Somebody on the outskirts of the group laughed.
"Now you are going to do your first service for your country," McKenzie said to the tenderfoot; "but whatever you do, be wary, because – "
Somebody else laughed, and McKenzie looked about sharply. "What's the joke?" he asked.
"Danny's afraid," the mocker explained; "that's where the dead man swings."
Biddie strolled forward. "Alex will be enough to work Elsie's right," he said to McKenzie. "Give me the Death Head trail. You'll need Dan here about the camp."
But Danny raised his head quickly. It is true that his face was dead-white, but his head was up.
"I'll go to the Death Head," he said to McKenzie.
The crowd was dumb-struck.
"But you got white-livered and backed down – " L. C. began, after the first shock of his surprise.
"I wouldn't go when you dared me to," said the tenderfoot, "but this is – different." And he added in his heart: "This is for my country."
"But he is afraid," put in Roger. "Look at him!"
McKenzie took a long, straight look into Danny's white face and determined eyes, and then turned to Roger.
"All the gamer of him," he said, "to go in spite of being afraid – that's the stuff that Pershing is looking for. And Mr. Gordon says that a boy who 'isn't afraid of anything' hasn't sense enough to be trusted with a commission. "Kid," he continued, turning to Danny, "you find out all that there is to be known about the Death Head vicinity before you show up in camp again."
"All right," said Danny.
There was a gasp of surprise among them at the tenderfoot's final acceptance of the commission, but not one of them – not even Biddie – believed that he would be able to carry it through. And the sensitive, high-strung Danny went out from among them burdened with the feeling that they did not look for him to succeed.
McKenzie walked a little way with him – big-brother fashion, with an arm over his shoulder – and gave him careful directions as to how to proceed. There would be a moon if the clouds broke, his leader warned him, and he was to keep to the shadows.
"I'll be leaving camp myself," said McKenzie, "and will not show up again for a couple of hours. You will probably get back before the rest of us, so just roll up in your blanket and lie close under that ledge yonder – you will be perfectly safe there." A little farther up the mountain trail and McKenzie paused.
"Never mind about the dead man, scout," he admonished finally, "but keep your eye peeled for the live one, and – 'the best of luck!'"
"'The best of luck!'" That was what the men at the front said to a fellow when he was going over the top of the shielding trench into the dangerous unknown.
At the familiar phrase in parting, Danny drew a quick, deep breath. Yes, he was going "over the top" – and he was going alone!
Then McKenzie slipped quietly back, and Danny started forward up the long, dark trail alone. The ghost of a moon showed dimly through the black cloud-rack, now and again, and fitfully relieved the enveloping darkness.
Only once did Danny look back. That was when he came to the first turn in the mountain trail which his leader had carefully explained to him. Beyond that turn, and it would be good-by to the last cheering, reassuring gleam of their camp-fire, to the last faint sound of comforting voices.
Danny paused and looked back. Only two remained in the bright circle toward which his rapidly chilling spirit was reaching back. He recognized at once the tall, slim form of McKenzie, but – Yes, that chunky one was Biddie Burton. The two of them were standing close together, talking earnestly. And now Danny caught, by a sudden leap of the firelight, the fact that they were looking toward him. Biddie was nodding.
It was so bright, so safe back there where they had laughed and feasted and wrangled together. Then suddenly Danny thought of the young crucifer in the little Church of the Holy Innocents.
"Onward, Christian Soldiers!"
The next moment Danny was groping, feeling his trembling way, but that way was onward. The heart in his breast beat an alarm to every nerve in his body, but he kept his face toward the dim, dark trail. A lump rose in his throat and threatened to choke him. He gulped it down, and crept forward.
McKenzie had told him that a scout must keep his head. That was the hardest part. A fellow could force himself to go blindly to a haunted spot at night, but to think, to plan, to watch as he went – !
But he was a scout, and a scout must "be prepared." Danny forced himself to think as he went. He was not following that gruesome trail in response to Whitman's dare – he was scouting old Death Head in the service of his country.
