The Boy Scouts of the Eagle Patrol | Page 3

road about three miles from Hampton Inlet, where they lived.
While they are covering the distance perhaps the reader may care to
know something about the cause of the enmity which Jack Curtiss
entertained toward the lads of the Eagle Patrol. It had its beginning
several months before when the boys of Hampton Inlet began to
discuss forming a patrol of boy scouts. They all attended the Hampton
Academy, and naturally the news that Rob Blake was going to try to
organize a patrol soon spread through the school.
Jack Curtiss, as soon as he heard what Rob--whom he considered more
or less a rival of his--intended doing he also forwarded an application
to the headquarters of the organization in New York. As Rob Blake's
had been received first, however, and on investigation he was shown to
be a likely lad for the leader, he was appointed and at once began the
enrollment of his scouts.
The bully was furious when he realized that he would be unable to
secure an authorized patrol, and he and his cronies, two lads about his
own age named Bill Bender and Sam Redding, had been busy ever
since devising schemes to "get even" as they called it. None of these,
however, had been effective and the encounter of that day was the first
chance Jack had had to work off any of his rancor on Rob Blake's
patrol.

Young Blake was the only son of Mr. Albert Blake, the president of the
local bank. His corporal, Merritt Crawford, was the eldest of the
numerous family of Jared Crawford, the blacksmith and wheelwright of
the little town, and Tubby Hopkins was the offspring of Mrs.
Hopkins--a widow in comfortable circumstances. The other lads of the
Patrol whom we shall meet as the story of their doings and adventures
progresses were all natives of the town, which was situated on the
south shore of Long Island--as has been said--and on an inlet which led
out to the Atlantic itself.
The scouts trudged back into Hampton just at twilight and made their
way at once to their armory--as they called it--which was situated In a
large room above the bank of which Rob's father was president. At one
side of it was a row of lockers and each lad--after changing his uniform
for street clothes--placed his "regimentals" in these receptacles.
This done the lads broke up and started for their various homes. Rob
and his young corporal left the armory together, after locking the door
and descending the stairs which led onto a side street.
"I wonder if that fellow Curtiss means to carry out his threat of getting
even?" said Crawford as they made their way down the street arm in
arm, for their homes were not far apart and both on Main Street.
"He's mean enough to attempt anything," rejoined Rob, "but I don't
think he's got nerve enough to carry out any of his schemes. Hullo!" he
broke off suddenly, "there he is now across the street by the post office,
talking to Bill Bender and Sam Redding. I'll bet they are hatching up
some sort of mischief. Just look at them looking at us. I'll bet a
doughnut they were talking about us."
"Shouldn't wonder," agreed his companion. "By the way, I've got to go
and see if there is any mail. Come on over."
The two lads crossed the street and as they entered the post office,
although neither of them had much use for either of the bullies' two
chums, they nodded to them pleasantly.

"You kids think you're pretty fine with your Eagle Patrol or whatever
you call it, don't you," sneered Bill Bender, as they walked by. "I'll bet
the smell of a little real powder would make your whole regiment run
to cover."
"Don't pay any attention to him," whispered the young corporal to Rob,
who doubled up his fists and flushed angrily at the sneering tone Jack
Curtiss' friend had adopted.
Rob restrained his anger with an effort, and by the time they emerged
from the post office the trio of worthies--who, as Rob had rightly
guessed, had been discussing them--had moved on up the street.
"I had trouble with those kids myself this afternoon," remarked Jack
Curtiss with a scowl, as they wended their way toward a shed in the
rear of Bill Bender's home, which had been fitted tip as a sort of
clubroom.
"What did they do to you?" incautiously inquired Sam Redding, a
youth as big as the other two, but not so powerful. In fact he was used
more or less as a tool by them.
"Do to me," roared the bully, "what did I do to them, you mean."
"Well what did you do to them then?" asked Bill Bender, as they