The winning of the bronze cross; the adventures of a boy scout

Table Of Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Knot in the Tie 11

II. A Scout's Chivalry 18

Chapter I. The Knot In The Tie

THE KNOT IN THE TIE.

As with a final jerk and rumble the train began moving slowly westward from under the shed of the Chicago Union station, Dan stood at the car window and smiled and waved, though something stung his eyes and hurt his throat. His mother, who was the dearest mother in the world, stood on the platform and smiled and waved also. But there is no doubt that her eyes and throat hurt worse than Dan’s.

Then Dan sank back into the red plush seat and closed his eyes, for he did not want to look at the house-tops flashing by as the train rushed across the elevated tracks; his father worked in one of those factories as book-keeper and the family lived in one of a long row of brown houses that looked all alike.

His eyes still smarted and he feared he was going to cry, which no one who is fourteen years old and a Boy Scout should ever do. To prevent such a calamity, he began thinking of far-off Idaho to which he was journeying. He pictured it as a wild and mountainous country that should offer plenty of adventure for a Boy Scout. It seemed so wonderful that he, Dan MacDonald, who had lived all his life in Chicago, should be going so far. And he wondered if in that western land, his greatest dream would, at last, come true, and he would be able to win the Bronze Cross which was the highest possible award for a Scout. Then his mind wandered back over the past year and particularly the last few days before his journey.

It had been a splendid year for him all around. In the first place he had finished the eighth grade with high honors; he had been elected patrol leader by the Boy Scouts ; and he had received a Gilt Medal of Merit, awarded by the Scoutmaster, for twenty marks. Then only a few days ago had come the letter from his Uncle Will who was a miner and lived in the Seven Devils district in Idaho. Uncle Will wanted his father to let Dan spend the summer with him. A

THE KNOT IN THE TIE year or so ago, Uncle Will had been in Chicago on business and had visited them for a couple of weeks. Dan had liked his goodnatured uncle so well, and had hear such exciting stories of Idaho that he was wild to go. But it was a long trip and cost so much that, although Uncle Will had offered to pay a part, his father had shaken his head sadly.

“I’m afraid we can’t do it, my son. That illness of mine last winter has put us back a great deal. Mother and I are very sorry.”

Dan was deeply disappointed ; but a Boy Scout must keep smiling and whistling, so he marched off down town on an errand for his mother, trying not to think of the wonderful adventures with wild beasts and Indians which he and his Scouts had planned for his trip to Idaho, before his father had decided. He stopped in the crowded street for the traffic blocking his way to pass by when something fell from a swiftly moving automobile at his very feet. He picked it up, and as the whistle sounded he was pushed forward with the crowd so that he could not see what he had found until he had reached the comer. Then he saw that it was a pocket-book, heavy with money and bills and papers. He thought of handing it to a policeman, when his eye caught sight of a card with a name and address. The address was not in a part of the city known to him, but he was sure he could find it and so he decided to take back the money himself.

When he came to the house, he recognized it as one of those where the very rich live. He rang the bell. A grave man in a handsome uniform opened the door. Dan asked for Mr. Clark, the name on the card, and was bowed into a big room, lined with books. It was the most splendid room Dan had ever seen; but the oldish man who sat at the big desk, frowning across at him, did not seem to be enjoying it.

“Whom have we here?” he asked, in a growly way.

“I’m Daniel McDonald, Sir, and if you are Mr. C. M. Clark, then this belongs to you.” He smiled his best smile and gave Mr. Clark the pocket-book.

Mr. Clark's eye-brows went high with

THE KNOT IN THE TIE surprise and then came down over his eyes again.

“Why did you bring it?”

Dan thought this a rather queer question, but he explained how he had found the wallet. “I did think of giving it to the police”, he said, “but then I hadn’t taken the knot out of my tie today, so I thought I would bring it myself.”

The eye-brows went up again. “Hadn’t taken the knot out of you tie?”

“You see,” explained Dan, “I am a Boy Scout and every day we are supposed to do a good turn for somebody. So when we get up in the morning, we tie an extra knot in our tie to remind us. Today I’ve been rather cross and haven’t got the knot untied yet.”

“What made you cross?”

Mr. Clark’s tone was more kindly. So Dan explained about his uncle and Idaho.

Mr. Clark pulled out his handsome tie and began frowning at it. Then he said :

“That 'knot’ idea is pretty good. Suppose I tied one in my tie.”

“It does help one,” Dan answered.

