate to inspect, make trouble, get nowhere and
have good and kind friends tell it to you on every occasion. No, I’m
going to make sure.”

Ted whispered: “I have an idea, Red. Let me go in there, pretend I’m
lost, and that I am looking for my way.”

“Won’t do,” Red interrupted. “Lot’s of reasons why. First, they
wouldn’t let you know anything and I could only guess from your
description. Second, if trouble came, what do you think folks down
there would say to me? Nice, agreeable, pleasant things, eh? Tell you,
boy. I’ll go in. You wait where we were. If I don’t call you, it’s a
sign things are not friendly--you speed back and get Smiles and the
boys. I think you had best tell them to hurry, although I don’t think
they will need any urging when they find out it is friend McGowan. They
can’t hurry any too fast to suit me, because about the time they are
due things will be getting interesting and warm. Know the way back,
don’t you?”

“Yes, I know it,” answered Ted.

“So long, Ted,” said Red Mack.

Red crawled back to where the horses were. He rode forward as if he
were going to a picnic. Ted heard him breaking through the brushwood,
leading his horse. Then he heard him say, “Hello, friends.” He heard
the call repeated, but there was no answering hail. Silence still, as
Red seemed to have reached the cave, except that he heard men moving
about. Ted heard Mack’s voice--smooth, very pleasant, and most polite.

“I guess I’ll move on, since you don’t seem glad to see me. I seem to
have interrupted you, I would say.”

There was a second’s pause, then Ted heard someone speak.

“Throw up your hands, Red, quick. I think, now that you’re here, you’ll
stay awhile.”

Ted’s heart jumped. It was beating so loudly that he was sure they
could hear it.

The boy wanted to stay and hear more, but he knew there would be great
need of haste. Cautiously he made his way back to where his horse was
busy trying to find something at which he could nibble.

Once out of earshot, the boy made speed. His friend was in trouble and
he was depending upon him to get help. Red certainly was brave and
fearless, thought Ted, as he urged his horse to his best speed. He was
very glad that Red had taken him along on this adventure. He hoped that
he could be of service. What if he were too late? Faster, faster.

Scout proved his gameness. He seemed to understand what was wanted of
him and he waited for no urging.

A little more than an hour later a very excited boy was explaining to
wide-awake Smiles. That same Smiles had awakened at the first call and
even as he listened had awakened the other men. None of them asked
questions. They worked on the principle of getting ready first, then
questioning could come later. And so, even before Ted was through, they
were ready.

As they started off, Smiles turned to some of them and explained:
“Red has the McGowan gang up above. Rather, the McGowan gang has Red.
He’s expecting us, but we had better hurry, or it might get too warm
for him. Ted was with him until Red hurried him back to us while he
palavers with them and makes them feel that he is all sorts of a fool
and hasn’t had some such little plan as this all along. If it was
anyone else, I’d say that they would see through it all, but I have
faith in Red. It’s up to us to hurry.”

Twenty eager men, ready for anything. The possibility of trouble
pleased some of the more reckless, like Pete, but all of them were
interested in getting McGowan, against whom they had sworn enmity.

Ted was able to guide them without any trouble. When they reached the
place they tied their horses. But as they started to creep forward
they heard something move a little way off. Cautiously, one of them
investigated and found it was Red’s horse, Brownie.

“Good,” said Smiles, “we may find him very necessary.”

Some of the men had already gone forward and the rest joined them. They
could see the cave dimly, but they could hear quite clearly. All of the
men, ready at a second’s notice, watched Smiles, from whom the signal
for action would come.




CHAPTER IX

THE MARSHES PAY A DEBT


Mrs. Marsh, her day’s work completed, was doing some sewing. Her
thoughts often turned to her beloved son, twice beloved, since he was
not about. Ted had sent her a picture of himself on horseback and she
was looking proudly at it. It was an unusually long letter she had
received that morning. Ted had told of Red Mack, Smiles, Pop, and the
others. How his horse, Scout, and he were great chums, and how Wolf had
grown and was a dog any boy could be proud of. How fine and important
Mr. Dean was and how good to him Mrs. Dean was, always. Throughout
the boyish letter, the mother read of the boy’s happiness in his new
surroundings. But Ted also made her feel that he missed her and that he
missed Helen.

What a fine picture it was of him. How manly he looked. The mother was
quite sure there never was a boy like her Ted. But she missed him so.
And, thinking about how much she missed him, she looked for a moment as
if she would cry.

But instead of crying, she suddenly smiled.

“I must not be selfish, as Helen says. It is his chance. Bless the
Deans.”

Ted in his first letter of that week had written about the Academy at
Wayland and that he was to arrive there on May 1st. She knew that Mrs.
Dean had kept him up in his studies in the eight months he had been
away from school, but she was glad to know that he was again to get
back to a regular school.

After a while she started to set the table. Helen would soon be home
and Mrs. Marsh was always sure to have things ready for the hungry girl
when she reached home. After the table was set, Mrs. Marsh reopened the
letter received that morning from Ted and placed it conspicuously, so
that Helen could not fail to see it.

Her thoughts still stayed with Ted. She did not mind receiving the
monthly remittance from the Deans, she mused, just as had been
arranged, before they left for the West, yet she was glad that it would
not be necessary to receive this money very much longer. What they had
accepted up to now would be paid back by the three of them, the mother,
Helen and Ted. But both of them were very anxious to pay back at once
the hundred dollars Mr. Dean had insisted that she take when Ted had
gone to the hospital. That was a burden which the Marshes were anxious
to clear as soon as possible.

The bell rang. “It cannot be Helen. She does not ring. I wonder who it
is?”

She pushed the button that opened the door below. After a time there
was a knock at the door.

She opened it and a man stepped in.

“Mrs. Marsh?” he asked.

“I am Mrs. Marsh,” she answered.

“I am the insurance adjuster and I want to settle as to your losses
through that fire. The company wants to offer you $25.00, which I think
is very fair.”

“But it was supposed to be $100.00,” said Mrs. Marsh, uncertainly.

“We cannot make it $100.00; we do not intend to give more than $25.00.
You can take it or leave it.”

The man made a move as if to go. Mrs. Marsh, uncertain, wished for Ted
or even for Helen, and as if in answer to her wish Helen stepped into
the room.

“Hello, mother!” She kissed her lovingly, then saw the stranger. She
looked up at the man.

The mother explained.

“We will not take less than the $100,” said Helen decisively.

“We will give you $50, no more,” said the man.

Helen shook her head.

“You take $75 now, or $25 if I once leave the room.” The man started
for the door. Helen let him go. He opened the door and went out.

“You should have taken the $75,” said the mother tearfully. “We need it
badly, you know.”

“I think we will get the $100, mother,” quietly answered the girl.

The man came back into the room. He pulled out a paper, then five
twenty dollar bills, and showed Mrs. Marsh where to sign.

Mrs. Marsh did so after Helen had first read the paper and had approved
of it. The man left.

Mother and daughter looked at each other, happily.

“Do you know, mother, I just wish we could send it off tonight. It will
feel so fine to get the burden of this big debt from our shoulders.
Isn’t it fun to be able to pay your debts?”

“I am so glad,” said the mother, no less enthusiastic. “It worried me
so.”

“Yes, mother, and I have some more good news. I have been given a raise
and my pay is to be ten dollars a week.”

“It’s wonderful, but no more than you deserve,” said the mother,
loyally.

“Why,” said Helen, “here is a letter from Ted and you never told me.
What a perfectly fine picture.” There was silence while the sister read
the letter and the mother watched her appreciation.

“Ted is going to be a great man some day, mother; I know it.”

“And you will be a fine woman, too,” said the proud mother.

“I wish we could go out there and join Ted. In another month we ought
to be able to tell the Deans we do not need their help. My, that will
be so fine.”

“Yes, Helen, and the first thing in the morning I am going to send this
money to them and get through with that.”




CHAPTER X

A LOSING GAME


Red had given his hail as he went forward--“Hello, friends.” Even as
he did so, he realized who they were, for he recognized McGowan, as
that worthy came forward to see from whom the greeting had come. Red
whispered to Brownie, gave him a pat and the horse loped off. It was
too late for him to turn away, even if he had any desire to do so. He
saw other men join McGowan at the front of the cave. He also heard
excited whispering.

No answer greeted him. There was a moment’s distrustful gaze and then
the leader said surlily:

“What brings you here? What do you want?”

“Nothing much,” answered Mack. “I heard folks talking and wondered
if it wasn’t some of our boys. I went off to Big Gulch, day before
yesterday, and knew our boys would be somewhere about. Didn’t exactly
expect you folks,” he added whimsically, “or I might not have been so
free with my call. I guess I’ll move on, as I seem to have interrupted
you,” he added in a louder voice.

We know McGowan’s answer. There was a consultation for a half minute.
They suspected that what Red Mack told them was not the truth; on the
other hand, he would hardly have come to them if he knew who they were.
There were no others with him; if there were, they would not have given
the thieves time to get ready.

“What are you men up to? Stealing cattle is mighty dangerous.” He sat
down and rolled a cigarette while the men watched him distrustfully and
uncertainly. “This is good catching time, you know.” A pause. “What are
you going to do with me?” But he seemed absolutely unconcerned as to
what they would do.

“Well,” answered McGowan, “we might make you food for animals, if
you really have a desire to know. We are somewhat uncertain as yet.
You haven’t any say, although I admit you have some interest in our
decision. I’m inclined to think,” added the speaker, “you can’t harm us
if we keep you here while we do our job.”

“Yes,” one of the other men added. “Our reputations won’t be hurt much
by what you may be mean enough to say after we are through. Catching
time is a long way off, the border-line is much nearer. Day after
tomorrow the U.S.A. for us.”

“I’ll tell you this, Red. If any of your friends come to investigate,
you’re going to make an easy shot,” McGowan warned him.

“My friends are not welcome, then?” Mack smiled. “But why blame me, if
I’m popular?”

Both the prisoner and the cattle thieves seemed to be in the best of
humor. But both sides were watching each other very closely.

“I reckon,” said one of the other men, “the Double U and the Double X
will not miss what we want. We need it much more than they do.”

“Well, now,” and Mack smiled, “I take it that you need that carcass
of yours much more than they do. While folks are taking things, we’ll
probably take that.”

And so they talked, in the main, quite humorously and good-naturedly.
Mack wondered how his friends could come to his help without making
the matter of receiving help a matter of extreme danger to him. For
these men would blow his brains out at the first sign or even hint of
interference from the outside. That would be their game. They had not
even bothered to tie him, simply had taken his gun away.

But, knowing Smiles as he did, he knew he could count on him. He knew
that Smiles would figure all these things before he made a move. For
his friend was a pastmaster at this kind of game. Of course, there was
the possibility that Ted might not have brought the warning to Smiles,
but that possibility was quite remote, so Red decided he could count on
Ted. The thing for him to do was to be ready and act when the time came.

McGowan now turned to one of the men.

“Better get outside and watch awhile. I don’t expect trouble, but
that’s the time it usually comes.” Out of the corner of his eye he
watched Red Mack to see if he would give some sign, but the prisoner
never changed expression.

So a half hour more passed. The man outside grumbled at being kept
there when all his interests were inside. His watch was divided, half
his time being spent in listening and watching the men inside.

There was a sudden crashing of underbrush. Almost with the noise a gun
was at Mack’s head. Then the call of the sentry. “It’s a horse--reckon
it’s Mack’s.” The gun came down.

“It won’t be his very long,” remarked McGowan.

Men in the West who know each other, also know each other’s horses. So
Brownie was at once recognized. There was nothing wrong to the men in
Brownie’s coming to where his master was, nothing at all wrong in that.
But to Mack it meant everything. His horse would never come unless
called or sent. So he must have been sent. That meant that Smiles was
at hand and had taken this method of letting him know that it was his
move.

He could blow out one of the lights and kick the other one over. It
would require quick, instantaneous action, but it could be done. Should
he then rush forward and out? They would shoot him if he did. No, he
would make his rush, but it would be to the back of the cave. He would
make an attempt to escape in the dark when the opportunity came. If he
only had his gun!

Yes, he must make them think he was rushing out.

“You know, Pete,” he talked even as he was thinking, “I could forgive
everything but one thing. The horse is mine, now and always. My not
wearing a gun makes no difference. When I go, my horse goes with me.
And I reckon I’m--”

There was sudden, intense darkness.

“--going now.”

Something crashed the next instant. There was much noise, voices,
pistol shots. A pause of a few minutes. In that pause Mack had managed
to get outside of the cave. The men inside were uncertain, hesitating
because they were sure they had heard shots from the outside. They did
not know what to do.

Probably, too, it would have been a good time for the men on the
outside to have closed in on the outlaws. But they also were uncertain
and the dark in those first few minutes helped the men on the inside.
As the two factions each hesitated, a voice came to them from the
outside.

“I reckon, Smiles, you can go to it.” It was the voice of Mack. And
even as he spoke there were answering shots from the men within at the
place from which the voice had come.

There was a pause. “Will you do a little barking, so I can tell where
you are?” It was Mack’s voice again.

Mack saw, then, the place from which his friends were shooting and a
few seconds later was among them.

“Thanks,” he said. “Pete McGowan and his men are in there looking for
trouble.”

“Well, they’ll find it,” and Smiles smiled his broadest.

“Better come out, Pete. We’re too many for you,” the foreman called.
Shots answered him. The men from the outside did not waste any shots.
They crept closer.

“Say, Smiles,” called out Pete, “if we come out, we want your promise
that there is not going to be any hanging, but that you’ll turn us over
to the Mounted Police. We want you to promise that, otherwise we
might as well fight.”

[Illustration: THE MEN FROM THE OUTSIDE CREPT CLOSER]

“That’s fair,” answered Smiles. “I promise you.”

