Boy Scouts in Mexico | Page 7

A swivel-chair which had stood in front of the desk was overturned,
and its back now rested on the rug while its polished castors stuck up in
the air. At first glance, there seemed to be no human being in the suite
save the frightened boy.
With his mind filled with thoughts of robbery, George was about to
rush out into the corridor and summon assistance, when a slight sound
coming from the north room attracted his attention. He hastened thither,
and was soon bending over an office couch upon which lay a still
figure.
There was no longer doubt in the mind of the boy as to what had taken
place there. Mr. Cameron had been attacked and the suite ransacked.
The boy recalled the fact that the rooms had been lighted from within
when he stood on the pavement, and wondered if it would not be

possible, by acting promptly, to capture the assassin, as he must still be
in the building, possibly hiding in some of the dark corners.
First, however, it was necessary that the injured man should receive
medical help. Fremont saw a wound on the head, probably dealt with
some blunt instrument, and then moved toward the telephone in the
outer room. As he did so the corridor door was opened and a boy of
perhaps fifteen years looked in. When the intruder saw that Fremont
was observing him, he advanced to the connecting doorway.
For quite a minute the boys, standing within a yard of each other,
remained silent. Fremont would have spoken, but the accusing look on
the face of the other stopped him. The intruder glanced keenly about
the two rooms which lay under his gaze and finally rested on the figure
on the leather office couch. Then, while Fremont watched him
curiously, he went back to the corridor door and stood against it.
"You've got your nerve!" he said, then. "You're nervy, but you ain't got
good sense, doin' a think like that with the shades up, the lights on, an'
the door unlocked. What did you go an' do it for?"
The sinister meaning of the words took form in the mind of the boy
instantly. For the first time he realized that he would be accused of the
crime, and that circumstances would be against him. If Mr. Cameron
should never recover sufficiently to give a true account of what had
taken place, he would be arrested and locked up as the guilty one.
If his benefactor should die without regaining consciousness, he might
even be sent to the electric chair, and always his name would be
mentioned with horror. While these thoughts were passing through the
dazed mind of the boy, there came, also, the keen regret that Frank
Shaw had not accompanied him to the building. That would have
changed everything--just one witness.
"What did you go an' do it for?" repeated the intruder. "What had Mr.
Cameron ever done to you?"
"You think I did it?" said Fremont, as cooly as his excitement would

permit of. "You think I struck Mr. Cameron and robbed the office?"
"What about all this?" asked the boy, swinging a hand over the littered
rooms, "and the man on the couch?" he added. "Who did it if you
didn't?"
"I understand that circumstances are against me," Fremont said,
presently. "It looks bad for me, but I didn't do it. I came here to
accompany Mr. Cameron home, and found everything just as you see it
now."
A smile of disbelief flitted over the other's face, but he did not speak.
"I hadn't been in here half a minute when you came in," Fremont went
on. "I had just switched on the lights when I heard a noise in here and
there Mr. Cameron lay. I was going to the 'phone when you entered."
"Tell it to the judge," the other said, grimly.
Fremont dropped into a chair and put a hand to his head. Of course.
There would be a judge, and a jury, and a crowded court room, and
columns in the newspapers. He had read of such cases, and knew how
reporters convicted the accused in advance of action by the courts.
"Where did you get that badge?" the intruder demanded, stepping
forward as Fremont lifted his arm. "The arrow-head badge with the
lettered scroll, I mean."
"I earned it," replied Fremont, covering the scroll with one hand. "Can
you tell me," he continued, "what the letters on the scroll say?"
"Be prepared," was the reply.
"Be prepared for what?"
"To do your duty, and to face danger in order to help others."
"What is the name of your patrol?"

"The Wolf. And your's is the Black Bear. I've heard a lot about the boys
of that patrol, a lot that