Mr. Clark gravely tied the knot and then looked up with a little smile at Dan. “And now, my young man, how am I going to get this knot out of here?”

“Oh, that is very easy. You just have to do some simple little thing — help an old lady across the street, or run an errand, or give a little child a piece of candy, or — ”

“Yes, but I can’t do any of those things. Suppose — suppose I made a boy happy by sending him to Idaho. Would that take the knot out?”

“Oh, but that is too much!” cried Dan, his heart beating very fast.

“It’s the easiest thing I can do,” said Mr. Clark. “I have more money than anything else to give away, you see.”

In the end Mr. Clark had taken Dan home in his automobile and had talked to his mother. And his mother had talked to his father.

Then, at last, it was agreed that Mr. Clark should be allowed to take the knot out of his tie by buying Dan’s ticket to Idaho.

Chapter II. A Scout's Chivalry

A SCOUT’S CHIVALRY

For several days, that seemed ages to Dan, the train had moved over prairie lands and sagebrush tracts, until, dreaming of Indians with war-paint and feathers, he began to be impatient for the mountains. Then they, too, had come at last — the wonderful Rockies , towering high up into the blue, sometimes white-crowned with clouds or snow, sometimes dark with pine-trees. The train wound about rugged cliffs with mountain streams dashing over hugh rocks far below. And Dan thought that he could see out-laws and Indians peering from every crag.

Then they descended the mountains on the other side and came down into a rather flat country again. By comparing the little stations that flashed by with his railway map, he discovered that he was in Idaho. But these little sagebrush-covered hills were not what Dan had pictured, and he asked, timidly, of an old gentleman if there were no mountains in Idaho.

“Plenty of them in the western and northern parts,” answered the old gentleman, and he hid himself once more behind his newspaper.

Dan’s ticket read “To Weiser, Idaho,” which he found was on the very western border of the state. There he was to buy another ticket on the Pacific and Idaho Northern for Meadows where his uncle would meet him and accompany him the rest of the way. So Dan leaned back more contentedly.

It had been rather a lonely trip and there were few chances to do nice things for people. No one stayed on the train for any length of time and he had got acquainted with none of them. It had been a very hard task to get the knot out of his tie. True he had helped little boys and girls get drinks of water and once he had held a baby while the mother rested for a while. But he was wondering how he could get the knot untied today, for there was no one in the car but the old man who dozed behind his newspaper, and a young lady who seemed not to want anything in the world but the book she was

A SCOUT’S CHIVALRY reading and the candy she was nibbling.

Then at American Falls a tired-looking woman and three small children got on and took a seat across from Dan. They must have been very poor from the way they were dressed; and the woman's eyes were red as if she had been crying. One of the children, a boy of four or five, put his chubby hands on the arm of Dan's seat and looked at him so solemnly that Dan laughed and held out a big red apple. The little fellow took it, and still very grave, said, “I like you.”

“I like you, too,” said Dan.

The mother, hearing the two remarks, looked at Dan and smiled. It was such a lovely smile that Dan returned it and his eyes said plainly, “I like you too.”

They soon became very well acquainted. Dan talked of his mother and his home in far-away Chicago. The woman said that she was on the way to a town named Payette to see a brother who was very ill.

The conductor came into the car then and stopped for her ticket. The woman looked into a large bag that she carried. A puzzled look stole over her face. She felt inside the lunch-basket, arose and shook out her dress, and called in worried tones to the children /‘Ben — Katy — have you seen mother's purse?"

The children gravely shook their heads.

“I'm sure I had it in this bag," she said, and looked again.

Dan, too, began to help her search, while the conductor stood by, frowning. They turned everything topsy-turvy. No purse was to be found.

“What shall I do?" cried the woman, looking up at the conductor, her lips trembling. “I must have lost it. All the money I have was in it. My brother is dying and I must go to him."

Dan thought the conductor looked as if he did not believe her.

“Did you have a ticket?" the man asked.

“No. I didn't take time to buy one. I was going to pay on the train. I had just received the telegram — "

The conductor shrugged his shoulders. “We stop at Napati. You can get off there

A SCOUT’S CHIVALRY and telegraph for more money.”

“But there isn't any more,” said the woman with a sad little smile. “I am a widow and have to earn all I have, sewing.”

“Well, I can't help that. You will have to get off at the next stop then.”

The conductor moved on, mumbling something about “tricks” and “having seen that game played before.”