“All right, then, we’ll come.”

They came out. To their credit be it said, they came, heads up, as men.
They had made their fight, a foolish fight, for the wrong-doer always
pays. But they did not whimper. Such is the stock of the West, whatever
the course they may follow, bad or good, they are almost always--men.

To Ted it was a tremendous experience. It gave him an idea as to what
length these easy-going men would go. Mack and Smiles were his heroes,
the men in turn did not forget to say a good word to him for his part.

Pop had not been with them in the roundup. But when he heard of it, he
wanted to know all the details of Ted’s share in it. He got it from
both Smiles and Red Mack. Mrs. Dean also wanted to know all about it.
She scolded Mack for leading the boy into danger, but she did not
altogether regret it. It would harden Ted, she thought.

Several days later the boy left for Wayland.




CHAPTER XI

TED AT WAYLAND


Ted had been a member of the student body two weeks and had already
made a number of friends. Mr. Oglethorpe, who was the dean of the
Academy and a close friend of John Dean, did everything he could for
him.

But it was not altogether easy sailing. There was one boy, who, from
the first moment when Ted arrived, seemed to take a violent dislike to
him. He immediately started in and continued to make things unpleasant
for him. Ted wanted no quarrel, he knew that no matter how much in
the right he might be, it would count against him, since he was the
newcomer. So he grinned good-naturedly at the many attempts of Sydney
Graham to make trouble for him. Yet often he wished he could fight
things out with his tormentor and be done with it. But better sense
always came to the rescue.

The studies took about five hours each day and there was at least two
hours of military training. In addition to which Ted had to have some
private tutoring to make up some of his studies. So that his days were
full and he did not have much time for anything else.

Ted was entered in the Cavalry Division. He rode cowboy fashion, as
Mack and Pop and Smiles had taught him to do. The other boys all rode
in the way they had been trained, as military men ride. Captain Wilson,
in charge of the military and scout training at the school, had decided
not to attempt to change Ted’s style of riding. As he explained to Ted
and to some of the other boys who were about, the important thing was
to sit on a horse as if horse and rider were one.

But Syd Graham sneered at Ted’s way. There were some remarks he made
that brought a sharp rebuke from some of the other boys. Then, too,
Ted’s good nature seemed to bring out the very worst in Syd.

There was to be a meeting of the Boy Scouts. The boys, who knew that
Ted had already qualified as a tenderfoot in Chicago, wanted to elect
him to membership.

“I’m against any Yankee joining,” protested young Graham. “Let’s have a
little class to it, not bring in every ordinary shop-boy or farm hand.”
He made a pretense of being very English, don’t you know. But, despite
his objections, Ted came in. It made him very glad, for he had never
forgotten those first principles he had learned and although not active
for many months he felt as if he still were a Scout.

The Boy Scouts at Wayland were a source of great pride to the Academy.
They had entered tests, tournaments and games with other Scout groups.
Their standing was high. Captain Wilson spent much time and took
painstaking care that what they did learn was the thing they should
learn. He made it clear, too, that the Boy Scout training, while it
had nothing to do with the military training which was part of the
curriculum of the Academy, was nevertheless, in his opinion, just as
important.

A very little matter brought things to a head between Syd and Ted. Ted
had made a two-base hit in a baseball game. The center fielder, by
quick work, had relayed the ball to second and had made it necessary
for Ted to slide into the base. In doing this he had spiked and upset
Syd, who was covering second. Under ordinary circumstances, both boys
would have laughed at it. Instead, Syd, even as he arose, gave Ted a
vicious kick, then sprang at him.

But Ted was ready. Syd was heavier by almost ten pounds. But the one
thing in Ted’s favor was the training of the street gamin of the big
city. He had the greater endurance and was the quicker of the two.
He also had the experience and the cunning acquired from many street
fights.

No one interfered. All the boys knew that the test now on would have to
come, why not now? Then, too, if the truth must be told, they were not
at all averse to seeing a fight, and this proved to be an exciting one.

At first, it looked very much like Syd’s fight, then Ted’s stamina
began to tell. Very soon Syd was on the defensive, no longer did
he rush, but he became as careful as was Ted. Then there was a cry
of warning, the boys closed in on the combatants, picked up their
clothes, and all of them started off, the boys keeping Syd and Ted from
open view.

“Run, here comes Ogie and Cap.” When they reached their dormitories the
boys separated. Ted went to his room and began to doctor up his face.
What bothered him most was not the sting of the blows he had received,
but the utter uselessness of the enmity of Syd. As he thought over it
an idea entered his mind. It was a sudden decision; he would go to Syd
Graham’s room and talk things over with him. They need not like each
other, but they would come to a clear understanding and then each go
his way.

As he opened the door he saw Syd coming down the hall. When he saw
Ted he stopped for a moment, then came forward a little more quickly.
Reaching Ted he said, “Let’s go to your room for a moment, old man. I
want to talk to you.”

They went in, Ted a little uncertain.

“That was a good scrap, wasn’t it?” laughed the visitor. “My, but my
nose and a dozen parts of my body hurt like thunder. You’re some
pugilist and with the weight all against you.”

[Illustration: THE TWO BOYS WENT ON A FISHING TRIP]

“Look at my eye,” answered Ted. “I think you can do some teaching
yourself.”

“Say, Ted,” said Syd, straightforwardly, “I came to apologize. That was
a mean display of temper on my part.” He stopped for a moment. “I don’t
know why I’ve been this way, but I want to be friends from now on.”

Ted smiled and reached out his hand. “I was just going over to see you
and have it all out, for I have wanted to be friends all along. Well,
it’s all over--we’re friends.”

They talked for a long time after that. Syd confided that he wanted to
join the British army. Ted, he found, hoped some day to be the kind of
man John Dean was. Ted told the other boy of the ranch, of Red and of
Smiles, and also all about Chicago. They separated at the first call
for dinner.

Not so many days later the two boys, now fast friends, went on a
fishing trip to a neighboring lake.

The town of Wayland was an important railroad center; it was one of the
keys to the far Canadian West. The boys had to go through the town and
stopped off to make some purchases and also watch the incoming train.
There were several people who got off and, as is usual in a place of
the size of Wayland, the newcomers were observed rather closely.

The boys had to cross a bridge on their way back, as they were making
a short cut home and were not going through the town. As they passed,
Syd said to Ted, as he motioned to a man sitting a little way off,
“There is one of the people who got off the train a little while ago.”
Ted looked at the man curiously and wondered what had brought him to
Wayland, as the train that had stopped was a through train and it meant
that the man must have come some distance. The man seemed to be drawing
or writing, and he kept looking up at the bridge. He saw the boys, but
paid very little attention to them as they stopped to watch him.

The boys continued on their way.

“What nationality would you take that man to be, Syd?” asked Ted.

“Search me,” answered Syd, who had not seen as many classes of people
as had Ted. “What do you take him to be?” he in turn asked.

“I guess he’s German,” was the reply.

The fact that the man was German brought up only one thing to Syd--the
study of German.

“My father says we’ll fight the Germans some day. So, why do they make
us study it?”

As Syd spoke a thought struck Ted. He remembered the talk John Dean had
had with Colonel Sands on the train. What should he do? Of course, this
man was probably harmless and if he said anything he might be laughed
at. Yet, after all, Ted decided it was his business to speak.

He said nothing to his companion. The thing for him to do was to say
nothing to anyone except Mr. Oglethorpe.

When they reached the school he excused himself to Syd and hurried off
to see the dean. Mr. Oglethorpe was in and to him the boy explained.

“Where did you see him, Theodore?”

“On the bridge, sir. He was either writing or drawing.”

“Did you speak to him or tell anyone?” the dean asked.

“No, sir! Not even to Sydney Graham, who was with me. I thought I
should tell you first.”

“That was quite right. Let us see. I will send for Captain Wilson.” The
dean seemed very much disturbed.

The captain soon arrived.

“I think,” said the captain, as soon as things were explained to him,
“I had better take some action in this matter. This will have to be
done quietly, for our countrymen still do not realize how the time is
drawing near and they would laugh at us and call us alarmists. The fact
that this stranger will in all probability claim American citizenship
makes it doubly necessary for silent work.”

“Ted,” he now turned to the boy, “whether there is anything to this or
not, you have shown you have a good head and you use it.”

Then the captain left him and Ted went to his room.




CHAPTER XII

THE TRAIN-WRECKERS


About three-quarters of an hour later--a seemingly surprised (but not
altogether so) German was held up by a masked highwayman. He gave up
such papers as he had--money was not taken--a very queer highwayman who
would not take money. One thing he had managed to throw into the river
below, but he was made to understand that another attempt to throw
anything else into the river would mean instant action on the part of
the hold-up man. He was told that so plainly that he could not fail to
understand.

“I shall let you go,” the masked man said.

“It is an outrage,” said the German, but his voice did not sound very
convincing. “I shall report it at once to the police.”

“You can do so, but the next time we catch you it may be your last
time. We may be ready for you then.”

The German went off. The masked man removed his mask and proved to be
Captain Wilson. He tried to recover the paper thrown into the river,
but was unsuccessful.

It was but one of the rumblings of the storm to come. One month later
Austria was to march on Servia, the storm would be breaking.

From this western point another proof went forward to a certain
departmental official. Proof that all was not quiet even if the surface
showed an apparent smoothness.

That evening at dinner Captain Wilson asked Ted to come to the dean’s
room.

When he entered, the captain and the dean were in close conversation.

“We feel, Theodore, that you should know that the man you reported was
a German spy drawing plans of the bridges and railroad terminals. We
found some valuable maps on him. We hope we have not been too late to
intercept others he may have drawn, although it is almost too much to
hope for that. I know that Mr. Dean will be specially pleased because
of your valuable help.

“You will be adding to the debt we owe you if you do not speak of it to
anyone. We do not report such things, for there are ever so many who
would consider us alarmists. We are doing what we can, but it must be
done in the dark.”

The German spy made no complaint at the police office. One of a
wonderful nation, he took it calmly, boarded a train to the United
States and, probably, just as painstakingly, began the work over again
in a few days.

Captain Wilson, a few days later, announced that a special drill
of the Infantry and Cavalry Divisions of the Academy would be held
on the Saturday following. It was to precede an inspection of the
Scouts--tests and promotions were to be made.

There were to be some officers and other gentlemen present. He knew, he
said, that the students of Wayland would come up to their usually high
standard.

Many of the boys’ fathers and guardians were to be at the
drill-inspection. Syd’s father, Colonel Graham, John Dean (with whom
Mrs. Dean was coming to see Ted) and about six others were due on one
train which ran from Derby, a junction station just below Wayland.

Captain Wilson decided that the Cavalry Squad should meet this train at
Derby, so at eight o’clock, Saturday morning, they started.

The road runs along the railroad track almost the entire way. When they
reached about three-quarters of the distance, Captain Wilson ordered a
halt and the boys rested. Some of them went walking a little way, for
the captain had allowed them fifteen minutes’ time. He did not want to
get to Derby too early.

As Ted walked down the track he saw some men working on the road.
He passed them by and at a turn sat down on a tree trunk to tie his
shoelace. As he got up and went on, the impression stayed with him that
the tree trunk he had sat on had but just been hewn. What a big tree it
had been!

When the men saw him returning a few minutes later they stopped short
in their work. They watched him as he passed on. Without appearing to
do so, the boy was also watching and observing. He did not let them
see that his suspicions were aroused. When the road turned again, he
hastened his steps. The boys were just mounting, but he asked Captain
Wilson if he could speak to him for a minute.

Very briefly he explained. He thought it looked like an attempt at
train-wrecking.

“It’s quite possible,” said Captain Wilson. “They probably know just
who is coming and figure on maiming or killing a number of important
people.”

Calling the sergeant to him, he directed that half the squad go forward
to meet the train, the other half he ordered to remain. The boys knew
something was wrong. Ted was one of those who remained.

Captain Wilson took the sergeant aside and in a low voice explained
and directed him to get a number of armed men at Derby, as they would
perhaps be of help.

The sergeant saluted and started off with his men. Then the captain
turned to Ted and one other boy:

“Go down one mile. Should you hear a bugle call, the train can pass.
If there is no call you must stop that train. The people on the train
will be on the watch for a signal, for Sergeant Gilhooley will have
warned them to be on the lookout. It is important, boys, that the enemy
is not aware of your presence. We shall also take care that these men
do not see us.” The two boys saluted and were off.

The boys who were left very quietly remained in position. After a
little while the captain turned to them and said:

“Those of the boys who would like to go back may do so. There is
possible danger here and none of us are armed.”

But not one of the boys, of course, would go. The captain stationed
them in the woods, where they were at instant call.

Taking Syd with him, the captain crawled forward and watched the men
dragging the tremendous trunk to place across the track. It took them
almost a half hour to complete the task. They did not leave, but hid
in the adjoining woods. They were going to make sure of their job--any
newcomer would be kept away at all costs.

Captain Wilson saw no chance to clear the track. He hoped the boys
who had gone ahead would be able to stop the train. It ought not be
difficult, he thought, since the people on the train would be warned.

But the best laid plans go wrong very often. The train did not stop
at Derby, but passed through. It was late and so had been “specialed
direct.” The engineer saw boys on horseback tearing down the road and
waving frantically, but decided it was a salute and returned it by a
great whistling from the engine. It was going at full speed when Ted
and his partner waved a red sweater, a danger signal that could not be
ignored. It seemed to the excited boys as if the engineer would never
see it. Then the train began to slow down, and an excited crowd of men
jumped off. Amongst them was John Dean.

After the boys explained the men from the train proceeded cautiously
to the danger point, guns ready. The anxious captain saw them coming
and used his bugle to call the Scouts to him. There was a rush of
train-wreckers from the woods. Shots were fired. Two of them fell in
their tracks. The rest escaped.

