The Boy Scouts of the Flying Squadron | Page 4

of wandering away up here so far from a base of supplies? But we can settle all that easy enough, Bud."
"By going on and breaking in on him, you mean?" questioned the other eagerly.
"Yes, though perhaps first of all we'd do well to creep up and take a look in at that opening. A scout should be sure of his ground before he takes a leap. It isn't always so easy to go back again."
"All right, Hugh, let's start right in and have a squint at him. Seems to me I get a whiff of cooking, don't you?"
"Yes, I noticed that, Bud; and also that he's got a fire burning in there. You can see it flicker, and that wouldn't happen if the light came from a lantern, or even from a torch."
"Smells good, too. That fellow knows how to cook, whoever he is," remarked the other scout, sniffing eagerly at the air as he spoke. Hours had passed since dinner-time and they had had a hard tramp.
They advanced quickly though cautiously. Their hearts were beating faster than usual, perhaps because they had been carrying heavy loads. Then again there was a chance that the moment's excitement had considerable to do with the quickening of their pulses.
Arriving alongside the wall of the lonely cabin that had been built many years before by a man who meant to start a farm up in this region, the boys hastened to glue their eyes to the opening.
What they saw astonished them and at the same time relieved their feelings. There was but a single occupant of the cabin, and he a boy about their own age, also dressed in the khaki uniform of a scout. He was busily engaged in cooking some supper, and apparently did not suspect the presence of any one near by.
"Why, it's Ralph Kenyon!" gasped Bud. "Whatever can he be doing all by himself up here?"
Hugh could give a guess. He knew that in times past the young chap in question had made it a practice to trap the little wild animals that might still be found in the woods and swamps of that region, for the sake of the money he could get for their fine furry pelts. This was before he joined the scouts, which was soon after valuable ore had been discovered on the Kenyon farm and a strip of land sold to the railroad, these transactions placing the family on a secure financial foundation.
Evidently as the cold weather came on, Ralph had been tempted to wander over to his old stamping-grounds, not to set traps as of yore or shoot any of the timid woods' animals for the sake of their warm coats, but just to revive old recollections.
He had evidently fetched his double-barrel shotgun along with him, since it stood in a corner; and he was evidently cooking a brace of fat quail which he must have managed to knock down on his trip up here.
From the way he cocked his head just then it seemed as though Ralph must have thought he had heard some strange sound. Perhaps Bud had spoken louder than he had meant to do. But then there was no need of further holding back. Ralph was a member of the same troop as themselves, and while perhaps Bud would have preferred not increasing the number of witnesses to his own triumph or rank failure, he saw that it could not be helped. And Bud was one of those who can make the best of a bad bargain. Besides, Ralph was a good fellow, and generally well liked by his companions.
Instead of calling out and telling the boy inside the shack that a couple of weary wayfarers had arrived and meant to join him, Hugh saw fit to give the recognized signal of the Wolves: "How-oo-oo!" twice repeated.
Then as Ralph sprang to the door to take away the prop with which he had secured it, Hugh and Bud pushed into the interior of the cabin.
Ralph stared at them but seemed decidedly pleased, for he instantly thrust out his hand in friendly greeting.
"Well, well, who'd think you would drop in on me as if you came from the skies?" he was saying as he worked Hugh's arm like a milkman's pump handle. "You see, I've been coming out here for several years every Thanksgiving afternoon to set my first traps of the season; and while I don't expect ever to do it again, I just couldn't keep from spending one night in the woods to revive old recollections. But I'm tickled to death at the idea of having company, for it does get mighty lonesome sometimes. Whatever are you doing up here, Hugh and Bud?"
So, as Hugh waited for his companion to explain, Bud began to tell how he had been