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CHAPTER X
THE ACCUSATION

“Can you guess where it is, Jack?” gasped Frank Savage as he strove to keep alongside the other while running to the fire.

Just then they reached a corner, and as they dashed around it they came in plain sight of the conflagration.

“It’s Briggs’ store, fellows!” shouted Frank over his shoulder.

Ten seconds later all of them were on the spot where already a little cluster of men and boys were gathered, some of them near neighbors, others having come up ahead of the scouts.

“Hey! what’s this I see?” Bobolink said to his chum nearest him; “two of the Lawson crowd here, dodging about and grinning as if they thought it a picnic?”

“Look at old Briggs, will you?” cried Sandy Griggs. “He’s dancing around like a chicken after you’ve chopped its head off.”

“Did you ever see anybody so excited?” demanded Bobolink. “Hold on! what’s that he’s saying now about somebody setting his store afire on purpose?”

“It’s a black scheme to get me out of competition!” the little, old storekeeper was crying as he wrung his hands wildly. “Somebody must have known that my insurance ran out three weeks ago, and for once I neglected to renew it! I shall be ruined if it all goes! Why don’t some of you try to save my property?”

“Boys, it seems that it’s up to us to get busy and do something!” exclaimed Frank Savage, immediately.

“It comes hard to work for the old skinflint,” declared Bobolink, “but I s’pose we’re bound to forget everything but that some one’s stuff is in danger, and that we belong to the scouts!”

“Come on then, everybody, and let’s sling things around!” cried Jud Elderkin.

No matter how the fire started it was burning fiercely, and promised to give the volunteer firemen a good fight when they arrived, as they were likely to do at any moment now. Indeed, loud cries not far away, accompanied by the rush of many heavily booted feet and the trampling of horses’ hoofs announced that the engine, hook and ladder, and chemical companies were close at hand.

The nine scouts dashed straight at the store front. The door stood conveniently open, though they could only hazard a guess as to how it came so—possibly when brought to the spot with the first alarm of fire the owner had used his key to gain an entrance.

Into the store tumbled the boys. The interior was already pretty well filled with an acrid smoke that made their eyes run; but through it they could manage to see the barrels and boxes so well remembered.

These some of the scouts started to get out as best they could. Jack, realizing that in all probability the rolls of cloth and silks on the shelves would suffer worst from the water soon to be applied, led several of his companions to that quarter.

They were as busy as the proverbial beaver, rushing goods outdoors where they could be taken in hand by others, and placed in temporary security. A couple of the local police force had by this time reached the scene, and they could be depended on to guard Mr. Briggs’ property as it was gathered in the street.

The owner of the store seemed half beside himself, rushing this way and that, and saying all manner of bitter things. Even at that moment, when the boys of Stanhope were making such heroic efforts to save his property, he seemed to entertain suspicions regarding them, for he often called out vague threats as to what would happen if they dared take anything belonging to him.

Now came the volunteer fire-fighters, with loud hurrahs. There seemed no need of the ladders, but the fire engine was quickly taken to the nearest cistern and the suction pipe lowered. When that reservoir was emptied others in the near vicinity would be tapped, and if the water supply held out the fire could possibly be gotten under control.

That was likely to be the last time the citizens of Stanhope would have to cope with a fire in their midst, armed with such old-fashioned weapons. A new waterworks system was being installed, and in the course of a couple of weeks Stanhope hoped to be supplied with an abundance of clear spring water through the network of pipes laid under the town streets during the preceding summer and fall.

Mr. Forbes, the efficient foreman of the fire company, was the right sort of man for the work. He was one of the town blacksmiths, a fine citizen, and highly respected by every one.

As his heavy voice roared out orders the men under him trailed the hose out, the engine began to work furiously, sending out black smoke from its funnel, and the men who handled the chemical engine brought it into play.

Even in that time, when dozens of things pressed hard upon the foreman demanding his attention, he found occasion to speak words of encouragement to the busy scouts as they trooped back and forth, carrying all sorts of bulky articles out of the reach of the flames.

“Good boys, every one of you!” he called out to them as Jack and Bobolink came staggering along with their arms filled with bolts of Mr. Briggs’ most cherished silks, “you’ve got the making of prize firemen in you I can see. Don’t overdo it, though, lads; and make way for the men with the hose!”

By the time the first stream of water was turned on the fire the flames were leaping upward, and the entire back part of the store seemed to be doomed. Being a frame building and very old it had been like matchwood in the path of the flames.