Ted was congratulated. Captain Wilson turned to John Dean and said,
with a pat on Ted’s shoulder:

[Illustration: HE WAVED THE RED SWEATER]

“You know, hereafter we shall call him ‘Our Boy Scout, Lucky’. But, do
you know, sir,” as Ted walked off embarrassed, “he uses his head. I am
going to tell you one other case in point.” And he told John Dean of
the spy.

The train came up, so did the frantic squad, with Sergeant Gilhooley at
its head.

Mrs. Dean came out of the train, ran toward Ted and kissed him. Ted did
not mind; he was very proud of that.

The train pulled into Wayland an hour late.

The newspapers called it an attempt of train-wreckers. One of the men
who had been shot was dead and the other mortally wounded. He would not
talk and was taken to the hospital.

Two days later he died.




CHAPTER XIII

TED IS CHOSEN FOR A MISSION


It was a notable array of gentlemen and ladies who inspected the six
corps of Scouts after the military drills were over. As they passed
up and down the lines the Scouts, who stood at attention, eyes ahead,
heard the expressed admiration and every one of them was proud and glad.

Later on Colonel Graham made a short speech.

“Scouts,” he said, “you are the future manhood of your country. Big
things may come for you to do. I am proud of Wayland and the boys in
it, and I want to say to you all, as man to man, that come such time
as may, and there are clouds now in the sky, Canada, I know, will have
reason to be proud of you.

“May I add another word? I have heard that opportunity has been given
to one of you to be of service. I know that none of you would have
failed, had the opportunity come. Each of you would have welcomed it.
But opportunity, Scouts, hardly ever comes; it is everywhere, all about
you, ready for you to grasp. It is the quick-witted man or woman, boy
or girl, who sees it. Theodore Marsh, his wits ready, saw one thing,
then another thing, and made one and one two. Great praise I have for
him. I know, too, that all of you must also be proud of him. I thank
you.”

There was the call, and the Scouts broke up. Excited words could be
heard everywhere and many good-natured comments were fired at Ted, who
stood aside modestly, even bashfully.

A little later, luncheon having been served, the men guests retired to
the office of the dean. It was plain to almost all of the boys that the
conference, now to be held, was the main purpose of their meeting at
the school.

Mrs. Dean and Ted went off for a walk. Ted welcomed the opportunity,
for he wanted to talk of his mother and his sister.

“Well, Ted, when did you write last?” asked Mrs. Dean. She seemed to
feel and sense the fact that Ted would want to talk about his family
and so made it very easy for him.

“I write twice a week, Mrs. Dean. I hear from them about that often,
sometime from Helen, sometime from mother. They say they miss me, but
no more than I miss them, I’ll bet.”

“Your mother is a fine woman, Ted. Did she write you how she sent the
$100 insurance that she collected to Mr. Dean, because she did not
want to owe any money, it made her so uncomfortable. You know the
sum Mr. Dean is sending every month is only accepted by your mother
on condition that it be paid back by the three of you, when the time
comes. She would not take it any other way.

“And, my boy,” Mrs. Dean smoothed into place a stray lock of Ted’s
hair, “I am so glad that you will make good, for her sake. Helen, too,
I know, will give her much reason for pride. It is a wonderful thing
for a mother to be proud of her children.”

They walked slowly on.

“I am going to make good,” Ted said, very soberly. “For your sake and
for my mother’s sake. I owe you so much.”

Mrs. Dean continued: “I am worried, Ted, very much worried. As you
know, there is talk of war between Germany and England. If there is,
Mr. Dean would have to go. I would not have him stay even if he could,
and I am desperately afraid.”

It seemed to do Mrs. Dean as much good as it did Ted to talk. So they
spoke of the Chicago they both loved, the Settlement, and of the many
things that had happened lately.

She brought greetings from the boys at the ranch, which made Ted very
happy.

In the dean’s office, around a table, sat Mr. Oglethorpe, Captain
Wilson, Mr. Dean, Colonel Graham, a Mr. Smythe, who came from Toronto,
and another man who was addressed as Major Church. There were several
other men present, who sat and listened.

Major Church seemed to be the leader and acted as chairman.

Mr. Smythe: “War is a matter of days. Germany has an army over on the
American side. They pose as German-Americans, but they are actually
Germans, armed and ready. We must watch, keep ever on the watch. We
must also watch the Germans on our own side. These Germans are brave
and wise, as well. Dislike them as we do, they are strong men, and we
must not and cannot despise their wonderful ability.”

Colonel Graham: “If we could but know their plans, or even get an
inkling of them. It is almost of no moment for them to get into Canada,
except that we would become the laughing stock of the world should they
capture Toronto or Montreal or Quebec. They would enter today, then
tomorrow they would declare war.”

“Aye,” said Major Church, “the States will be neutral and honestly so,
but the Washington Government cannot take any note of such trouble in
an apparent time of peace.”

“When I was in Chicago, just before I met Sands, I found out one
thing. That the headquarters of Germans in America would most likely
be in Milwaukee. It is a city essentially German; sympathy would be
with them. But it’s one thing to know that--another thing to know the
one or two concrete things they might do. That they are meeting and
planning, we are sure. To plan to get into one of these meetings is the
big object of this conference. Is it not so, Major?” John Dean turned
to the chairman inquiringly.

“It is, Mr. Dean. Our big asset now is that they do not know we suspect
anything. They must continue not to, until the time comes. For, if they
did, it might go further and upset the plans of the Cabinet in London.
Who could find out these things for us, and yet not arouse suspicion?”

Many men were suggested, but none of them were satisfactory.

Suddenly Captain Wilson spoke: “I have just the one for it, if he will
do it. He is not Canadian, not even English, but he might want to do
it.” He turned to John Dean--“I am speaking of Ted. He has a good head,
is cool and his youth would be a tremendous advantage and make it
unlikely for them to suspect him.”

Every one of the men looked at Dean for his opinion. He was thoughtful
for many minutes.

“It is up to Ted,” he finally said. “If he agrees to do it, I know he
will bring us some information. But you, Mr. Smythe, will have to get
information from the service as to where the enemy’s headquarters are
at present.”




CHAPTER XIV

BOUND FOR CHICAGO


“You see, gentlemen,” Major Church said, “if the Germans find out there
is a leak they will suspect that it leads to Washington. They have
infinite contempt for our Government in London and in Ottawa. They
know there are a few men who suspect them, but they believe London
and Ottawa are beautifully hoodwinked, and that these few men are not
worth bothering with. That suits us. It would be fatal for them to
have Washington suspect them. We, on the other hand, must proceed with
caution, for they will try to catch us in a trap and show how foolish
we are to question their good will and intentions. Nothing would fall
in with their plans so well as to make us the laughing stock of Canada
and the United States. So we must be equally cautious. If Washington
finds out the truth, however, not through belief, nor even suspicion,
but by actual, obvious, undeniable proof--it will mean that there
will be reason for watching the future actions of Germans who call
themselves German-Americans. It is for us to get that proof. Once we
get that, we need not worry as to trouble from the other side of the
border.”

“Suppose,” said Colonel Graham, “Mr. Smythe finds out from Toronto
where the headquarters are? They may know that.”

Smythe left the room at once to do so.

Major Church turned to Dean. “Shall we go and talk to the boy?”

“I think, gentlemen, I will be excused. It will be better if I am not
present when you ask him. I do not want him to feel that I am trying
to influence his decision. He is a loyal lad and he would not say no
should I be there. You ask him. But explain it carefully. Let him make
up his own mind.”

When Ted and Mrs. Dean returned from their walk Mrs. Dean went to her
room. Captain Wilson greeted Ted.

“You see, Lucky--I am superstitious, Ted--so I’ll call you Lucky--I
come to you on very important business. Not as Scout to Scout, but as
man to man. Come and meet Major Church, both of us want to talk to you.”

They went into a small room. Major Church put aside some papers on
which he had been busily engaged.

Captain Wilson introduced Ted.

“I have heard of you, young man; you are a credit to the school. We
have called you before us because of those qualities you have already
shown that you possess.

“I don’t know how much you do know, lad, but war with Germany is
near. On the other side of the border there are many Germans who,
masquerading as German-Americans, are Germans in reality. They are
well armed, too. We have reason to believe that they are planning some
attempt against Canada and that they intend to carry out that attempt
just before a declaration of war. We also believe that the meeting
of the prime movers is held in Milwaukee, possibly in Chicago. It is
important for us to know their plans.”

He then carefully gave the reasons for believing that Ted might be
successful in getting information.

“My boy, Canada is not your country. There is no call for you to do it.
You may wish to remain neutral and we do not want you to go unless you
wish to, heart and soul. But should you go, successful or unsuccessful,
you will be rendering us a great service.”

“I want to go,” Ted answered very quietly. “Canada is second only to my
loyalty for my own country.”

Major Church and Captain Wilson gave Ted a hand-clasp which showed
their feelings.

“You are true blue, my lad,” said Major Church. “We will have
information as to location from Mr. Smythe very soon. You can
understand the need of secrecy when our wires are coded. By the way,
Wilson,” he turned to the captain, “you have an instructor in German
here, have you not?”

“We have,” was the reply.

“Better watch him a bit. My theory is that all of these Germans will
bear watching.”

Three hours later Captain Wilson and Ted joined Mr. Smythe, Mr. Dean,
Colonel Graham and Major Church. Mr. Smythe presented the following
wire:

  “Smythe,

  “Wayland.

  “Ekal stroper On. 2 ecalp Ees H.”

“As you know, gentlemen, they have used the simplest code because the
information would only be information for us. It is the reversal of the
letters of a word. Let us see:

  “‘Lake Reports No. 2 place. See H.’

“H is Strong. No. 2 is Chicago. Strong is our chief operative there.
Ted will have to see him to get his information and also such help as
he may need. But one thing we know--their headquarters just now are at
Chicago.”

“I am glad of it,” said Ted. “Since Chicago is my home town, I can do
things there and may be successful.”

“Suppose,” said John Dean, “you start tomorrow, Ted. You see, speed is
the thing. That will give you a chance to see your mother and sister,
too.”

“I need hardly say,” said the major, “that even your mother had best
not know about this, unless it should be actually necessary. Secrecy is
imperative.”

“I know that, sir,” Ted replied.

“One thing more,” Major Church added, and he spoke to the men in
the room. “No matter who asks about Ted, he has gone home to see
his mother; someone is not well, let us say. The slightest hint or
suspicion as to the purpose of his trip would frustrate it. Will you,
Mr. Smythe, telegraph to Toronto, and tell the chief just what has been
done?”

Mr. Smythe nodded his head.

Ted went out first. As he closed the door, another door far down the
hall opened, a head came out, a very German head--the head of Mr.
Pfeffer, instructor in that language. Quietly and quickly it was
withdrawn. Ted did not observe this; if he had, it probably would not
have had any meaning for him. Mr. Pfeffer was a very curious gentleman,
he would have given much to know the purpose of the meeting; even
now, he was debating with himself whether he should do some innocent
questioning of Ted. He decided against it.

Just before retiring, Captain Wilson came into Ted’s room.

“It seems silly to distrust Pfeffer, Lucky, still when you get to a
station, say Winnipeg, I would telegraph your mother that you are
coming. If any questions should be asked of her, she should say that
she knows you are coming. See? It is best to be safe and to guard
against everything.”

Early morn saw Ted on the train. It was announced to those who made
inquiries that Ted had been called home. Mr. Pfeffer received the
information with private wonder and doubt.

He took occasion to stroll down to the telegraph office later that same
day.

“Hello, Peter,” he said to the operator.

Peter turned around to see if anyone was about, then brought out a copy
of the coded telegram.

“Easy code, professor--what does it mean?” His copy already had
translated the words properly.

“It may mean nothing or it may mean everything. The boy is going to
Chicago--perhaps Chicago is No. 2--perhaps not. Peter, you had better
send a telegram. Better be sure, eh?”

“Why would they be sending a child and for what?” Peter was incredulous.

“Did the boy send a telegram?” Mr. Pfeffer asked. “I had better see
them all.”

But there was none that had been sent that morning to Chicago.

A long wire, also in code, went forward from Mr. Pfeffer to Chicago.
Then that worthy strolled back to the Academy.




CHAPTER XV

PLANS ARE MADE TO MEET TED


In a room in one of the West Side streets of Chicago, in an
old-fashioned office building, which also rented rooms to lodges and
societies, eight men were engaged in earnest conversation.

“You are wrong, O’Reilly,” said one of them. “England will not dare
come into it. There are men in England who would want the country to
war against my land. But the powers that be, and the people, too, will
be against it.”

“I hate England, Berman,” said O’Reilly. “There are Irishmen who are
willing to lick the hand that has beaten them and has held them in
subjection, but they are not true sons of Erin. I am against England,
but I do not despise the English as you Germans do. Once they are
aroused, mark my words, slow as they may be at the start, they will be
a mighty force.” His eyes flashed. “Many people call me a traitor, but
Ireland, not England, is my country, and all Irishmen should be against
the country that holds it slave.

“But to business, gentlemen. Will you, Mr. Schmidt, explain the call
for this meeting?”

“That I will,” answered he who had been addressed. “There are two
things for us to take up--the less important first. I have a telegram
from our good friend Pfeffer up in Wayland, in Alberta, Canada, where
he is doing our work, but is presumably a German instructor. Ah, here
it is--”

He drew out the coded wire that Pfeffer had sent. “I have figured out
the code and it reads as follows:

“‘Ference eld erecon urday h atch h oysat ed w arsh b adian t cific M
eftcan erepa en l am h alledsev ome y c ther h pect b emo ssus n h ay i
ee o trong w haps s as s persper ay h eekpa formation m atchin s w.’