Danny found that he could follow McKenzie's directions better than he had hoped. Now that his eyes were thoroughly accustomed to the dark, he could descry the blacker landmarks for which his leader had prepared him. After the turn in the mountain trail, an abrupt and jagged cliff ahead beckoned the way. The shadow of the cliff won, Danny waited for another appearance of the pale, cold moon by the help of whose light he hoped to locate the three giant pines – his next objective. From the pines, McKenzie had told him, old Death Head could be sighted plainly enough, for from that point it was silhouetted, black and unmistakable, against the sky, and its summit was marked by the stark, white, blasted tree of evil fame.
"That's where the dead man swings!" echoed in Danny's memory. And for a moment it seemed that he must give up and fly back to safety. But something said: "I'll disown you, sir!" And Danny again turned his face in the direction of his duty.
The moon looked out of the drifting clouds. Danny located the three giant pines in the distance, and for one blessed moment saw a reasonably clear path, skirting along the mountainside.
Darkness again! But Danny took the skirting path to the pine giants.
Once he nearly lost his nerve altogether, for suddenly there was behind him a sound as if some human foot had stumbled. The tenderfoot dropped warily to the long grass at one side of the path, and listened. A long, long time he listened, but not another sound did he hear. At length he told himself that the step was that of some wild creature which he had disturbed.
Then forward again! Creeping, panther-footed.
Danny reached the pines at last – and sure enough, old Death Head rose all too plainly before him. He saw, or thought he saw, a tall white something on its summit.
In thinking it over afterward, Danny was never quite sure just what happened between the pines and the haunted tree. He had a vague recollection of imagining that step behind again, and he recalled at one point the almost welcome pain of a stubbed toe. But for the rest, he was too frightened to take it all in.
By the time the tenderfoot reached the summit of old Death Head and stood within fifty feet of the haunted tree, he was too frightened to move, and he almost expected to see the thing which he most feared. The sky was overcast again, but a dim white something towered before him – the haunted tree – and – and – !
But just at that moment the clouds broke, and the full moon, now all unveiled, flooded the scene with light.
Naked, stark, ghostly, the blasted pine-tree rose before him. With a sudden spasm at his heart Danny looked for the swinging dead man. But if anything unearthly hung from those bare white branches, his mortal eyes were spared the vision. And presently his awakening reason began to urge: "There are no such things as 'ghosts.'"
The next moment the young scout came fully to himself, and withdrew quickly from the all-revealing flood of moonlight to the friendly shadow of a low shrub. He began to peer sharply about. The growth around was ragged, with great spaces between. If there was anything here that a scout ought to note, the opportunity was ideal.
He must perform the duty for which he was here! His leader had told him to know the spot before he showed up in camp again.
Danny began skirting about in the shadows, getting every angle he could on the scene, and exploring adjacent wood lanes. It is true that he kept well away from the haunted tree, but he came back to its vicinity every now and then. And each time as he came he managed to force himself to approach it closer.
Nearer and nearer he got to it, and then, suddenly, he heard issue from somewhere in its branches a low, sighing moan. Danny thought he would drop in his tracks, but he did not. Instead, he stood as still as death and listened.
That moan again! Every time a gust of wind came, the dim, weird sound trembled along the night.
The moon was shining brilliantly now. Danny stood staring at the haunted tree.
All at once he crept forward, sharply intent on something.
What was that straight black line against the sky? Where did it come from? – that haunted tree?
Another moment and Danny was at the foot of the ghostly pine-tree, staring upward at the crisscross of its naked branches.
There was no swinging dead man there, but there was something– at the top!
Danny dropped to the ground and retreated a little on all fours for a better view-point. 'Way up, two parallel black bars rose against the sky.
A scout must keep his head!
Now, no boughs of a tree ever grew that straight! And what were those orderly black lines which extended from one bar to the other?
That moan again! – or – or was it the sound of a wire, played upon by the wind?
Danny shifted his position again.
Yes, that black line across the sky connected directly with the queer something in the tree top.
"Wireless!" said the scout's head to him.
Danny stood up. All childish fear of a swinging ghost had dropped away from him. He had not the slightest inclination now to cry like a baby about anything.
He was a scout on duty!