“Now watch how they slam things down on the old fire!” exclaimed Bobolink as he stood aside unable to enter the store again since the firemen had taken possession of the premises. “The water will do more damage than the fire ever had a chance to accomplish.”

“Wow! see them smash those windows in, will you!” shouted Jud Elderkin, as a man with a fire axe made a fresh opening in one side of the store in order to put a second line of hose to work.

Everybody was calling out, and what with the crackling of the hungry flames, the neighing of the horses that had drawn the fire-engine to the spot, the whooping of gangs of delighted boys, and a lot of other miscellaneous sounds, Bedlam seemed to have broken loose in Stanhope on this night before Christmas.

“They’ve got the bulge on it already, seems like,” announced Tom Betts.

“But even that doesn’t seem to give Mr. Briggs much satisfaction,” remarked Frank. “There he is running back and forth between the store and the stack of goods we piled up in the street.”

“I reckon he is afraid the police will steal some of the silks,” chuckled Bobolink.

“The fire is going down right fast now,” Tom Betts affirmed. “What’s left of the Briggs’ store may be saved. But Mr. Briggs is bound to lose a heap, and it cuts the old man to the bone to let a dollar slip away from him.”

“To think of such a smart business man allowing his insurance policy to lapse, and to lie unrenewed for a whole month!” exclaimed Bluff.

“Got tired paying premiums for so many years and never having a fire,” explained Jack.

As the crowd stood there the last of the blaze yielded to the efforts of the firemen. Most of the building was saved, though the business was bound to be crippled for some time, and Mr. Briggs’ loss would run into the hundreds, perhaps thousands, for all any one knew.

“Listen to him scolding the foreman of the fire company, will you?” demanded Bobolink. “He seems to think a whole hour elapsed after the alarm before the boys got here. Why, it was the quickest run on record, I should say.”

“Here they come this way,” observed Tom Betts, “and the foreman is trying to convince Mr. Briggs he is mistaken. He knows how excited Mr. Briggs is, and excuses anything he may say. Mr. Forbes is a big man in more ways than bulk.”

“Perhaps Mr. Briggs may want to scold us for not getting more stuff out before the water was turned on,” chuckled Bobolink.

“Don’t answer him back if he does,” Jack warned them, “because we know he’s nearly out of his mind just now.”

Still, even practical Jack was shocked when the old storekeeper, coming face to face with the group of scouts, suddenly pointed a trembling finger at Bobolink and exclaimed in a vindictive voice:

“I knew this fire was started in revenge, and there’s the boy who did it!”

CHAPTER XI
FRIENDS OF THE SCOUTS

Everybody came crowding around at hearing Mr. Briggs make such a startling accusation. Bobolink seemed to have had his very breath taken away, for all he could do was to stare helplessly at the angry, little, old storekeeper. The magnitude of the crime with which he was accused stunned him.

Some of the other scouts managed to find their tongues readily enough. Flushed with indignation they proceeded to express their feelings as boys might be expected to do under strong resentment.

“Well, I like that, now!” exclaimed Tom Betts. “When Bobolink here has been working like a beaver to save Mr. Briggs’ stuff from the maw of the flames.”

“That was only meant to be a blind to hide the truth!” cried Mr. Briggs. “After he set the fire he must have become frightened at what he had done, and tried to cover up his tracks. Oh! I know what boys are capable of; but I’ll have the law on this miscreant who tried to get revenge on me this way, see if I don’t.”

“Shame on you, Mr. Briggs,” said a stout woman close by. “And the boy nearly killing himself to carry out big loads of your silks! It’s many dollars he saved you, and little credit he’ll ever get.”

“Don’t you know Bobolink has the best kind of alibi, Mr. Briggs?” said Frank. “He was over at Doctor Morrison’s house along with the rest of us until just before the alarm sounded. We were on our way home when the bell struck first.”

“The doctor himself will tell you that, if you ask him,” added Jack, indignant now because of what had passed after all they had done for the old man. “Mr. Forbes, I wish you would warn him not to make such a reckless accusation again, because he might have to prove it in court. Boys have rights as well as storekeepers, he must know.”

“It’s just as you say, Jack, my lad,” asserted the big foreman of the truck company, warmly. “I stood all your abuse, Mr. Briggs, when it was directed against myself, but I advise you to go slow about charging any of these young chaps with setting fire to your store. All of us have seen how they worked trying to save your property, sir. It is a poor return you are making for their efforts.”