“‘Conference held here Saturday. Watch boy Ted Marsh, Canadian Pacific,
left here seven A.M. Sunday. Called home by mother. Suspect he is
on way to see Strong. Perhaps he has papers, may seek information.
Watch.’”[A]

There was a discussion as to the telegram. “Who is Strong?” asked
O’Reilly.

“He is the chief operative--secret service man--stationed in Chicago
by the Government at Ottawa. We have him watched. We have even
instructions out that if he becomes dangerous he will disappear very
suddenly.”

“That is bad business,” said a little man named Heinrich.

“Bad business nothing!” answered Schmidt. “No one must stand in the
forward way. Germany first, last, forever. What is Strong, what are
you, what am I--poof, nothing! But Germany--ah--” the speaker’s eyes
gleamed.

“It will give those who are suspicious ground for proof that their
suspicions are more than suspicions,” answered Heinrich.

“Let us not wander from the point, gentlemen,” another man
interrupted. “As I gather from the telegram, this boy may be coming to
see Strong. Now, we must first make sure of that fact, then find out
what it is he is coming for and stop him in his attempt, if it concerns
us.”

“O’Reilly,” asked Mr. Winckel, a man with spectacles which carried
thick lenses, “can you or one of your friends, perhaps, meet the boy
and pose as this man Strong? Schmidt, you or Feldman had better go to
Milwaukee and try to place the boy and get such information as you can.
But do not let him suspect you.”

“I’ll go,” said Schmidt.

“When is he due?” asked Mr. Winckel.

“Why, I should think it would be some time tonight,” answered Schmidt.
“I’ll look and make sure.”

“Find out his home address,” added Winckel. “Telegraph it to us and one
of us will hurry up and find out if his mother really expects him. How
about your part, O’Reilly?”

“I’ll see to it,” answered the Irishman.

“That is finished now. Oh, yes, one more thing, Schmidt, better have
Strong watched even more closely. What is the other business?” It could
be seen that Mr. Winckel was the moving spirit.

“Tomorrow, eight o’clock, here--the chief will come from Washington.
When Captain Knabe comes, he will tell us just when the day will be. It
is very soon, very soon; the long wait is over. Then, too, he will tell
us what we shall do. You will all be here? Now we shall go to our work.”

They broke up. They were very thorough, each man had his work assigned
and would see it carried through.

We shall turn to John Strong, who early that morning had been slipped a
memorandum in code by the waitress serving breakfast to him, announcing
that Ted was to come and to meet him. Also, Ted’s home address.

John Strong was a clean-cut Canadian, hair graying at the temples. No
one knew better than he how carefully he was watched. That he was able
to be as useful to his government as he was, showed his ability.

He decided at once that he would not meet Ted. That would show one
thing--the important thing to those who would want to know. How could
he get to the boy’s mother without being observed?

To the girl who waited on him he whispered that he wanted her to
arrange for two cars to wait at the main entrance of the Hotel La Salle
at ten o’clock.

He strolled out and immediately felt himself shadowed. He reached the
hotel, looked at the register very carefully, as if there was something
there he wanted to see, then turned to the cigar-stand. Turning around,
he saw another man looking just as carefully at that register. He
smiled. Now he knew one of those who were watching him. He pulled out
some memorandum slips from his pocket and made some notations. As if
by accident he left one of the slips on the case, lighted his cigar,
bought a newspaper, and sat down and lounged.

Another man came to the cigar counter, also bought some cigars, picked
up some matches, and with it the slip of paper.

So there were two.

At five minutes past the hour Strong strolled to the door, made a
frantic dash for the machine, which seemed very slow to start. A
moment later two men entered the machine immediately next, gave the
driver instructions to follow the first machine, which by now had
dashed off.

The first car went south. You may remember that Mrs. Marsh lived north.
The second car followed. The occupants could never suspect the innocent
appearing chauffeur of that second car, as he swore and raved at the
policeman who had ordered him to stop to let the east and west traffic
go by at the side street. The frantic men inside were assured that he
would make up the lost time; that he knew the number of the car he was
following. But he never found that car. He became very stupid, although
always pleasant.

John Strong reached the home of Mrs. Marsh, certain that he had eluded
the pursuit.

“Mrs. Marsh, I believe?” he asked as she opened the door.

“I am Mrs. Marsh,” she answered.

“I am a friend of some friends of Ted. The main reason for his coming
down to Chicago is to see me, although I am sure he will think that
seeing you will count for even more than that.”

“Did you get word from him?” further asked Strong.

“Yes, I got a telegram. It said he was coming to see you, but that I
was to let anyone else who might ask think that he was coming because I
sent for him. I do not understand.”

Very carefully Strong explained it all to Mrs. Marsh.

“It is important that these people should not suspect that he is coming
to see me, only that he is coming home, nothing more. It may even be,
that one of them will be here to see you, sometime today. They surely
will if they find out anything about his coming, and where you live.
I will say this, that I feel I am speaking for Mr. Dean when I say it
will be a great service to him and to his country.”

“I shall be glad to do anything for Mr. Dean. You can count on me. I
think I understand and perhaps will be able to help. Perhaps, too, my
daughter, Helen, even more so.”

“Will you have your daughter come and see me right after supper. The
train comes in at 9:10 tonight, and she will meet you afterward at the
station. She will go there from my office. Possibly, as you say, she
can help.”

He left Mrs. Marsh, confident that she understood and that she had the
ability and willingness to carry her part through.

  [A] Readers will find it interesting to study out the simplicity of
  this code. There is special pleasure in their working it out for
  themselves. It is simple and unweaves itself once you have the key.
  For those who do not wish to decipher the code, they can use the
  following method. The first syllable of any word of more than one
  syllable is attached to the third word following. Of one syllable
  words the first letter is found by itself after the second word. In no
  case is a single letter considered a word.




CHAPTER XVI

TED ARRIVES IN CHICAGO


Between the hours of seven and nine that night many things were
happening. Helen had gone down to see Strong. A man, who may have been
a Dane or a German, boarded Ted’s train at Milwaukee, and O’Reilly
was preparing to meet that same train, as was John Strong. At home
Mrs. Marsh was leaving to meet the train. We shall follow the man who
boarded the train. He entered one of the Pullmans, but no boy seemed to
be there; another one, and there were two boys, but both seemed to be
with parents.

But he was successful in the third car. It was Ted he saw and as he sat
down very near him he pulled out a Danish newspaper and started to read.

Pretty soon he looked up. He seemed a very pleasant man. He spoke to a
man in the seat in front of him, then he turned to Ted. “Have you come
from far?” he asked innocently.

“Yes, sir,” answered Ted, “from Wayland.”

“So,” observed the man. “Do you live in Chicago or in Wayland?” He
added, “I live in Milwaukee, but I go twice, sometimes three times a
month to Chicago. My daughter lives there.”

“In Chicago,” answered Ted. Truth to tell, he was very glad to talk,
the trip had been a long one.

“Where do you live, what part?” asked his new acquaintance.

“Over north, 11416 Wells street.” Ted saw no reason why he should
not tell this harmless stranger where he lived. Although he had no
suspicion of him, he had made up his mind that such questions he would
answer, no matter who asked them.

For he realized that the one way to arouse curiosity was to appear
secretive.

“My daughter lives up that way, too,” the man said. He seemed quite
interested in the idea of making conversation.

“I will leave you for a minute.” The train was slowing up for Racine.
His telegram was all ready except for the address. He rushed into the
ticket office, added the address and had it sent collect, and had
plenty of time to board the train.

“I wonder why,” thought Ted, “he should have to run into that station.”
Ted’s suspicions were somewhat aroused. He decided to appear as if he
had not taken note of the actions of his acquaintance.

Schmidt had underestimated the ability of the boy. He was so young, he
thought, there was no necessity for special care.

Then, too, he was so very affable, so very simple. To his questions as
to who would meet him Ted answered that he thought no one would, the
time he was coming was a little uncertain, he added.

“No one is to meet me, either. Perhaps we can both go up home together,
eh?”

“Sure,” replied the boy, “that would be fine.”

Ted fancied by now that the man was a German. But, then, he had that
Danish newspaper. Maybe he was not.

“What do you do at your place--Wayland, I think you said?”

“I go to the Academy there. I belong to the Scouts--it is military and
academic.” The boy was quite young and quite simple, Schmidt decided.

“Ah, that military business is bad, very bad. There will never be war
anymore.”

Ted wondered if the man really believed it. He could not make up his
mind. So they talked. The man grew less and less interested. He had
made up his mind that the boy was really going to see his mother. Of
course, that would be proven when they found out how much the mother
knew about it and if she would meet the boy. Probably all this time had
been wasted, but Schmidt had no regrets. After all, eternal vigilance
was the watchword.

An hour later the train came into the station.

Ted, who had been quite tired, no longer felt any weariness. Here was
Chicago, here was home.

As he stepped away from the train, his mother and sister ran forward.
Two men watched him from close by--one motioned to the other. O’Reilly
went forward.

“My boy, are you looking for Mr. Strong?”

Helen interrupted: “Looking for Mr. Who? Why, of course he’s not--he’s
my brother--I guess you are mistaken. Come, Ted, we are going home
first.”

Ted did not question his sister; he knew there was method in her
outburst. He added:

“Sorry, sir.”

“I’m so glad you came, Ted. How I hoped you would!” his mother said.

O’Reilly turned doubtfully, as the other man beckoned him away.

“Time lost,” said Schmidt. “Let them go. No harm done. I pumped the boy
on the way; he had no secret, apparently. He is but a child.”

“I was scared by that girl,” replied O’Reilly musingly. “My, she’s a
Tartar. All right, then, I’m tired and I’m going home. Good-night.”

“Good-night, my friend--see you tomorrow.” Schmidt watched him go.

“Say, sis, I did have to meet a Mr. Strong.” Ted spoke in a low voice.

“I know it, Ted, but that man was not he. When we get away somewhere
I’ll tell you something about it.”

“Let’s go home. I’m crazy to be back here and it certainly feels fine.”




CHAPTER XVII

TED MEETS STRONG


There were many eager questions on the way home. The mother listened
with great pride to Ted’s account, even though he had told many of the
same things in his letters.

Ted painted a great picture of his new home and it made Mrs. Marsh very
happy for his sake, even though she wished a little longingly that both
Helen and she could be a part of this wonderful and happy life.

Helen must have been thinking the same thing, for she spoke out:

“I wish mother and I could go out there. If there were only something I
could do there. My work here is interesting, but I would gladly give it
up for such an opportunity.”

“It’s all right, sis,” replied Ted. “It won’t be long before you will
both be out there. I wouldn’t want to stay myself if I did not feel
sure of that.” They had reached their “L” station by now and home was
only a matter of a few moments.

“I guess you are tired, Ted. But I think I had better tell you what
Mr. Strong wants you to do.” Then Helen told him of her going down to
see Mr. Strong; how the latter had reason to believe that there was
to be a meeting of the Germans the very next night. He wanted to see
Ted, who was to go to a certain number on Adams street at eight the
next morning. She gave him the number of the room. Ted was to wait
until such time as Strong came. He might be late, for often there was
difficulty in getting there unobserved. He would mention the word Dean
and Helen for identification, should it be necessary.

Ted went to bed and slept the sleep of the just and the weary.

That next morning the newspapers printed in large headlines the
ultimatum that Austria had put up to Servia. They speculated on the
possibilities of war. To Ted--refreshed and no longer weary, reading
the newspaper as he made his way downtown--it brought a feeling that
he was in some way involved. It made him feel quite important; it
increased his respect for the men who had sent him to Chicago. It was
big work these men were doing; he was having a share in it. He left the
elevated station with some time on his hand. It seemed so long since
he had been down here in the heart of Chicago. It came to Ted that it
would always hold a warm spot in his affections. After all, it was here
he had spent his childhood; it was to the knockabouts received here
that he owed much. If only he could be successful, if only he could
obtain the necessary information and be able to deliver the message
to John Strong. Without knowing very much about it all, he realized
that the things for him to do were important parts of it all. A little
uncertainly, because the subject was a little too much for him, and he
was still a very young boy, he speculated on why nations should go to
war.

“Hello, Ted,” someone greeted him. It was Spot, the fellow with whom he
had had that fight at the beginning of this story.

“Hello, Spot,” Ted greeted him cordially. He was glad to renew old
acquaintances. “How’s business?”

“Fine,” answered Spot. “Lots of news, lots of papers sold. What are
you here for? Thought you went ’way out West?”

“I’m just paying a visit,” laughed Ted. “Seeing friends.” They talked
for a few minutes.

“See you again, Spot. Is this your regular stand?”

“Sure is,” replied Spot, as he turned to a customer.

Ted went on his way. Very soon he reached the building on Adams street
to which Helen had directed him. He turned in and when he came to the
seventh floor he entered Room 701.

He accosted the man who looked up from a desk with:

“Want a boy?”

“Well, perhaps.” He sounded very English. “What is your name?”

“Theodore Marsh,” replied the owner of that name.

The man’s manner changed on the instant. Ted liked him then. “Come in,
Ted. Mr. Strong is expected any minute, but of course he may not come
for a while. We have just moved in here. We have to move quite often,
for those Germans certainly are shrewd. Quick, too, and they keep us on
the jump.”

He turned to work on an intricate little machine which had a long coil
of wire, very thin, much thinner than a telephone wire.

“Do you know what this is?” Ted did not know.

“A dictaphone. We will have use for it. I am getting it ready for
tonight.”

Ted had heard of a dictaphone, but he had not yet learned its
usefulness. He was to find out that night how wonderfully useful it
could be, how much danger the use of it would avoid.

It was almost two hours before a man entered. When he saw Ted he said,
with a smile:

“Hello, my boy. I guess you and I have met both Dean and Helen, haven’t
we? Let us go into this room.”

