Great Hike; or, The Pride of the Khaki Troop
CHAPTER I.
THE TALK IN AN APPLE TREE
A number of active boys were perched high among the heavily laden branches of a big fall pippin apple tree, back of the old Philander Smith house, located just outside the limits of the thriving town of Hickory Ridge.
"Take care, Landy!" called out Chatz Maxfield, whose soft, mellow voice told of his Southern birth; "that long ladder might chance to slip, suh, and it would be a long ways to the ground!"
"Oh, shucks! I've got the upper end wedged fast in the crotch along the outside of this limb, Chatz. And believe me, I'm getting my basket full of the biggest yellow pippins you ever saw. Who cares for expenses, anyhow?"
Landy, whose father owned the property, was very much inclined to be fat; though he would never admit the fact; and was forever declaring he had a new method of exercise that would reduce him to a "living skeleton," sooner or later.
Besides Chatz Maxfield, whose real name, of course, was Charles, the busy bees in the tree who were assisting their chum pick the ripe apples on this late August day consisted of three fellows, all members of the Hickory Ridge troop of Boy Scouts; and well known to every lad who has read the preceding volumes in this series.
First there was Ty Collins. Every boy in town would know Ty as far away as they could see him; for, when not going to school, winter and summer he clung to an old red sweater that he seemed to love above all the garments he possessed.
Then came a small fellow, Jasper Merriweather by name, whose one ambition it was to get out of the "runt" class. Jasper was never weary of asking some one to take his measure, and compare it with past records; but thus far he had not made much progress toward reaching the ordinary height of a lad of fifteen. Still, he clung to hope and tried to fill his position as Number Four in the Beaver Patrol, to the best of his ability.
Last of all, but by no means least, was Ted Burgoyne. Ted had the misfortune to lisp when he grew the least bit excited; though no one ever knew him to acknowledge the fact, and indeed, if accused, he would grow very indignant, even while others could catch the fatal slip in his warm denial.
They called him "Dr. Ted," for the very good reason that he had his heart set on medicine and surgery, and often found himself in great demand to practice on his fellow scouts. Outside of a few rather wild theories, and a boy-like desire to have a little fun out of things, Ted was quite practical. He was held much in respect by the twenty odd boys constituting the khaki troop.
The Hickory Ridge troop had passed the experimental stage of progress, and had become an established fact. Three patrols, of eight boys each, were complete, and there were candidates to start a fourth, if they could meet the requirements and feel capable of subscribing to the twelve cardinal principles that every true scout has to try to live up to.
Lately a rival troop had sprung up in Fairfield, led by one Matt Tubbs. Formerly Matt had only been known as a great bully, and those who trained with him had served under his banner simply through fear, without a grain of respect.
But Matt had, strange to say, seen a great light. He had watched the boys of the khaki troop in their open-air tests. Something in the business seemed to appeal strongly to him; and then had come the determination to start a troop in his town.
Of course he ran up against a snag in the beginning, for no boy with the loose principles Matt held at that time could ever be accepted as a scout. He studied the matter, watched the Hickory Ridge lads some more, and then came the great awakening.
And now Matt Tubbs was on the right road. He controlled his followers just as thoroughly as before, but generally in a different manner. They respected him too. Still, once in a while the old spirit cropped out; and it was told how, when one of his cronies, thinking to take advantage of this new mantle of meekness, boldly challenged Matt to a fight, the new leader of the Fairfield troop gave him the best kind of a whipping; after which he helped bind up his scratches, and stop the flow of blood from his nose.
But the insurrection had been nipped in the bud: and they did say that Matt tried to atone for his breaking of the rules of the organization by being unusually patient with those under him who had difficulty in keeping up with the reform pace he set.
It was pretty generally understood all through the region that Matt Tubbs might never have started to climb the ladder only for the boyish sympathy which he received from Elmer Chenowith, the leader of the Hickory Ridge troop, and assistant to the scout master, Mr. Garrabrant.
And the reformation of the worst boy in Fairfield and Cramertown long astonished the good people of those communities. When they awakened to the truth that it was no myth, but apparently an accomplished fact, they were quick to give most of the credit to the discipline of the new organization.
And the Fairfield troop from that time on had never lacked for backing from the parents of those boys connected with the same.
The fellows in the apple tree had been talking about these things as they helped Landy pick the fruit, a task that had been set for him by his father, and which must be fulfilled ere he could get off for play that day.
Of course they also discussed the great baseball game that had recently been played between the rival troops, in which Hickory Ridge came out victor, after a very strenuous afternoon's work.
"The way Lil Artha circles the bases gets me," declared Ty Collins, as he munched on a particularly fine specimen of fruit he had struck, and which tempted him beyond his capacity to decline, though it was possibly the seventh he had eaten within the hour.
"Oh, I don't know," remarked Ted, swinging his legs from the limb he straddled. "Most persons theem to think there's no one tho fatht as Lil Artha. Now, I admit in the thtart that he can cover the ground at a pretty rapid rate; but nobody knowth jutht how long he could hold out on a long hike. I've got my own ideath on that thubject, fellows."
"Sure you have, and so have a lot of others in the troop, suh," declared Chatz. "Might I ask who you think would have the best chance in an endurance hike that would last, say for twenty-four hours straight?"
"Why, Elmer would, for a thtarter," replied the other, quickly; "and if that ain't enough, what'th the matter with Ty Collinth himthelf? Theemth to me you'd hold out, and give long-legged Lil Artha a run for hith money."
"Me for Matty Eggleston!" declared Jasper, eagerly; for the boy in question was leader of the patrol to which Jasper belonged, and in his eyes seemed a marvel second only to Elmer himself.
"If Lil Artha fell down on the long run, I kind of think Red Huggins might pull in a victor," Ty went on. "That fellow is just chock-full of grit. When he shuts his teeth, and starts in, there's no telling where he'll stop."
"How about George Robbinth, your couthin, Matty?" asked Ted. "I've theen him walk half a dozen fellowth until they admitted they weren't in the thame clath? Perhaps now he might have a chance to win in a long tetht."
"Oh, George is a good one, all right," declared Landy. "Our family is noted for producing marvels. You just wait a little while longer, till I trim my weight down a few more pounds, and I'll show you something worth while. Huh, if there was a long-distance hike right now, d'ye know I'd be strongly tempted to enter. You never can tell. Appearances are sometimes mighty deceiving, boys."
"There's another swift one in our bunch, fellows," called out little Jasper, who never could hope to enter any of these competitions until Nature was kinder to him, and began to add a few inches to his stature.
"Who's that, Jasper?" demanded Ty, perched high up in the immense tree, and lowering his basket when filled with an ingenious tackle he had contrived so that he need not climb down with a bulky load; though twice he had managed to upset the whole picking, to the disgust of Landy who feared the apples would be too badly bruised to find a market, as his father intended.
"What d'ye say to Jack Armitage?" the small scout went on. "Ever seen him get around and steal bases, no matter what the catcher was doing? He's a screamer, that's what! But of course I ain't sure how Jack would hold out on a twenty-four-hour walk. He's full of staying power though, and might surprise some