Dan felt his cheeks burning with anger. The woman looked very pale and sick. He leaned over and touched her knee.

“How far is Payette? Is it as far as Weiser?”

“No,” said the woman. “It is about ten miles this side.”

“Then you could use my ticket, couldn't you? Please do. You see I can get off here and telegraph my uncle. He is quite rich and I am sure it would be all right. Please — I would be so glad to have you take it — ”

Dan stopped, quite out of breath.

“Take your ticket?” The woman did not seem able to understand. “Oh no, I couldn’t do that!”

“Why not?” pleaded Dan. “Your — your brother might die, you know, and I am in no hurry at all. I can wait.”

And finally Dan persuaded her.

“Oh, if I only could get to him ! I would send you the money as soon as ever I could. And it would be the very finest thing anyone ever did. God will bless you for it.”

The train came to a stop at a station which seemed to be Napati. And as the conductor came into the car again, Dan picked up his suit-case and said rather haughtily to him as he passed, “I have given her my ticket, because I believe she is honest. I am going to get off here.” And he walked past the conductor with his head held high, in his best Boy Scout manner.

The conductor stared.

The woman and children waved and smiled, though they all seemed to be crying, and Dan felt again as he had felt when he had said good-by to his mother standing on the platform. But he raised his hat and smiled quite gayly back at them.

Chapter III

Dan put his suit-case in the waiting room of the station and came outside where it was not quite so stifling. He walked up and down the platform, trying to think out what he should do now. The small row of stores, and restaurants, and sign-boards that met his eye were dingy and lonely-looking, and a twinge of homesickness seized him. About him everywhere was the sage-brush with only a hint of blue mountains in the distance. He felt all at once very, very much alone. He wondered if he had done the right thing after all. Then he was angry with himself for feeling so, and, thrusting his hands into his pockets, he threw back his head and began to whistle until he felt better. After all he was in Idaho and therefore could not be very far from his uncle.

He decided he would not write to his mother as he had first thought of doing, for mothers have a way of worrying when there is really nothing at all to worry about; and anyway she couldn't help him now. He had told the woman on the train that he would telegraph his uncle and that was perhaps the best way — and then with a gasp of amazement he remembered that there was no telegraph office where his uncle lived. Strange he hadn't thought of it before. Well, he could write — but a letter takes such a long time. Then — suddenly Dan laughed aloud till some men on the platform looked at him queerly. What a silly fellow he was! Why hadn't he thought of it before? He had ten dollars with which he was to buy his ticket from Weiser to Meadows, and enough, besides, to buy a little fresh fruit to eat with the lunch his mother had given him. He had put the money away so carefully that he might not lose it till he reached Weiser that he had quite forgotten it. Why hadn’t he found out how far it was to Weiser? Perhaps he had enough to take him all the way, or, anyhow, quite a bit farther along. Then he could write his uncle, or maybe he would find some other plan. And even at that moment something of a plan came to him. It was rather wild but it made him happy, and his eyes danced. Why should he not walk to the next station ? It could not be very far. And there was nothing to be gained by lying about here, waiting for the next train. It was still early in the afternoon and he had the whole night before him and a part of the next day, if he took a train running at the same time as the one he had left.

He was elated with the idea. So much so that he forgot to ask how far it was to the next station.

There did not seem to be anyone at all around the little waiting-room of the station ; so he decided to change into his khaki scout uniform and save from the dust his blue serge suit which was his best. In his soft low collar and flat-brimmed hat, with his knapsack slung across his back, he felt ready for anything.

He crossed the street to one of the little grocery stores and bought a can of beans and some crackers and cheese. He filled the small canteen he carried with water. He still had a few sandwiches and an apple or two left from his lunch.

Then he took his suit-case and gaily started westward, following the railroad track. There were a few scattered houses, and then by-and-by, there seemed none at all. Everywhere were little gray-green clumps of sage-brush which gave forth a dusty, choky odor, and hundreds of jack-rabbits that jumped up and scampered away as Dan passed by. The suit-case got very heavy after a while and Dan almost wished he had left it behind. He paused several times to rest, and then as the sun went out of sight in the west, leaving a wonderful glow of orange and gold, he decided to stop for a while and warm up his beans. As yet he could see no signs of a near-by town but he felt it could not be far. When he had rested and eaten, he could walk all night if necessary.