Ted delivered the papers he had brought for Strong. Strong took them
eagerly and just as eagerly Ted gave them up. He heaved a sigh of
relief at getting rid of them.

“This paper alone,” Strong picked up one of the papers from his desk,
where he had placed them, “if trouble should come, would prove to the
United States Government what the Germans are doing in the States and
just how it affects Canada. Without this it would be disagreeable to
be found doing some of the things we find ourselves compelled to do. I
see, also, that this letter says that I may count on your help. We will
need it, I am sure.

“Tonight, the Germans are to hold a meeting. The purpose and decision
reached there we must know at all costs. We must go down there, you and
Walker and I. Walker is the man in the office. He has the necessary
knowledge to place a dictaphone or tap a telephone wire. Also, he,
another man named Bronson, and I have already made arrangements for
placing that dictaphone at the Germans’ meeting-place.”

He turned to Walker. “Are you ready?”

“In about five minutes,” replied Walker, with a grin.

While they were waiting Strong suddenly thought of something.

“As I understand--am I right?--you were a newsboy up to a year ago?”

“Yes, sir, I was,” answered Ted.

“Good. Do you think you could manage to fix yourself up as one and meet
us in front of the Auditorium?”

“I think I can,” replied the boy, after a moment’s thought.

“All right, I’ll give you forty-five minutes,” Strong said, as he
turned to Walker, who was now ready.

Quickly, Ted located Spot.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Spot,” he confided to the news merchant.
“I’ll give you two dollars and my clothes for your clothes and papers.
I want you to have a share in my good fortune and I also want to sell
papers for awhile.”

Spot grinned delight. “You mean it, Ted?”

“Sure. Where can we change?”

“Any place will suit me. But I’ll show you a place. That’s easy.”

A place was very easily located. Spot had managed to wash his hands and
face, while Ted’s had not yet gotten to the color they should be. They
had exchanged everything from shoes to hats.

“Where are you going now, Spot?” asked Ted.

“I beg your pardon,” replied Spot. “My name is Mr. James Sullivan. I
would have you address your betters properly, boy.” He never cracked a
smile as he walked off, but Ted laughed uproariously.

A little later two men came out of the Auditorium.

“Paper, sir, papers?”

“No,” answered one of them. The other took a second look at the newsboy
and laughed. “He certainly fooled you, Strong. It’s Ted.”

“Good work, Ted,” Strong said, with appreciation.

“Slip into that automobile while we stand in front of it.” They
walked toward it. “Now, quick.” The machine was off to the German
meeting-place.




CHAPTER XVIII

SETTING A TRAP


The automobile came to a stop two blocks from the German meeting-place.

As the three walked toward it, a beggar stopped Strong. The latter gave
him some coins. Ted, who was watching, saw a paper pass between the
two. It was so quickly done that he was not even sure of it. He made
no comment, as he knew that Strong would mention it, if he thought it
necessary.

“The room is on the third floor,” Strong said. “There is someone in it
now. That beggar has just been up there; he has been watching the house
all morning, so that he could keep me in touch.

“Suppose, Ted, you go up and sell your papers. Go to every office. When
you reach Room 318, size it up as well as you can. See what you can of
316 and 320 also.”

“All our work and our preparations have been from 418,” Walker added.
“Our friends are there.”

“Yes,” Strong said, “take a look in there, even though you will meet
Bronson a little later.”

A boy tried to sell his papers in the many offices. He canvassed each
floor and in due time reached the fourth. He came to Room 418 and saw a
sign on the glass reading as follows:

       TERENCE McMAHON
  INSURANCE AGENT AND ADJUSTER
  MAIN OFFICE--OLIVER BUILDING

   Russell Bronson, Br. Mgr.

He entered. “Want a paper?” he asked one of the men.

The man took one. Ted glanced about and then went out. He had some idea
of the room. He noticed that three other doors seemed to belong to the
same office, Rooms 422, 420 and 416.

He soon reached the third floor. He went through the same routine,
just as carefully and matter-of-factedly, as he had done on the other
floors. When he reached 320 he found the door locked and a hand
pointing to 318 as the entrance. On the glass of that door he saw a
sign which read:

  NOVELTIES AND TOYS
    A. CHRISTENSEN

Ted opened the door. A man was inside, his feet perched upon a desk and
he was reading a German newspaper.

“Paper, sir?” Ted asked him.

“No,” was the answer. He did not even glance up.

“I have a Staats-Zeitung and a Wochen-Blatt,” coaxed Ted. All this time
he was taking stock of the room.

“A Wochen-Blatt? I’ll take one,” the man became interested. He offered
a half dollar to Ted.

“I haven’t the change, but I will get it for you.” Ted was fighting for
time, so that he could form impressions.

“And run away with my money?” the man sneered. “Not on your life. I’ll
wait until later.”

“You can hold all my papers. I’ll come back.”

The man grudgingly gave the boy the money. At the corner store Ted
found his two friends; the automobile had long since left.

“Good work,” Strong commented, after hearing Ted. “Now, how can we get
that fellow out of the building for half an hour?”

“When I suggested going out for the change,” volunteered Ted, “he
didn’t want to trust me and said: ‘I’ll wait until later.’ Perhaps he
intends going out.”

“Well, here is one way to coax him to go a little sooner. A German
wants what he wants when he wants it, and he never stops wanting it
until he gets it. When you go back, Ted, insist on being paid twice
as much as the paper sells for. He probably will not pay it. He will
consider it a hold-up. But he will want that paper and it may hurry his
departure. It is almost lunch-time anyway.

“Walker, you go to all the news-stands within three square blocks
and also any stores you may see that sell newspapers and buy up any
Wochen-Blatts they have. That ought to keep our friend busy trying to
get what he wants and so give us more time. We will all meet in Room
418. I’ll steal up while you two are wrangling over your high-handed
outrage, Ted. Walker can come any time. There is small chance that he
will be recognized. You see,” Strong added, his eyes smiling, “that’s
the value of having the ordinary face Walker has. He looks like
seventy-five million other folks, so no one would notice him.”

Ted rushed back to the office. “Everybody is poor around here or else
they don’t want to make change. My, what trouble.” He was counting out
the change and he now placed but forty cents on the man’s desk.

The man picked up the money and for a moment it looked as if he would
not count it, but he did.

“Hey, boy, another nickel! You’re short here.”

“No, I’m not. I took a nickel for all the trouble I had in making
change.” Ted felt mean and he knew his argument was a poor one, but he
was doing it for a purpose.

“Five cents, or I don’t want the paper.” He made a threatening motion
toward Ted.

Ted laughed at him. He threw the dime on the desk, picked up his paper
and backed out of the door. The man was muttering fiercely in German.

Out on the street our hero watched from a nearby door. It was just
mid-day and people were hurrying for their lunch. But it was at least
twenty minutes before he saw his man walk out of the building. He
watched him and saw him stop at one, then at another stand and try to
obtain the desired paper. He was not successful and Ted saw him stroll
further down the street.

Two minutes later Ted was in Room 418. Walker joined them almost at the
same time.

Ted was introduced to the man to whom he had sold a paper a little
earlier and then the party got down to business.

“Walker, jump down and try the door,” said Strong. “Here is the key.”

But a new problem presented itself when Walker reported back that the
key would not fit the lock and Strong, incredulous, had proven the
truth of it for himself.

“Phew!” whistled Strong. “They must have changed the lock. They figured
the old one was too easy for anyone who had a mind to enter. Come on,
Walker, we’ll try the window.”

But they found no way of entering through the window. It was securely
fastened. Walker, with one foot on the edge of the fire escape and the
other on the ledge of the next room’s window and holding himself secure
with one hand, attempted to open that window also, but found it just as
securely locked.

“There is still one way before we think of any rough stuff,” said
Strong. With the other three he went down to the third floor.

“Here, Ted, get on my shoulders and try the fanlight. Let’s pray that
it opens.”

It opened so very easily that they all laughed. But they found that
neither Walker, Strong nor Bronson could get through. But Ted could.

“Well,” said Bronson, “I reckon it’s up to the boy, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is,” said Strong.

Walker now very quickly, yet very clearly explained the workings and
the manipulations of the dictaphone. Ted listened carefully as he was
told how the wires should be laid and connected.

“You see, Ted,” Walker continued, “the whole thing is already prepared.
We knew how little time we would have when the time did come, so we
did everything we could beforehand. You will find a place for these
wires on the wall behind the steam-pipes. The floor moulding running
along the window wall will move if you remove the screws--four of them.
Then count off the sixteenth floor-board--you work it this way,” Walker
showed Ted how, “and it will pry loose. It is all very simple and
should take no more than twenty minutes. It would take me ten.

“The floor-board has a little groove into which the wires will fit.
You will find that where this board ends is another piece of moulding
which will most surprisingly give way to your magic fingers, and the
screwdriver, as did the moulding at the other end. On the big cabinet
that is there, try that corner of it nearest you and against the wall,
and there you will find that your wires will fit snugly. Your hands
are small and can get in there, back of the cabinet. You just can’t go
wrong. On top of the cabinet see that the mouthpiece or, rather, the
listener, is propped up so that it faces the table. If you have any
doubts call out--we will be here. You will also find that it will not
be seen, for the cabinet is high.”

“Be careful, Ted, about leaving things just as they were. It all will
fit back snugly. Be twice as careful as you are quick,” Strong warned
him.

“I shall be up here, Bronson will be one flight below, and the beggar
is watching in the street. Walker will be up above passing the wires
down to you.”

More than fifteen minutes had already been consumed. Strong had warned
Ted to open the window of Room 420 and, should a warning come, hide in
that room. A rope would be passed down for him from the window above.

Ted got to work at once. He found it even more simple than Walker
had told him. In fifteen or twenty minutes he called out. “I think
I am through.” He took another look about. He had carefully seen to
everything and there was no sign of any disturbance.

“Wait a minute,” said Strong. There was a pause. Then he heard Strong
speaking to him again, “Say something right out, not too loud, just
ordinary conversation.”

“Want to buy a paper? News, Post, American, Staats-Zeitung?” said Ted
to the empty air.

There was another pause, then he heard Walker say to Strong, “It’s fine
and distinct, old man.”

Ted took another look about. He lifted himself on the door-knob and
then eager hands helped him out. Walker ran down the fire escape to
take a look around the room and Strong hoisted himself up on the knob
and also looked about. Ted’s work had been thorough and neither of them
made any criticisms.

“Well, that’s something of a relief,” said Walker. Ted closed the
fanlight.

“Nothing to do until tonight,” and Walker grinned.

“Let’s eat,” said Strong. “Coming with us, Bronson?”

“Certainly,” was the answer.




CHAPTER XIX

STRONG SEEMS CHECKMATED


Ted was too excited to eat.

“Better eat, lad,” said Walker. “We do not know when we will get
another chance today.” If no one else seemed to be following his
advice, he himself considered it good enough to heed. He was eating
enough for two.

“I imagine it is going to be risky business tonight,” Bronson remarked.
“I wish I could be with you.”

“It’s either going to be that, or it is going to be very simple,”
Strong answered.

“That is the trouble with all adventure, these days,” Walker
complained. “It’s always so very simple.”

“I consider this extremely interesting and exciting,” replied Strong.
“It is like a tremendous game of chess with enough elements of danger
added to suit the most exacting. Don’t imagine that we shall not be
in danger every second tonight. These Germans are cold-blooded. If we
should happen to be in their way, should they find out how much we
actually know, we can say good-bye; the sun would rise tomorrow, but we
might not.”

He turned to Ted. “Well, lad, are you afraid?”

“I’m going to stick, of course,” was the reply.

“Well, comrades, here is the plan. The keys you see here, one for each
of us, are for Room 420. We shall separate. At six-thirty we must all
plan to be in that room. No noise must be made when you come; no sound
must be made while you are there.”

“We had better make sure we do all our sneezing outside, eh?” Every one
laughed with Walker.

“It will be your last sneeze, if it’s inside,” Strong laughingly warned
him. “The least sound, a scraping chair, would be heard. Stay in Room
420; the fire escape makes 418 dangerous, if anyone should be curious
and decide to come up and look into that room. Of course, there will be
no lights turned on.

“Should any of us fail to get there, he who does must make every effort
to get the import of the conversation.”

“Can I do anything, before I leave for New York tonight?” asked Bronson.

“No, I guess not. Get your room into shape for us. Put the chairs where
we cannot stumble over them. How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. These Germans certainly keep us busy. Some of our
optimists are turning pessimists, now that Austria is declaring war
against Servia. They are beginning to think that perhaps there is
something in this war-talk. I have to go to them and tell them just how
much there really is in it. I had much rather stay--wish I could.”

“I know that, Bronson, and there is no one I would rather have. But
perhaps you will be of better service there. I shall code Wright the
information we get tonight, if we get it. They will have it at the New
York office.”

Strong and Walker returned to the Adams street office; Ted went home.
He was glad of the chance to see more of his mother; Helen, he knew,
would not be home. Ted was very fond of his pretty, efficient sister,
and proud of her rapid rise at the store.

He found his mother there when he reached home. He explained the reason
for his wearing the newsboy’s clothes.

Ted spent a quiet, comfortable afternoon with her. Many things they
still had to talk about and the mother realized how much it was the
desire of Ted to have her and Helen come out to that great West, a land
where contentment and opportunity, at least, were more likely to be
found than in this place, in which she had lived so many years.

       *       *       *       *       *

About three o’clock, only a half hour after he had been at Adams
street, Strong was called to the telephone. He had been busy at a
report, the call was unexpected and could only come from his secretary
or from Ted, the only two besides Walker who knew of this new location.

It proved to be his secretary.

“A messenger boy came here a little while ago with a message for you,”
she said.

“Read it.”