Others shared this opinion, and realizing that he did not have a single friend in the crowd, Mr. Briggs had the good sense to keep his further suspicions to himself. But that he was still far from convinced of Bobolink’s innocence could be seen by the malevolent glances he shot toward the boy from time to time, while the scouts stood and watched the final work of the fire-fighters.

The last spark had been extinguished, and all danger was past. Many of the townspeople began to leave for their comfortable homes, because it was bitterly cold at that hour of the night, with a coating of snow on the ground.

Paul had come up during the excitement, but somehow had failed to join the rest of the scouts until later on. The other scouts thought that doubtless he had found something to claim his attention elsewhere; but he came up to them about the time they were thinking of taking their departure.

His indignation was strong when he heard what a foolish accusation the almost distracted storekeeper had made against Bobolink. Still Paul was a sensible lad, and he realized that Mr. Briggs could hardly be held responsible for what he said at such a time.

“Better forget all about it, Bobolink,” he told the other, who was still fretting under the unmerited charge. “Perhaps when he cools off and realizes what a serious thing he has said, Mr. Briggs will publicly take his words back, and will thank you fellows in the bargain.”

“But how came it you were so slow in getting to the fire, Paul?” asked Tom Betts; for, as a rule, the patrol leader could be counted on to arrive with the first.

Paul laughed at that.

“I knew you’d be wondering,” he said, and then went on to explain. “For once I was caught in a trap, and, much as I wanted to get out and run, I just had to hold my horses for a spell. You see, after you had gone father asked me to hold something for him while he was attending to it, and I couldn’t very well drop it until he was through.”

“Whew! it sure must have been something pretty important to keep Paul Morrison from running to a fire,” chuckled Frank.

“It was important,” came the ready reply. “In fact, it was a man’s broken arm I was holding. Ben Holliday was brought in just after you boys left. He had fallen in some way and sustained a compound fracture of his left arm. Neither of the men who were along with him could be counted on to assist, so father called on me to lend a hand. And that’s why I was late at the Briggs’ store fire.”

“You missed a great sight, Paul, let me tell you,” affirmed Bluff.

“Yes, and you missed hearing a friend of yours called a fire-bug, too, in the bargain,” grunted Bobolink. “And after I’d sweated and toiled like fun to drag a lot of his old junk out of reach of fire and flood! That’s what makes me sore. Now, if I’d just stood around and laughed, like a lot of the fellows did, it wouldn’t have been so bad.”

“Listen!” said Jud Elderkin, lowering his voice, “when old Briggs got the notion that some bad boy set his store on fire in a spirit of revenge, maybe he wasn’t so far wrong after all.”

“Say, what are you hinting at now, Jud?” gasped Bobolink, suspiciously. “You know as well as anything I was along with the crowd every minute of the time.”

“Sure I do, Bobolink,” asserted the other, blandly. “I wasn’t referring to you at all when I said that. There are others in the swim. You’re not the only pebble on the beach, you understand.”

“Now I get you, Jud!” Tom Betts exclaimed. “And let me say, I’ve been having little suspicions of my own leading in that same direction.”

“We found Hank, Jud Mabley and Sim Jeffreys on the spot when we got here, you all remember, and they seemed tickled to death because it was the Briggs’ place that was on fire,” continued Jud.

Even Paul and Jack seemed impressed, though too cautious to accept the fact until there was more proof. Already the foolishness of making an unsupported accusation had been brought home to them, and the scout-master felt that it was his duty to warn Jud and Tom against talking too recklessly of their suspicion.

“Better go slow about it, fellows, no matter what you think,” he told them. “The law does not recognize suspicion as counting for anything, unless you have some sort of proof to back it up. It may be those fellows are guilty, for they have been going from bad to worse of late; but until you can show evidence leading that way, button up your lips.”

“Guess you’re right there, Paul,” admitted Jud. “Some of us are apt to be too previous when we get a notion in our heads. But Mr. Briggs is dead sure it was no accident, whether the fire was started by the Lawson crowd or some one else.”

“I heard him say he suspected that his safe had been broken open,” declared Tom Betts just then, “and that the fire might have been an after thought meant to hide a robbery.”

“Whew! that’s going some, I must say, if that Lawson gang has come down to burglary, as well as arson,” observed Spider Sexton, seriously.