The sage-brush was dry and brittle and made an excellent fire, although a little “smelly”. He was just beginning his supper of beans, sandwiches, and apples, when he chanced to glance behind him. And then for a long time he forgot to eat at all. Coming toward him from the southeast was a horse and rider ! There seemed to be nothing else alive anywhere but that horseman and himself and the little jack-rabbits. He almost held his breath. There was something ghostlike in the way the horse came slowly on through the twilight. A twig snapped in the fire, and Dan jumped. Then he laughed. What was there to be afraid of in a man and a horse? He forced himself to eat, while all the time he could feel them coming nearer and nearer. Then he could hear the horse’s footfalls in the soft dirt, and then the footfalls ceased just opposite him. Dan glanced up.

A swarthy-faced man with high cheekbones and little black eyes sat upon the horse. His hair was very black and rather long, and as Dan looked, he felt sure that this must be an Indian. True he wasn’t the kind that Dan had expected. There were no war-paint or feathers. Instead, the man wore a pair of khaki trousers, a dirty shirt open at the throat, and a slouch hat. But Dan was convinced that he was an Indian.

“How do you do?” said Dan, and smiled.

He had a beautiful smile and even an Indian should have responded. But the man on the horse did not speak.

“Nice evening,” Dan raised his voice a little.

“Huh,” grunted the Indian.

“Will you — would you like to have something to eat? I am just having supper.”

The Indian gave a quick shake of his head.

“Water?” he asked.

Dan handed him his canteen. He drank and handed it back. The water seemed to loosen his throat so he could speak.

“Where you go ?” he asked.

“Meadows,” answered Dan. “My uncle will meet me there.”

The Indian’s shifty eyes gave Dan a quick look.

“You walk?”

“Oh, no, only to the next town. Then I’ll take the train.”

“Wapi, next town,” said the Indian.

“Is it far?”

The Indian did not answer but, gathering up his reins, started the horse on toward the northwest, and soon he disappeared over a little rise in the ground, leaving Dan staring after him.

“Well,” exclaimed Dan, aloud. “Well, so that's an Indian!”

He was so busy thinking over the incident that he forgot to eat any more ; and by-and-by as the stars began to creep out, he decided to lie flat on his back and rest for a while before he again started on his tramp.

He put his suit-case under his head and gazed up at the stars. He remembered a little song that his mother used to sing to him and hummed it softly to himself :

“Oh, little star eyes, look down into mine ; Fill my soul with your light divine,

As you in heaven, so here let me shine, Oh, little star eyes, look down into mine.”

Then he had a queer jumbling of thoughts in which an Indian woman with a great many children was giving him a long railway ticket, and all the little children began crying for water. Dan gave them all he had.

Then one little boy wanted his knife. He reached down into his pocket for it — .

Dan started up. It was quite dark. Only a few stars could be seen. The fire had gone out. He shivered although it was not cold. Then he sat very still and stared into the darkness. He thought he heard something move through the sagebrush. But perhaps it was only a rabbit. He packed up his knapsack, took his suitcase, and started once more down the track.

It was not long before the dawn began to break. He had slept longer than he had thought. But he was tired and sleepy still. He decided to make a cup of coffee to enliven him.

He reached for his knife to cut some brush and then in amazement pulled out all the contents of his pocket and gazed at them. He was sure he had put his money in that pocket. He quickly looked through his clothes, then his knapsack, then his suit case. But the money was nowhere to be found.

Either he had lost it or — . He remembered the something he thought he had heard creeping through the bushes. Suppose — but then surely that wasn’t possible. No one could search his pockets without his knowing it. Yet — .

“Well, anyway, it’s gone. And I don’t see any town or any house, and I am thirsty.”

He picked up his canteen.

“All alone on a desert — water nearly all gone — no money — well!”

Then because he was a Boy Scout and brave he threw back his head and smiled.

Chapter IV. The Miser Of The Desert

“Een gonyama — gonyama;

Invooboo !

Yah boh ! ya boh !

Invooboo !”

Dan sang the war song of the Scouts to keep up his courage which was sinking lower and lower as the sun rose higher and hotter.

But the water was all gone from his canteen now and his throat was so dry he had to quit singing and only think the tune and try to keep step with it.

Then he could not even think — he was so thirsty. If only he had one little drop of water, but there was none at all. He felt he could not make his feet take another step. If he should sit down here and wait for a train to come by, would it pick him up ? Probably not, and, anyway, he couldn’t sit there in the hot sun and wait.

“I must have a drink— I must have a drink,” he kept saying over and over in his mind.