“‘A meeting is to be held at W.’s house. If you will come, can get you
in. 4:30!’ It is signed ‘J.’,” she added.

There was a pause. She continued: “It looks as if it comes from Jones.
It is his writing, beyond doubt, but he signed his initial instead of
his number.”

“I’ll come right over,” Strong answered, and his voice sounded
perplexed.

Charles Jones was an operative, employed as a butler by the Winckel
household. He had so often given proof of profound stupidity in
everything except his duties in the household that Herr Winckel would
have laughed at any suspicion of his being anything else but a butler.
Herr Winckel was so fond of saying and repeating that the man had a
butler mind it could never grasp anything outside of that.

In reality, Jones was shrewd, keen, able to obtain information without
creating suspicion. He had been one of Strong’s best men and the latter
felt he could count on him.

Could it be a trap, he wondered?

Strong was uncertain as to what he should do. To miss this meeting,
which perhaps was important; to go there, on the other hand, and
endanger the chances of his getting to that night meeting?

“I wish I knew what to do, Walker.” Together they went over the phases
of it as they walked down to the office.

“I’d go,” advised Walker. “You say that the boy could do his part. If
they do want you out of the way, should this be a trap, they will hold
us until morning; they would not dare hold us any longer. And, if they
do, they will not feel the need for carefulness and the boy will thus
have a better chance. It works well both ways.”

When they came to the office, Strong read the message again.

“We’ll go, Walker,” he decided. “Dress up. Be sure not to carry any
papers.”

Two men came out of one of the inner offices a few minutes later. They
would have been taken anywhere for two English servants; they might
have been valets, footmen, even butlers. Each one looked the other over
critically, but the disguise was thorough.

At fifteen minutes past the hour they reached the Winckel house,
knocked at the servants’ entrance. The maid answered and they asked
for Mr. Jones. They appeared to be very superior, upper-class servants.
Very English, too. She escorted them in and then opened a door for
them to enter. They passed through. As they did, each one of them
was pounced upon. They struggled against the sickening smell of the
chloroform held tightly against their noses. Then they knew nothing
more for a while.

An hour later they awoke with a feeling of nausea and the smell of
chloroform all about them. They found themselves tied hand and foot and
unable to move. From all appearances they seemed to be in the cellar of
the house.

“Are you there, chief?” asked Walker, in a sick and very low voice.

“Yes, I’m here; going to stay awhile, I guess.”

“I wonder what happened? Suppose they got on to--?”

“They are probably gloating somewhere within earshot,” Strong warned
him in a whisper. “They certainly have us out of the way for the time
being,” he added, ruefully.

“Well, there’s nothing to do; we’re caught,” Walker said, in his
ordinary voice. Then, in a voice so low Strong could barely hear him,
he inquired, “Are you pretty well tied? Can you do anything?”

“Can’t even move,” was the answer.

“Same here,” Walker said dejectedly. “They made a good job.”

At five o’clock Ted left home for downtown. He stopped off to buy
some of the late editions of the newspapers and proceeded to the
meeting-place. He made his rounds through several buildings and at last
reached that particular one.

There was no one watching, however. With Strong out of the way the
Germans felt quite secure.

At five-thirty he had already let himself into Room 420 and was
preparing to make himself comfortable. He picked up the dictaphone
every few minutes, but for a long time heard nothing. Things seemed
quiet and he began to wonder where Strong and Walker were, what was
delaying them. His heart was going at a great rate because of the
forced quiet and the excited state of his mind.

Things would depend on him if the two men did not come. Would he be
able to carry out the plans?

“I can only do my best,” the boy said to himself. And there was a
strong determination to make that best count.

It was now half past seven. He lifted the dictaphone oftener. Very
soon he heard voices, very indistinct, but as he listened they became
clearer and clearer. Then he began making out the words and the sense
of the conversation.

“Yes,” said one voice. “We found out that this man Jones, who was
Winckel’s butler, was one of their men. He dropped a card which young
Winckel found. That was enough to warrant his being watched, although
we did nothing for several days except to see that he got no further
information.

“Today, at the point of a gun, we forced him to write a note to
Strong telling him that there was to be a meeting at Winckel’s house
at four-thirty and that he could get him in. Strong with another man
came. We trapped them, bound them and they are now in the cellar out of
harm’s way.”

Ted welcomed the information. At least he knew just what to expect.

“It’s almost time for our friends to be here, isn’t it? What time is
Captain Knabe coming?” said a voice.

“At about fifteen minutes after eight. He is coming with Winckel.”

“Say, Schmidt, it was a good piece of business to get Strong out of
the way. He is too dangerous and resourceful to suit us.” This from
O’Reilly.

“He has been a nuisance, hasn’t he?” answered Schmidt. “Hello,
friends,” he said to some newcomers. “I have just been telling O’Reilly
about our little affair this afternoon.”

There was the sound of a number of voices and of some laughing. Then
more men came into the room, there was the scraping of chairs as men
seated themselves.

Then there was quiet as two men entered. Greetings were exchanged and
Ted realized that the two were Winckel and Captain Knabe.

As Captain Knabe was introduced to some of the men, Ted wrote the names
down.

“Let us get down to business, friends,” said one, who seemed to be the
chairman. “Captain Knabe has come here from Washington, his time just
now is important. Even more important is the need for immediate action.
Captain Knabe, gentlemen.”




CHAPTER XX

THE DICTAPHONE AT WORK


“I understand,” said Captain Knabe, “that some of the Irish gentlemen
present do not understand German, and so, while I can do so much better
in my native tongue, I shall talk in English.”

“How lucky,” thought Ted.

“Well, gentlemen, I have good news for you--war is to be declared the
day after tomorrow.”

There was the sound of moving, falling chairs, of men getting to their
feet. Then a whispered toast--a whisper that was almost loud because of
the number of voices--“Der Tag.”

“You, in America, who have never given up your allegiance to the
supreme nation, nor to the emperor, must do your share. Although war is
to be declared the day after tomorrow, it will be a matter of a few
more days before we are at war with England; possibly it will be more
than a week. I understand you are ready.”

Another voice spoke. “We are prepared. We will announce picnics at
certain places; it is for you to tell us the locations.”

“I am ready to tell you that now,” replied the captain. “Concentrate
on your picnic grounds near Detroit for the taking of Windsor. Herr
Winckel has the plans. I have given him three sets--Windsor, Toronto,
Winnipeg. He also has the charts which show how to move and what
railroads to occupy. Our friends in Canada are to see that there are
available cars, engines and even motors. Of course, all of you will
know just what picnic grounds are to be selected, so we need waste no
time on that.”

“How many men have you, Herr Winckel?” Captain Knabe wanted to know.

“Will you tell us, Schoen?” Herr Winckel asked.

“Approximately, armed and ready for the call, one hundred and
twenty-five thousand men. There are also forty thousand Irishmen.
O’Reilly has them equally prepared and ready. Pfeffer reports thirty
thousand men in Canada, eager for the call. They are so stationed that
we can throw one hundred and fifty thousand men on Windsor and Toronto
or such other points as are within one half day’s ordinary travel. For
Montreal we would need eighteen hours’ additional notice. For Quebec we
would need thirty. We figure that thirty thousand men will be enough
for Winnipeg, although we shall have more.”

“The fool Englishmen,” sneered a voice.

“Not such fools, Schmidt. Do not underestimate them.” The voice was
Winckel’s.

“Everything looks so easy,” said another voice.

“Aye,” said Captain Knabe, “we cannot help but win. But the Englishman
fights best with his back to the wall.”

“You have your commands assigned, have you not?” the captain inquired.

“We have,” replied Schoen.

“Now, gentlemen, here is the thing of the utmost importance,” Herr
Winckel spoke warningly. “The facts must not leak; they must not get to
the United States officials. That is so important that the whole plan
will have to be dropped if there is any suspicion as to a leak.”

“I think a number of us will bear out what Winckel says,” O’Reilly
spoke up. “For myself, and I think I speak for the other Irishmen here
present and also for the forty thousand against England, but against
the United States--never. Not one Irishman can be counted on if it
comes to a showdown against the U. S. A.”

“Nor very many Germans,” added Winckel.

“So be it,” said Captain Knabe. “Shall we go over the ammunition
storehouses, those that are in Canada and those that are in this
country?”

Many of the places Ted could not make out, others he did. He realized
that this was valuable information. Names though they were, they were
clues and so might be important.

Much more was said by the many men and Ted stored up in his mind such
information as he thought would be useful. At half past ten all the men
had left and from what Ted heard he understood that Knabe, Winckel,
O’Reilly and Schoen were adjourning to some other place to perfect
plans.

Ted cautiously stretched himself. He was wary and still watchful.
Although his muscles were stiff and his bones ached, he had not dared
to move. When he was fairly certain that he could move, he indulged in
that luxury for at least five minutes. He had no trouble in leaving the
building. Once outside, he hastened to a telephone booth. He had no
intention of telephoning, but he did want to find out the address of
Winckel. A plan was in his mind.

He found two Winckels in the telephone. He decided that in all
likelihood it was the one on Michigan avenue, the other was somewhere
on the North Side.

When he came to the first cross street he saw a passing taxi and hailed
it. The driver had some suspicion as to the ability of his customer to
pay, for Ted was still in his newsboy’s clothes. However, Ted proved he
had the necessary funds and satisfied the chauffeur.

Ted left the taxi two blocks before he reached the Winckel residence.
The inside of the house was almost, not quite dark. Stealthily the boy
investigated. He decided that any entrance would have to be made from
the rear or the side of the building. The rear windows to the basement
and the door he found were locked.

The boy studied the situation. He saw where he could enter through one
place, but it would mean that he would have to remove a window glass.
He decided against that. There was danger of being heard.

Though Ted was seeking an entrance he had not as yet made up his mind
to try to go to the rescue of his friends. To go into the building and
take chances? But then, after all, his information could be of use to
Strong only, for he held the many threads.

It would be folly to call the police, Strong would not care to have the
publicity, and then, too, the two men might not be there after all.

He decided, come what may, he would go in. He felt fairly certain that
Winckel would not be in the house nor would he return for an hour or
more. Before making any further attempt to get inside, Ted went to a
nearby drug store. He obtained paper and stamped envelope and wrote
the following message to Strong’s office, addressing it to Strong’s
secretary, Miss Ford.

  “Unless you hear from us in the early morning, you will find us
  imprisoned in the cellar of Mr. Winckel’s house. I am now trying to
  get Mr. Strong and Mr. Walker out, but may not succeed.

  “11:15 p. m.                                                 Ted.”

Having mailed the letter he hurried back to the house. Cautiously he
prowled about, trying to find a way into the basement. There was no way.

At any ordinary time Ted would have said it was impossible to get up
on that ledge, but he managed it now. The house entrance was through
a wide door, but one had to go down three steps and it made the floor
an English basement. The floor above that was much higher than most
ground floors and yet lower than most second floors. Ted crept along
the narrow ledge holding on to such supports as were there. He reached
a big window and by careful manipulation and urging the boy managed to
force it open.

He crawled in. Spot’s suit was very useful now, for it held matches.
Ted did not intend to use any unless he had to, but the building was
strange to him and the occasion for the use of them might arise. He
knew that he would have two floors to travel, the one to the basement
and the one to the cellar. He got down the one floor without mishap. He
was about to begin the exploration of that floor for the entrance to
the cellar, when he heard the key being inserted into the street door.

His heart leaped within him. Two people entered, a man and woman. They
switched on a light. If these people had come thirty seconds earlier
he would have been caught coming down the stairs, Ted thought, as he
crouched behind the turn of the staircase.

“It was nice of you to see me home, Mr. Erkin,” said the young lady.
“Will you be good enough to let the light burn, as some of the folks
are not in yet? Come and see me sometime.”

“Good-night, thank you, I will,” the man answered and left.

The boy thought, “Well, I certainly should be called Lucky. Here I
wonder how to find an entrance to the cellar and they are kind enough
to turn on a light for me.”

It was fairly easy for Ted to find his way now, but because of the
light he had to use even greater care.

The cellar seemed deserted, when he got there. It was pitch dark and
it took several minutes for him to grow accustomed to the extreme
darkness. Then he heard the faint murmur of voices.

Strong and Walker had slept fitfully and had been wide awake at various
times. Strong had again been awakened and was insisting that Walker
listen to him.

As Ted drew nearer, he heard Strong say, “I don’t think, the way I
feel, I shall ever be able to move again. But if I knew that Ted was
just the least bit successful I could be forever content.”

“The poor child--if he did anything at all,” Walker answered, “it would
be wonderful. It’s a man’s job, what, then, could a boy do?”

As if in answer to the question, they heard a low voice call, “Mr.
Strong, Mr. Strong!”

“Who is that?” the startled voice of Strong demanded.

“It’s me, Ted!” said that ungrammatical young man, a bit excitedly.

[Illustration: TED FREES THE PRISONERS]

“God bless you, boy. Is it really you? Have you a match?”

Ted struck one. Hurriedly he untied the two men, who were already
questioning him excitedly and to whom he whispered assurances.

As they turned the corner (having left the building without trouble)
Strong looked back. An auto passed north on Michigan avenue.

“That’s Winckel’s car,” he said. “We weren’t any too soon.”

Ted told the two men of the night’s adventures and they both listened
eagerly. Strong was laboring under great excitement as the boy went
on with his story. When Ted was through he placed his hand on Ted’s
shoulder and said, quietly and very impressively, to him:

“I simply can’t tell you the things I long to say. You’re going to be a
man, my boy! This is a day’s work of which you will always be proud.

“Knowing what we know, we can go to sleep tonight, awake in the
morning with a plan as to just what we will do. I could almost cry
with contentment. This news you bring is what we have long striven
to learn, and along comes Ted Marsh--Lucky, the Boy Scout--and makes
Canada and England his very grateful and humble servants.