“You’ll have to get Jud Mabley away from his cronies mighty quick then, Paul, if you hope to pull him out of the fire,” commented Frank.

“Well, for one I’ve yet to be convinced that they had anything to do with the fire,” Paul told them.

“But we know they’ve had trouble with Mr. Briggs plenty of times,” urged another of the scouts.

“And you must remember they were here when we arrived, which looks suspicious,” added Bobolink.

“Appearances are often deceitful, Bobolink, as you yourself know to your cost,” the scout-master remarked. “If forced to explain their being on the spot so early perhaps they could prove an alibi as well as you. But come, since the fire is all over, and it’s pretty shivery out here now, suppose we get back home.”

No one offered any objection to this proposal. Indeed, several of the scouts who had worked hard enough to get into a perspiration, were moving about uneasily as though afraid of taking cold.

When the boys left the scene the crowd had thinned out very much, for the wintry night made standing around unpleasant. Besides, most of the people were disgusted with the actions of old Mr. Briggs, and cared very little what his loss might prove to be.

At the time the scouts turned away and headed for another section of the town, the old storekeeper was entering the still smoking building, desirous of examining his safe to ascertain whether it showed signs of having been tampered with.

Once again the boys stood on the corner ready to separate into several factions as their homes chanced to lie.

“There, the fire is out; that’s back-taps!” said Tom Betts.

“You’re off your base, Tom,” Bluff disagreed, “for that’s the town clock striking the hour of midnight.”

“Sure enough,” agreed Tom, when four and five had sounded.

They counted aloud until the whole twelve had struck.

“That means it’s Sunday morning. Merry Christmas, Paul, and the rest!” cried Frank.

“The same to you, and good-night, fellows!” called out Paul, as with Jack he strode away.

CHAPTER XII
THE ICEBOAT SQUADRON

At exactly ten o’clock, on Monday morning, December 26th, Bobolink sounded the “Assembly” on his bugle. A great crowd had gathered on the bank of the frozen Bushkill. For the most part this was made up of boys and girls, but there were in addition a few parents who wanted to see the start of the scouts for their midwinter camp.

Up to this time their outings had taken place in a more genial period of the year, and not a few witnessed their departure with feelings of uneasiness. This winter had already proved its title to the stormiest known in a quarter of a century, and at the last hour more than one parent questioned the wisdom of allowing the boys to take the bold tour.

However, there were no “recalls,” and as for the ten lads themselves, to look at their eager faces it could be seen that they entertained no doubts regarding their ability to cope with whatever situations arose.

The five iceboats were in line, and could be compared with so many fleet race horses fretting to make a speedy start. Each had various mysterious packages fastened securely, leaving scanty room for the pair of “trippers.”

“After all we’re going to have a fine day of it,” remarked Tom Betts, as he gave a last look to the running gear of his new ice craft, and impatiently waited for Paul to give the word to be off.

“Luck seems to be with us in the start,” admitted Bobolink, who was next in line. “I only hope it won’t change and slap us too hard after we get up there in the woods.”

“I heard this morning that the Lawson crowd had started overland, with packs on their backs,” Phil Towns stated.

“Oh! we’re bound to rub up against that lot before we’re done with it,” prophesied Bobolink. “But if they give us any trouble I miss my guess if they won’t be sorry for it.”

“Scouts can take a heap,” said Tom, “but there is a limit to their forbearance; and once they set out to inflict proper punishment they know how to rub it in good and hard.”

“Do you really believe there’s any truth in that report we heard about Mr. Briggs’ safe being found broken open and cleaned out?” asked Phil.

“There’s no question about it,” replied Bobolink. “Though between you and me I don’t think the robbers got much of a haul, for the old man is too wise to keep much money around.”

“I heard that Hank Lawson and his crowd were spending money pretty freely when they got ready early this morning to start,” suggested Tom.

Jack, who had listened to all this talk, took occasion to warn his fellow-scouts, just as Paul had done on the other occasion.

“Better not say that again, Tom, because we have no means of knowing how they got the money. Some of them are often supplied with larger amounts than seem to be good for them. Unless you know positively, don’t start the snowball rolling downhill, because it keeps on growing larger every time some one tells the story.”

“All right, Jack,” remarked Tom, cheerfully; “what you say goes. Besides, as we expect to be away a couple of weeks there isn’t going to be much chance to tell tales in Stanhope.”