Another moment and he was creeping, velvet-footed, through the woods, following that black line as it led away from the haunted tree. At the other end of it must be a receiving-station!
And it was no easy task which his duty set him. Over sharp rocks and through tangled briers that black line led him on. Sometimes the moon would desert him and he would lose the clue for a while. Sometimes he would be forced to abandon his clue to skirt around an insuperable barrier. But he always came back to it, always pressed on.
On and on! And then, suddenly, the line disappeared. It ended, or seemed to end in a large pile of boulders which clung to the mountainside. The undergrowth was dense here.
Danny circled about the spot. Yes, the wire stopped here. He began creeping through the underbrush – feeling his way along the side of a great boulder.
Suddenly his hand touched —nothing!
The scout stopped and thought. There was some sort of break in the rock here.
Danny had a flashlight in his pocket which he had been too cautious to use. He thought of it now, and hesitated. Then he slipped it out and pressed the spring.
Before him was what seemed the door of a cave. He looked closer. Yes, the wire led into the cave. Darkness, again, for he was afraid to use his light any longer.
Danny dropped to his all-fours and crept into the black hole. A floor of soft sand helped him to advance noiselessly. After a few yards the scout reached a turn in the rocky passageway, and —
His eye caught a big, black-hooded shadow humped over a point of light!
Danny withdrew quickly behind the sheltering turn in the wall, and crouched in the sand, dead-still. But his blood was up. He took a second look.
A man was sitting over some sort of instrument, and over his ears were cups, something like Danny had seen worn by the girl at the telephone central station. The one point of light in the big dark recess was turned on a note-book under the man's hand.
The young scout drew back, and crept silently out of the cavern.
Out under the stars again, and this time with his blood on fire! A spy, a German spy sat in that cave and sent messages – !
Only yesterday a fleet of transports had slipped out of the harbor, with thousands of American soldiers on board – submarines – sea-raiders!
But a scout must keep his head.
Help? Which way could help be found? The boys were scattered, McKenzie would not be in camp. Nobody knew when to expect Mr. Gordon.
Which way? Which way? Oh, yes, down over the drop of the cliff to the south yonder was the mountain wagon road by which their scouting party had ascended that afternoon. If he could get to the road he could find somebody somewhere – surely, there were a few inhabitants hereabouts!
That German was sending wireless messages right this minute – Yes, the shortest way to the road was the only way for a fellow to take now! And Danny took it.
When he reached the cliff, spent and sore, a new difficulty presented itself. A sheer fifty-foot drop still separated him from the road. He crept along the edge searching for a footing by which to descend, and presently found one that looked possible. There were broken, shelving places here, and tufts of growing things down the face of the dizzy wall.
Danny began to climb down. But he found it harder than he had thought, and at times he was a mere human fly clinging to a rock wall.
A man was sitting over some sort of instrument.Nearly down – only about fifteen feet more! But at that moment the human fly's hold crumbled under his clinging fingers, and he dropped. It ought not to have been a bad fall, but the trouble was a loosened rock followed, and came down on one arm as its owner lay prostrate on the ground.
Nearly down – only about fifteen feet more! But at that moment the human fly's hold crumbled under his clinging fingers, and he dropped. It ought not to have been a bad fall, but the trouble was a loosened rock followed, and came down on one arm as its owner lay prostrate on the ground.
Danny lay very still for a few moments, looking at the stars and thinking of – nothing!
Then presently the sound of human voices came to him from somewhere out of the night. With an effort he raised up a little to push off the stone from his arm, but he dropped back again.
The stars began to swim at that, and the voices to grow fantastic.
But a scout – must – keep – his head!
Those voices sounded familiar! Danny summoned all his strength, and sent the wavering call of a wounded whippoorwill along the night.
Silence, and then a whippoorwill answered sharply from out the forest.
Danny called again.
Shortly after that came low voices and the sound of hurrying feet. Then Mr. Gordon, the Scout Master, McKenzie, their leader, and jolly old Biddie Burton were hovering over him.
"Are you hurt?" they asked in one breath.