“There are several things we know we can do now,” he added. “We had
best take a night to sleep it over.”

“You are a wonder, Ted, my friend,” added Walker.

“Come, let us go,” said Strong.

“We are all weary. I hate to leave you. I’d like to celebrate, but I
guess we had better postpone it until tomorrow. See you at eight.”




CHAPTER XXI

WINCKEL CALLS A HALT


There were glaring headlines in the newspapers the next morning. War
was on. People who had doubted all along, who could not believe it
possible, now had to believe. And, although England was as yet not
involved, no one was optimistic enough to imagine that she would stay
out of it.

Around newspaper offices, everywhere, excited, eager groups discussed
it all. Many a man heard the thrilling call of his native land and many
listened and made plans to return to either Germany, Russia, England or
France.

Yet neither in headlines nor in the ordinary run of news, was there
mention made of the events of our story. Silent, powerful forces were
at work to keep it quiet.

The automobile of Herr Winckel stopped before his house and from it
Schmidt, O’Reilly and the owner alighted. They made their way to the
cellar, a precaution as to the safekeeping of the prisoners. O’Reilly
and Schmidt were to be guests of Winckel for the night. Much work had
been planned for the morning.

“Quiet, aren’t they?” said Schmidt, as Winckel started to turn on the
light.

“I guess they are asleep,” remarked O’Reilly. The light glared. A
moment’s hush. There were astonished and wondering exclamations. The
ropes which had held the prisoners tied, were strewn about, but the
prisoners were nowhere.

“What can it mean?” exclaimed Winckel, searching vainly for an
explanation.

Wild guesses were made by the three as to how the escape was made.

“Well,” said Winckel after awhile, “never mind how they escaped, the
important thing is--how much have they found out of our plans.” He
showed plainly how disturbed he was.

“How can they have found out about our plans? Pretty far fetched to
imagine that they could have obtained any information--the chances are
that they did not escape until late this evening.”

O’Reilly interrupted Schmidt. “Is there any way in which we can find
out the last time someone in the house saw the prisoners?”

“Good idea,” said Winckel. “We shall soon find out.”

The household was awakened. Inquiries and investigation showed that
Lauer, a trusted employee of Winckel, had taken a last look at the
prisoners at about ten o’clock. He was certain of that; he had heard
their voices, although he could not make out what they spoke about.

There were sighs of relief from Schmidt and O’Reilly, who felt that the
situation was covered, but Winckel was more skeptical and less canny.

“I will admit that they were here until ten o’clock and later. I will
even admit that they were not listening at the conference. But how was
their escape managed and why after ten? Did they have outside help and
how did the outside help know of their imprisonment here?

“Both of you gentlemen may be tired and may wish to retire. Please do
so, if you want to. I am going down to our meeting-place to see what I
can see. A little late, I will admit, and it may not do us much good,
but there is always a chance. It is important for us to find out if we
have blundered, if our plans have been disclosed.”

Both Schmidt and O’Reilly insisted on accompanying Winckel and the
three left the house in the next five minutes.

They reached the building in about twenty minutes. No policeman was
about to see them violate the speed laws on the way. An immediate and
careful search of the room was made, to see if anyone had been there
since they left and also for any clue as to the probable leak.

“Nothing seems wrong as far as I can see,” O’Reilly started to say.
“Hello, what is this?” He had discovered the cleverly concealed wires
of the dictaphone. Winckel and Schmidt joined him on the instant. They
traced the wires and soon found out the whole layout.

“Mischief is certainly afoot,” exclaimed Schmidt. The other men said
nothing, but studied the proposition.

“There still is a chance,” said O’Reilly in an unconvincing manner--as
if he wanted to believe something his better sense did not permit him
to do, “that this outfit was not used since Strong and the other man
had been kept from it.”

A sickening thought at the same instant came to Schmidt. “O’Reilly,
we talked about the prisoners, how we had trapped them, where they
were--and all the time someone was listening. That someone heard all we
had to say and then, after we were all through, he went up to Winckel’s
house and rescued them.”

Winckel said nothing for many minutes; he seemed lost in thought. The
other men waited for him to speak. Finally he did.

“We are a lot of dunces. We were so sure of ourselves, we felt we were
so wise. Pride goeth before a fall and we fell. We must give up our
plans. It is up to both of you to get busy, we still have time to keep
out of trouble. There is a ray of comfort in that, at least.”

“I hate to think what Knabe and the others at the embassy will think,”
was the rueful comment of Schmidt.

“Don’t let that bother you. This plan has failed, we must plan
again--when again we match wits, let us hope we shall be more careful
and consequently more successful. Come, enough of post mortems, let’s
get busy.”

It was a busy night for all of them. There were many men who had to be
seen and who in turn had to see others. It was, so they explained to
the others, a matter of life and death that all preparations cease at
once, as there would be close and careful watch kept. There was much
telephoning and telegraphing to the friends who were in other cities.

There can be nothing but thorough admiration for the effective,
capable way these men went about calling a halt to all activities.
Like a perfect, well oiled machine which slows down and then ceases
its movements, until there is something tremendously impressive in
its inaction and silence; like a well-drilled army which retreats
magnificently and in its very retreat almost gains a victory, so much
like all this, was the action and the work of these men at this time.
They were obeyed as only the Germans know how to obey. By morning,
there was no sign, no clue to their plans and activities. One thing
only remained to prove the danger to Canada that had been. Arsenals and
warehouses holding weapons and vehicles of war were found at the places
shown on the list that Ted had copied.

At Ottawa and a little later in London and in Washington, the
powers--the men at the helm--found out that what would in all
probability have been a successful invasion of Canada had been checked.
And they found out, too, just how and in what way it had been done.




CHAPTER XXII

AT OTTAWA


“Come in, both of you,” Strong called from the inside office. Ted had
shown up at Strong’s office early the next day. He found Strong at his
desk and he found afterwards that he had been there for more than two
hours. His secretary told Ted that he was telephoning long distance and
that Ted should wait. When the operative was through talking, he came
out and saw Ted.

“Sit down a few minutes, Ted, I shall be busy,” he had said. He had
returned to his office and proceeded to do some further telephoning.
Walker had come in a little later and the two were busy going over the
evening’s events when Strong called out as above.

“Well, Ted, I guess we are going to have war. At least we won the first
victory, or rather you did.”

Ted fidgeted at the praise and grinned sheepishly.

“I wonder,” said Walker, “if they have found the dictaphone as yet.”

“You can safely figure on the fact that they did. They started a little
investigation when they found that the birds had flown. But it does not
matter how much they know we know, now. It’s a fight in the open from
now on. I’m thankful for that.

“I have already notified Ottawa, New York, and the different capitals
of the provinces. Washington also knows, our embassy has already
notified them as to the location of the arsenals. They are going to
issue orders from Ottawa to confiscate those in our own country at once.

“Ottawa wanted all the facts and it got them. I expect to hear further
from them in the course of the day.”

“I wonder,” said Walker, “if our friends will be polite enough to
return my dictaphone. They should, it does not belong to them and they
probably know to whom it does belong.”

“You might go over and claim it,” answered Strong.

“I think I will, just to see old Winckel’s face.”

Strong turned to Ted.

“Dear lad,” he said, “what you did isn’t the kind of thing that can
appear in the newspapers, but it is the kind about which history is
made. It is a big job you have accomplished. The men who sent you down
to us made no mistake in their judgment as to what you could do. Sir
Robert Wingate wanted to know all about you, I must have talked to him
for more than twenty minutes on the telephone.

“Walker and I go to Ottawa on a late train today. They want to see me,
to go over details.

“Well, let’s get busy with the last threads of what happened last
night--we have to put it down on black and white for future reference.
When do you want to return to Wayland, Ted?”

“I should like to go by Saturday, if it can be arranged,” answered Ted.

“Well, I think it can be done. I shall return tomorrow night or early
the following morning. You will be free for these two days. Have a good
time; remember, we pay all your expenses--nothing is too good for you.
If you can, come down the day after tomorrow. I may have some news for
you.”

“I shall be glad to come down,” answered Ted, as he wondered at the
news to which Strong had reference.

They spent a half hour or more going over the events of the evening,
Strong’s secretary taking notes. Then Ted left and returned home.

That afternoon he took his mother to the ball game and saw the Cubs
defeat the Giants. He tried to explain the game to his mother, who
pretended an interest and tried hard to understand. But she found her
truant fancy going elsewhere--it centered about this boy of hers, her
daughter and also about the husband who could not endure the troubleous
times, not because of the hardship to himself so much as the hardship
to her and the child.

Ted’s interest was not divided, however, except in rare moments when
he would turn to his mother and accuse her of lack of interest. She
would flush guiltily and pretend that she was interested. She would
ask a question or two, but her very questions convicted her, showed
her inability to understand, and Ted gave it up as a hopeless job and
comforted himself in the belief that only men understood the game, it
was too deep for women, excepting one or two, who knew something.

As they rode home the boy and the mother discussed the improvement in
their condition.

“We will never have to worry any more, mother, not as long as I am
able,” the boy said, with all of youth’s surety and confidence.

Mrs. Marsh wiped an unbidden tear from her eye.

“I am very happy, dear. And yet, I would give so much if your father
was one of us. He was a fine man, but things were against him, too much
so.”

Ted did not answer, he felt that nothing he could say would help.

After a long period of quiet, the boy spoke a little more quietly:
“Never mind, mother, you have Helen and me.”

“I am happy in my riches,” answered the mother proudly.

When they reached home, both of them began to get the supper ready so
that Helen would not have to wait. A brilliant idea came to Ted as they
prepared. “Mother,” he said excitedly, “let’s not eat at home tonight.
We are going to the theater, so let us have supper out.”

At first the mother demurred, but she gave way--there was great
temptation in the unusual treat. When Helen came home and was told
the plan she was even more excited than they; it was so unusual an
adventure. You can readily believe that it was a happy party of three
that repaired to one of the many nice restaurants in the loop and
afterward to the theater. They did not reach home until late in the
night. On the way home they discussed what the news could be that
Strong would have for Ted.

The next day Ted spent at the Settlement, renewing old acquaintances.
Miss White, who had taken Mrs. Dean’s place, was glad to see him and
gave him a hearty welcome. She was greatly interested in his story of
his year in the West and wanted to know all about Mrs. Dean. It was a
great day for Ted and the pleasantest of his stay in Chicago.

On his way home that night Ted began to wish for Wayland. He had not
realized how much the place meant to him until now. Syd Graham and the
rest of the boys seemed very dear, very desirable.

“I hope,” he said to himself, “that nothing will keep me from going on
Saturday.”




CHAPTER XXIII

TED RECEIVES A REWARD


Sir Robert Wingate listened while John Strong told the story of
the plotting and counterplotting in Chicago. Many times he made
memorandums. He asked questions once or twice, but in the main he just
listened. When Strong finally completed his account, Sir Robert said:

“We took immediate action at our end and the results are more than
satisfying. Strong, I do not want you to think for a minute that
the importance of what you men have done is underestimated. The
excitement of the Great War, the necessity of secrecy as to what you
have accomplished--all these facts may give you an idea that we do not
consider your work as important as it is. We do, however. Now, as to
this boy, Theodore Marsh. He must be an unusual youngster with a good
head. He will bear watching.”

“Unfortunately for us, he is American. Those are the kind of boys
Canada could use to advantage. Not only is he American, but loyally so.”

“Well, he shall have acknowledgment of his deed of service. Tell me, is
he from a family of wealth?”

Strong briefly gave Sir Robert an account of Ted’s past. The latter
nodded his head understandingly.

“I think we will also give a more practical acknowledgment of the value
of his service. The Government, I am sure, will be glad to give a
reward of $1,000.00 to him. When you go back to Chicago, you will give
him a letter from me which will also hold a check for that amount.”

You would think that both Strong and Walker were the ones who were
receiving the money, they showed how glad they were.

Strong could not complete his work until late in the afternoon. Walker
and he boarded a train which brought them into Chicago about three
o’clock the next afternoon.

“This letter and the enclosure will be a great surprise to Ted, won’t
it?” said Walker. “I certainly am glad of it; he surely deserves it.”

“That he does, and I am just as glad. Let me manage the business of
letting him know about it.”

When they reached the office, Ted had already been there. He had left,
saying that he would be back at two o’clock, when told that Strong
would not arrive until the afternoon.

Promptly at two Ted showed up. Strong saw him as he opened the door and
greeted him warmly.

“Hello, Ted; it’s good to see you. We certainly shall miss you when you
go back to Wayland. But I guess you will be glad to be back, won’t you?”

“I certainly will. I am going by way of Big Gulch and shall stop off at
the ranch for a day or so.”

“That’s a splendid idea, isn’t it?” commented Walker.

“Well, Ted, hear anything more from our friends, the enemy?” asked
Strong, laughingly.

“No, sir, but then I would not be the one to hear. I thought Mr.
Walker would, he was going to claim his property.”

They all laughed.

“By Jove, I must do that; I have completely forgotten it,” remarked
Walker.

“Well, Ted, they were very nice at Ottawa. I understand the Government
is going to honor you in some way for your service; they even spoke of
doing the same thing for both Walker and myself.”

Strong gave Ted an outline of what had happened, but made no mention of
the letter from Sir Robert. Walker was tempted to remind him, thinking
that he had forgotten, but he remembered that Strong had said he wished
to handle that end himself.

“I suppose you will be busy packing and getting ready tomorrow. You
leave at four on Saturday afternoon? Come down and see us before you
go. When we need your services again, we’ll have you come on.”

Ted got up to go. As he opened the door, Strong called to him.

“I say, Ted, I almost forgot another thing which probably is not very
important. I have a letter for you; silly, not to have remembered.” And
Strong smiled, while Walker laughed.

