The Boy Scouts of the Eagle Patrol | Page 4

folks who'll let them. They can't come on my land."
"You mean your father's, don't you?" put in the unlucky Sam Redding.
"Sam, you've got a head like a billiard ball," retorted the bully, turning on the other, "it'll be mine some day, won't it? Therefore it's as good as mine now."
Although he didn't quite see the logic of the foregoing, Sam Redding gave a sage nod and agreed that his leader was right.
"Yes, those kids need a good lesson from somebody," chimed in Bill Bender.
"I think we had better be the 'somebodies' to give it to them," rejoined Jack Curtiss. "They are getting insufferable. They actually twitted me this afternoon with being sore at them because I didn't get my patrol--as if I really wanted one. That Blake kid is the worst of the bunch. Just because his father has a little money he gives himself all kinds of airs. My father is as rich as his, even if he isn't a banker."
"I've been thinking of a good trick we can put up on them, but it will take some nerve to carry it out," announced Bill Bender, after some more discussion of the lads of the Eagle Patrol.
"Out with it, then," urged the bully, "what is it?"
In a lowered tone Bill Bender sketched out his scheme in detail, while Jack and Sam nodded their approval. At length he ceased talking and the other two broke out into a delighted laugh, in which malice as much as merriment prevailed.
"It's the very thing," exclaimed Jack. "Bill, you're a genius. We'll do it as soon as possible. If that doesn't take some starch out of those tin soldiers nothing will."
Half an hour later the three cronies parted for the night. Sam went to his home near the waterfront, for his father was a boat builder, and Jack started to walk the three miles to his father's farm in the moonlight. His way took him by the bank. As he passed it he gazed up at the windows of the armory on which was lettered in gilt: "Eagle Patrol of the Boy Scouts of America."
"That's a slick idea of Bill's," said the bully to himself, "I can hardly wait till we get a chance to carry it out."
CHAPTER II
A CRUISE TO THE ISLAND
"Whatever are you doing, Rob?"
It was the morning after the consultation of Jack Curtiss and his cronies, and Corporal Crawford was looking over the fence into his leader's yard.
Rob was bending over a curious-looking apparatus, consisting of a bent stick held in a bow-shape by a taut leather thong. The appliance was twisted about an upright piece of wood sharpened at one end--which was rotated as the lad ran the bow back and forth across it.
Presently smoke began to rise from the flat piece of timber into which the point of the upright stick had been boring and depositing sawdust, and Rob, by industriously blowing at the accumulation, presently caused it to burst into flame.
"There I've done it," he exclaimed triumphantly, arising with a flushed face from his labors.
"Done what?" inquired young Crawford interestedly.
"Made fire in the Indian way," replied Rob triumphantly.
"I thought they made it by rubbing two sticks together."
"Only book Indians do that," replied Rob, "I'll tell you it took me a time to get the hang of it, but I've got it now."
"It's quite a stunt, all right," commented the corporal admiringly.
"You bet, and it's useful, too," replied Rob. "I'll put the bow and drill in my pocket, and then any time we get stuck for matches we'll have no trouble in making a signal smoke or lighting cooking fires."
"Say, I've got some news for you," went on young Crawford, "did you know that Sam Redding has entered that freak motor boat he's been building in the yacht club regatta? He's out for the club trophy."
"No, is he, though?" exclaimed Rob, keenly interested. "Then the crew and skipper of the Flying Fish will have to look alive. I know that Sam's father helped him out with that boat and put a lot of new wrinkles in it. I didn't think, though, he'd have it ready in time for the races."
The boys referred to the coming motor-boat races which were to take place shortly on the inlet at Hampton. Like most of the other lads in the seashore town, Merritt and Rob had a lot of experience on the water and some time before had built a speedy motor boat from knock-down frames. The Flying Fish, as they called her, was entered for the main event referred to, the prize for which was a silver cup, donated by the merchants of the town. There were several other entries in the race, but Rob and his crew, consisting of Merritt and Tubby Hopkins, confidently expected the Flying Fish to easily lead