They waited impatiently for the word to go. Paul was making a last round in order to be sure that nothing had been overlooked, for caution was strongly developed in his character, as well as boldness.

There were many long faces among the other boys belonging to Stanhope Troop, for they would have liked above all things to be able to accompany their lucky comrades. The lure of the open woods had a great attraction for them, and on previous outings every one had enjoyed such glorious times that now all felt as though they were missing a grand treat.

At last Paul felt that nothing else remained to be done, and that he could get his expedition under way without any scruple. There were many skaters on the river, but a clear passage down-stream had been made for the start of the iceboat squadron.

A few of the strongest skaters had gone on ahead half an hour back, intending to accompany the adventurous ten a portion of the way. They hoped to reach the point where the old canal connected the Bushkill river with the Radway, and a long time back known as Jackson’s Creek.

Here they would await the coming of the fleet iceboats, and lend what assistance was required in making the passage of this crooked waterway.

When once again the bugle sounded the cheering became more violent than ever, for it was known that the moment of departure had arrived.

Tom Betts had been given the honor of being the first in the procession. His fellow passenger was Jack Stormways. As the new Speedaway shot from its mooring place and started down the river it seemed as though the old football days had come again, such a roar arose from human lungs, fish-horns, and every conceivable means for making a racket.

A second craft quickly followed in the wake of the leader, then a third, the two others trailing after, until all of them were heading down-stream, rapidly leaving Stanhope behind.

The cheering of the throng grew fainter as the speedy craft glided over the ice, urged on by a fair wind. There could be little doubt that the ten scouts who were undertaking the expedition were fully alive to the good fortune that had come their way.

Tom Betts was acknowledged to be the most skilful skipper, possibly barring Paul, along the Bushkill. He seemed to know how to get the best speed out of an iceboat, and at the same time avoid serious accidents, such as are likely to follow the reckless use of such frail craft.

It was thoughtful of Paul to let Tom lead the procession, when by all rights, as the scout-master, Paul might properly have assumed that position. Tom must have been considering this fact, for as he and Jack flew along, crouching under the big new sail that was drawing splendidly, he called out to his comrade:

“Let me tell you it was mighty white in Paul to assign me to this berth, Jack, when by rights everybody expected him to lead off. I appreciate it, too, I want you to understand.”

“Oh! that’s just like Paul,” he was told. “He always likes to make other fellows feel good. And for a chap who unites so many rare qualities in his make-up Paul is the most unassuming fellow I ever knew. Why, you can see that he intentionally put himself in last place, and picked out Spider Sexton’s boat to go on, because he knew it was the poorest of the lot.”

“But all the same the old Glider is doing her prettiest to-day and keeping up with the procession all right,” asserted Tom, glancing back.

“That’s because Paul’s serving as skipper,” asserted Jack, proudly. “He could get speed out of any old tub you ever saw. But then we’re not trying to do any racing on this trip, you remember, Tom.”

“Not much,” assented the other, quickly. “Paul impressed it on us that to-day we must keep it in mind that ‘safety first’ is to be our motto. Besides, with all these bundles of grub and blankets and clothes-bags strapped and roped to our boats a fellow couldn’t do himself justice, I reckon.”

“No more he could, Tom. But we’re making good time for all that, and it isn’t going to be long before we pass Manchester, and reach the place where that old abandoned canal creeps across two miles of country, more or less, to the Radway.”

“I can see the fellows who skated down ahead of us!” announced Tom, presently.

“Yes, they’re waiting to go through the canal with us,” assented Jack. “Wallace Carberry said they feared we might have a bad time of it getting the iceboats over to the Radway, and he corralled a few fellows with the idea of lending a hand.”

“They hate the worst kind to be left out of this camping game,” remarked Tom, “and want to see the last they can of us.”

A few minutes later and the skipper of the leading iceboat brought his speedy craft to a halt close to the shore, where several scouts awaited them. The other four craft soon drew up near by, thus finishing what they were pleased to call the “first leg” of the novel cruise.

It was decided to work their way through the winding creek the best way possible. In places it would be found advisable to push the boats, while now and then as an open stretch came along they might take advantage of a favorable wind to do a little sailing.

Two miles of this sort of thing would not be so bad. As Bobolink sang out, the worst was yet to come when they made the Radway, and had to ascend against a head wind that would necessitate skilful tacking to avoid an overturn.