To the left of the track was a little sage-brush-covered hill. Dan wondered if it would be possible to make his way to that. There might be something on the other side.

But he knew he Could not carry his suitcase any farther. He took from it his Gilt Medal and pinned it on his shirt. It seemed a long time since he had received it, and his mother had been so glad for him, and his father had patted him on the back, saying he was very proud of his boy. And now — but he must have water. That was all he could think of now. He left the suit-case behind a bush and made his way as fast as he could to the hill.

Breathlessly he reached the top and looked all about him. At first he thought there was nothing to be seen; then he cried aloud.

“A house ! Oh, that must be a house !”

It did indeed seem as if there were a shed, or a low shack of some kind, to the north and west, just peeping over the top of another small hill.

Dan started toward it. He never could tell just how far it was, for it seemed to him the longest journey he had ever taken in his life. When he had traveled for ages and ages and his throat felt as if he would never be able to speak again, he found that he had crept to the top of the hill ; and when he saw a rough board shack with smoke coming out of the chimney, and a collie dog curled upon the door step, he fairly ran down the narrow path to the door, calling gaily, “Hello there, doggie.” Then he fell across the step at the dog's feet.

When he awoke, he found himself lying on a cot inside the shanty with a little driedup old man bending over him. The man's hair and beard were gray and shaggy, but his eyes were very keen and bright.

“Well, that was a silly thing to do,” said

Dan.

“What was?” asked the old man.

“To — to — go to sleep just when I was about to get a drink. I was so thirsty ! May I have one now, please?”

“You've had plenty of water, young man, both outside and in, for the present.

Feel your shirt.”

Dan felt of his shirt. It was all wet at the throat.

“It feels good,” he said. “I began to think I should never know what water was like again.”

The man gave him a quick--Dan thought a rather suspicious — glance.

“What are you doing, wandering around here on the desert?”

Dan had not talked to any one for so long that he felt it would be a relief to tell the whole story. So he told of the poor woman to whom he had given his ticket, of his journey, the meeting with the Indian, the loss of his money, and all.

“Well, you are a queer one,” exclaimed the old man, when Dan had finished. “If you didn't look so bright and wide awake, I'd say you are a fool. Didn’t you stop to think what might become of you out here in a strange country with only a few dollars in your pocket? Do you know how far you are from Meadows?”

“No, sir, but I thought it couldn't be very much farther, and then I had the ten dollars — .

“It's a good two hundred miles or more — probably more — and you haven’t the ten dollars now. What do you think you are going to do?”

“I don’t know,” answered Dan, looking a bit worried. Then his face cleared. “But I guess I’ll find a way somehow or other.”

The old man gave another quick look. “Why did you do it in the beginning, anyway?” he asked.

“Well, you see I am a Boy Scout and our Scoutmaster used to always tell us that we must help any one in trouble in every way we could. This was the only thing I could do, so — ”

“What is a Boy Scout?”

Then Dan told him about the order of which he was so proud, even to the knot in the tie.

“What have you still got a knot in your tie for? I’d think giving away your ticket would take it out for a week.”

“Oh, no,” laughed Dan. “I have to put a new one in every morning and get it out before night. If I were you now,” he went on, smiling, “I’d have it out.”

“How’s that?”

“Why, didn’t you do a pretty big kindness by taking me in and giving me a drink? — and if you — if you’d give me another drink now — ”

The old man’s lip twitched as if he might be going to smile, but instead he went to the pail and brought Dan a dipper full of water.

After that they got along nicely. Dan helped the old man, who said his name was Kelly, to get his evening meal, and they sat down together. Dan could not help wondering who the strange old man could be, living alone in this little shanty in the sagebrush, so far from every one, but he did not ask any questions.

The collie dog came into the house and stood near the table, expectantly wagging his tail.

“That’s a mighty fine dog you have,” said Dan, holding out his hand to the collie.

Kelly's eyes lighted. “He can't be beat. He's faithful and he's smart — more so than a good many humans. When I first got him from a man in Wapi, I had to tie him up because he wasn't used to me yet. But he'd chew that knot in two, sir, and go back to Wapi. After a while we got to be good chums, eh, Growl? But he never could stand to see anything tied up with a rope after that. One day I tied old Jerry, my horse, to the outside of the stable. Growl came along and what do you think he did? Untied that rope as neat as a pin, yes, sir.” Kelly chuckled and patted the dog's head.