But Danny cried out feverishly: "There's a German spy sending wireless messages from old Death Head, and our transports have put to sea!" And he told them, brokenly, the story of his find.
There was consternation among them for one brief moment, and then everybody woke to action.
They must get the man at once – but which way to go?
Mr. Gordon spoke quickly:
"You stay with Danny, Burton; McKenzie and I will go back to the Death Head and follow the clue from there." And even as he spoke he and McKenzie were hurriedly, but tenderly, binding up the wounded arm, while Biddie improvised a comforting sling for it.
But Danny knew that the route by way of old Death Head was long and circuitous. And he knew also that the shortest way is the only way to take when one's duty to one's country calls.
He got to his feet.
"I'll show you the shortest way," he said.
*****
How they found means of scaling the cliff, how they accomplished their stealthy journey back to the hidden wireless station, piloted by the wounded tenderfoot whom they supported at every step, is too long a story to tell.
But they reached the mouth of the dark cave. The two boys were left outside, and very shortly thereafter Mr. Gordon and McKenzie brought out between them a big shadowy figure with its hands bound together.
*****
That night, the east-bound passenger was flagged at the little station in the valley, and there boarded it a squad of boy scouts with their leaders, who guarded between them a captured German spy.
"Gordon, how did you manage it?" called a voice, from some distance down the long coach as they entered.
For answer, Mr. Gordon took hold of a little boy who wore his left arm in a sling and, pushing him gently forward, said before that whole car full of curious, excited people:
"We had an American on guard to-night."
*****
The Probate Judge's office in the old courthouse on the square was, the next morning, the scene of a most unusual gathering.
Danny and his mother had been asked by the Scout Master to meet him there at ten o'clock. Mr. Gordon had sent his request in the form of a brief note which explained that the Boy Scout Court of Honor was to be in session that morning, and said that he wished his youngest scout to be present.
Danny's mother was strangely elated over the request, but Danny did not know why. He was so young in the business of scouting that some details of the system had not yet become definitely his.
He ventured one surmise when the note was read – something in connection with the taking of that German spy, of course. Maybe the Whippoorwills were to be commended for delivering the goods. And Danny's mind's eye recalled again the stirring scene – McKenzie and Mr. Gordon marshalling to the station between them the big German whom they had captured and bound, and he and the other scouts trudging along in excited escort. It was a wonderful thing to be a man, Danny thought wistfully – to be big and strong enough to lay a compelling hand on the enemy in our midst and say:
"I want you!"
But it will have to be recorded that Danny's mother acted a little queerly on receipt of the note. When Danny said that perhaps the Whippoorwills were to be commended for "delivering the goods," his mother looked up at him quickly, as if in surprise. Then she laughed a little and cried a little, and then she dashed off for her hat and wraps like a girl.
At ten o'clock sharp, Danny and his mother presented themselves at Judge Sledge's door. As they paused to knock, a voice came to them through the closed door – a familiar voice, and it sounded very earnest. Then the door was opened in response to their knock.
They hesitated a moment while they took in the quiet, dignified scene within. Portly old Judge Sledge was sitting well forward in his office chair with his spectacles pushed back upon his bald head, while Doctor Cranfield and several gentlemen whom Danny knew only by sight were grouped about him. All were in the attitude of listening intently to a man who stood before them – Mr. Gordon.
Danny's quick glance took in all this, including the background of khaki-clad Whippoorwills, plastered against the wall beyond.
The gentlemen rose, on the entrance of Mrs. Harding, and the scouts crowded forward to whisper excitedly to Danny.
But Danny did not have time to listen to them, for Doctor Cranfield – taking him by his good arm – turned him about, and said to the company:
"This is the boy."
There was an agonizing moment to Danny in which he realized that everybody in the room was looking at him. Then he had to be introduced. It was very, very trying, for each man to whom Danny gave his hand in greeting looked him over from head to foot, and made embarrassingly personal, if kindly, remarks about him.
"He was a small chap for the job."
"He ought to be red-headed."
"He was his mother's son."
Danny looked across the group into his mother's eyes and caught there an expression which he was never to forget. And she was smiling – in spite of the tear-mist over her beautiful eyes – she was smiling.