“For me?” said Ted wonderingly, as he took the letter. Then, as he
opened it, he saw the check. He looked at it a little dazed. He saw his
name as if in a haze--then he saw the amount.

“One thousand dollars--and for me?” He stammered the words, he was
almost stricken dumb.

“Yes, for you--to do with as you will. You certainly deserve it,” said
Strong.

“Every bit of it,” added Walker.

Ted had a feeling as if he wanted to cry. He did. Walker patted him on
the shoulder understandingly, while Strong looked out of the window and
pretended he did not see.

“There is a letter which you might be glad to read and which I think
will be almost as welcome as the money.” Strong turned round and faced
him as he said this.

The boy opened the letter.

                                                        “August 2, 1914.
  “Master Theodore Marsh,
       “Chicago, Illinois.

  “Dear Theodore:

  “Mr. Strong has advised me as to the service you have done Canada. It
  has been a big service, one that Canada must remember. I want you to
  know that it does and will. You have shown a capacity for thinking,
  for doing the right thing at the right time. I think even better than
  both these things, though, has been the simple way in which you have
  carried out instructions when conditions were such as to put up to
  you the burden of necessary action. What would have been a remarkable
  accomplishment for a man is a tremendous accomplishment for a boy.

  “I regret the fact that you are not Canadian but am glad you are a
  loyal American. Your country is fortunate in having a boy of your
  kind. I hope you will have the future that your present action
  promises.

  “The enclosed, in a small way, signalizes a reward for your
  invaluable services.

  “I hope to have the pleasure of meeting you at some time, and I am,

                                           “Very sincerely yours,
                                                       “Robert Wingate.”

“That’s a fine letter, isn’t it?” said Ted, when he finished. He spoke
in a low voice--he did not trust his feelings.

“Yes, it’s fine. Sir Robert is a great man. He does things in a big
way. But I think you want to go home now, so go.”

And Ted did.




CHAPTER XXIV

TED GOES BACK


“But, Ted, it would be impossible for us to go on Saturday. I am not so
sure that we can go at all, it will require a lot of thinking.”

Mrs. Marsh had heard the wonderful news and Ted’s sudden plan for them
to go out to Big Gulch or Wayland. She was trying to show Ted how
impossible it was for them to do it and he was only just beginning to
acknowledge that perhaps Saturday would be too soon.

“Well, I tell you, mother. Maybe Saturday is too soon, but you will be
ready in two weeks--that is plenty of time. I know that Helen will be
able to do whatever she wants to do out there--and this money, after
we have repaid the Deans, will help to tide over the time until we are
settled. We shall hear what Helen says--and I shall speak to Mr. and
Mrs. Dean when I get out there.”

Helen was told the news almost before she passed the doorstep. She was
astonished and glad and cried all in the same minute.

“How wonderful!” she finally managed to say.

Then she was told of Ted’s plan. The boy had thought that she might
need convincing, but she agreed almost at once.

“I know I can obtain a position in my line of work out there. It is a
land of opportunity and we should grasp the chance to get out there.”

All that remained was for Ted to get the opinion of the Deans.

Ted went down to say good-bye to Strong and Walker the next day. Both
men were very busy, but the three had lunch together and Ted promised
to write to both of them.

“You may have to write both of us at the front--we shall go off to the
war--that is, Walker will. It may be my bad luck to have to stay on
duty here, although I have asked to be relieved.”

“Well, Ted,” said Walker, “I shall see you at the train.”

“And I will try to do so,” added Strong.

The boy told both his friends of the plan to bring his mother and
sister out West. They agreed that it was a good plan.

His mother and sister, and Walker and Strong saw him depart. It was
just a year before that Ted had left, what a big year it had been.

Ted’s thoughts turned to the ranch. He was eager to see Red Mack,
Smiles, Graham, Pop, and the Deans. He hoped it would be Red who would
meet him--and that he would bring his horse down so that they could go
back to the ranch on horseback. Of course, in all likelihood, it would
be the Packard that would come down for him, for the distance was long
and it would mean a lot of extra trouble for Red or anyone to lead his
horse down all the way. The trip to Big Gulch seemed long because of
the boy’s eagerness to see his friends. He awakened very early on the
second morning when the train was due. When the train finally reached
the station, he eagerly looked out to see who was there. But he could
see no one until he stepped from the train.

There stood Red and next to him Pop. There were three horses and one
of them was his.

Glad greetings were exchanged.

“My, I’m glad you came for me on horseback. I hoped you would, but it
seemed too much to expect.”

“Well, we figured you would like it. Glad you do.”

They started off. As best he could, Ted told his story and both of the
men listened with different interest. When Ted came to that part where
it had practically been settled that his mother and Helen were to come
out, a queer look came into Pop’s eyes which neither of them saw. The
older man rode behind most of the way after that.

“You should see Wolf, you would not know him,” said Red.

“I guess he would not know me, either,” answered Ted.

“He may be your dog, but I’m kind of attached to him myself,” remarked
Red.

Some time in the afternoon they reached the ranch. Smiles was there and
so were the other men and they gave Ted a great welcome.

So did Wolf, who had grown wonderfully, and who, while he did not
look like any particular kind of dog, showed himself to have an
individuality, all his own. He sprang at Ted and barked his delight. It
made Ted feel good to have the dog remember him. It was queer to see
how the dog tried to pay attention to both Red and Ted, and it made the
men laugh at his double devotion.

Ted hurried to the house where Mrs. Dean was waiting for him. She
showed how glad she was to see him.

“Mr. Dean will be back a little later. He has been very busy.”

Ted thought he would wait with his news until later and merely
mentioned some of the things that had happened.

“Ted, dear,” said Mrs. Dean, “I want to tell you that we are going to
have a little stranger in this house, soon.” Then Ted knew why he had
hesitated about blurting out his news--there was an even bigger event
to happen.

“I’m so glad,” said he.

He stayed a little while only, as Mrs. Dean did not seem strong.

He saw Dean when he came home. To both of his friends he told his
news, what had been done, he showed Sir Robert’s letter and then spoke
of his plan for his mother and sister.

“How wonderful,” said Mrs. Dean, while John Dean looked tenderly at her.

“I’m proud of you, Ted. I counted on you, but you did much more. I
heard from Strong, but I did not know what had been accomplished. As to
your mother and sister--they must come out here--the wonderful thing is
that Mrs. Dean will need your mother’s help very soon and it all seems
to fit one thing into another. Helen will get a rest here; she need not
worry as to finding the right kind of opportunity. When do you expect
to write home?”

“At once,” answered Ted.

“The sooner they come the better, although I suppose it will be every
bit of two weeks.”

Ted started to leave his friends to rejoin Red and the rest. Dean
caught up with him about one hundred yards from the house.

“You know, Ted,” he started without any preamble, “I feel as if my
country is calling me. I cannot think of going until the child is born
and Mrs. Dean is well. But I shall have to, hard as it may be. That
is one reason why I shall be glad to have your sister and your mother
here. They will be company for Mrs. Dean. She agrees with me that I
should go. She is the bravest, best woman in the world.” He stopped for
a minute. “I shall see you later, as soon as Mrs. Dean takes her rest.
I want to know all about Chicago and what happened.”

He returned to the house while Ted joined the men.

They were in the midst of a discussion of the war. Ted listened. Smiles
and several of the other men were leaving in three days--off for the
war. Red was not going--he was American. “I may go later, if they need
me,” he said. There was to be a great shortage of men at the ranch.

Dean had made Pop the new foreman to take Smiles’ place. Pop was not in
the conversation, he was sitting by himself and he showed every desire
to be left alone. After a little while, he left the room.

It made the war very near and Ted felt very lonely to hear that these
friends of his were going off, some of them never to return.




CHAPTER XXV

THE MARSHES REUNITED


Pop entered the house. He wanted advice and he wanted it bad. He knew
that ordinarily he would have gone to Mrs. Dean--a woman would help so
much at a time like this. But Dean met him in the hall.

“Hello, Pop--what’s the trouble?” asked Dean.

“Hello, Jack. I can’t say whether it’s trouble or not. What I want is
advice. Maybe you can give it to me, although I figured Mrs. Dean would
be better.”

“Tell me, I may be able to help.” Dean was surprised at the agitation
of the older man.

Pop told his story. He did not keep any of the details from Dean. The
latter listened, his astonishment growing all the time.

“You see, Jack, it’s this way. If they come here, my wife will see me.
She probably hates me. I cannot hope that she will understand. On the
other hand, I want so much to be with her, I am going to be foreman and
that means I can support her comfortably. But I probably would make her
miserable if I entered into her life again. What do you say?”

“Let us ask Mrs. Dean. She will give you the right answer.”

Mrs. Dean listened. There was no hesitation in her answer.

“Go to Chicago at once. You need not worry about how your wife will
take it, nor as to how she feels. I know. She understands better than
you can ever suppose. Jack, dear, whoever said that God did not weave
our lives? How closely our friends here have been interwoven with our
lives, how much we have been of service to each other.

“Go to Chicago on the first train,” she finished.

“Yes, and we shall tell Ted. Bring them back with you,” added Dean.

Pop left the house, much relieved. He was happy that his duty was what
his inclination was--what he craved to do. He joined the other men.

Without giving any explanation he told Smiles he would have to be away
for about ten days and that he had already arranged for the same with
John Dean.

Early the next morning he was off. He asked Red to take him down. To
Red he explained the whole thing, that he was coming back with his
folks.

“I understand a whole lot of things now. How queerly you acted at
times. I guess I’ll call you Marsh, now.”

“Yes, and it’s up to you to explain. I shall wire you before you do so.
If my wife should decide that she does not want me, I am not coming
back. If she decides she will forgive me, I will telegraph you and you
can let it out casually.”

“I will be glad to do so,” answered Red. “Is Jack going to tell Ted?”

“Yes, that’s the plan.”

“The boy will be glad. He likes you a lot. But, mostly glad, because it
will make his mother happy.”

“I hope so much that it will,” the older man answered.

We are not going into details as to the meeting between the Marshes.
We, who are acquainted with so much of their story, can imagine what
happened. Bill Marsh left home because he felt he could not hold his
head up nor his wife’s respect. He had been very foolish, and it
was this foolishness, this false pride, even a lack of faith in the
understanding of his wife that had made him stay away. Who should
have known him better than his own wife? It was harder to make Helen
understand. She asked some searching questions, but in the end she
realized the fine manliness of her father.

The two, mother and daughter, marveled at the coincidence of the father
being at the same place as Ted.

“The world is a small place, isn’t it?” said Mrs. Marsh.

It did not take very long for them to be ready to leave. Marsh helped
where he could and a week after he arrived they left for Big Gulch. Red
had paved the way, in accordance with their plan.

Ted was too surprised to make any comment when he heard the news.
At first he was furiously angry at his father. Boylike, he could not
forgive certain things which an older person could. It was Mrs. Dean,
even more than Red and John Dean, who made him see and understand.

Then the Marshes came to Big Gulch. Matters adjusted themselves. It
was a busy time for all. Smiles was off, smiling and glad. So were the
other men who were to go. Brave men, all of them, doing their duty as
they saw it. Pop took up his duties as foreman.

Then the child was born to the Deans. A girl, which seemed like a
squalling, ugly baby, much like any other baby, to Ted. But to say so
to the mother or to the father or to Mrs. Marsh or to Helen, would have
been a great, an awful insult.

The men came in to see the heir apparent. They seemed clumsy, uncouth,
sheepish creatures and all of them were glad to get away, including Pop
and Ted.

With the excitement subsiding, things began again to take a normal
aspect. Mrs. Dean began to sit up, the child began to look more like
a human being, it had been decided that Helen was to rest for a few
months and then continue her studies at the nearest preparatory school,
with the purpose of entering college. John Dean was to leave for the
front in two weeks.

Our story is almost complete. Ted received a great welcome at the
Academy. The boys had heard of what he had done, of his reward and
the letter he had received from Sir Robert Wingate. For one whole day
his coming made the Great War an even smaller event. Captain Wilson
had gone to Ottawa, he had been promoted to be a major. Some of the
instructors were gone and even one or two of the older students. Those
who were left spoke only of the time when they, too, could go and they
were bemoaning their misfortune in being young.

Ted heard from the folks at home. He heard from Helen and somehow he
got the impression that all she spoke about was Red and what a fine
man he was. A letter from Red made no mention of Helen, but he did say
that he was getting down to the serious business of thinking of the
future. Even as young as Ted was, he could guess that they had become
great friends and he was glad. His father wrote him that he had placed
his $1,000.00 in the bank for him, he having settled all the debts and
accounts himself. It was a fine letter and it removed what resentment
still remained with Ted against his father. His mother also wrote,
saying she was wonderfully happy and he got a short note from John Dean
before he left. He also heard from Walker, who told him he was off for
the war, but that Strong had to stay.

Syd Graham and Ted were inseparable. They did many things together and
the plans for the future each of the boys made included the other.
There was, of course, a great deal more of military training and many
times the boys at the Academy were called upon for some duty or other.

So the days went. Ted received a fall vacation and he went home. There
was news from the front. Dean had been wounded, so the report came,
not seriously, but enough to disable him, and he was returning home.
He would always limp. In that awful charge when so many Canadians had
been wounded and killed, Smiles had lost his life. It made Ted very sad
to think that he would never see the happy, smiling ex-foreman again.
Helen was at school. Ted pumped Red Mack as to Helen and found his
suspicions confirmed. He teased Red unmercifully and it was one time
when Red was flustered. The Dean baby was a healthy, lusty youngster of
a few months.

Lucky, the Boy Scout, as Captain Wilson called him, has his life before
him. This story is but an incident of his early life. But for later
events, we must look elsewhere.

[Illustration]




TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.





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