[Gutenberg 49117] • The Boy Scouts and the Prize Pennant

THE VALUE OF WOODCRAFT

“Wasn’t that the far-away hoot of an owl just then, Mr. Scout Master?”

“I wonder if it could be one of those tenderfoot recruits that expect to make up the new Owl patrol of our troop? How about that, Hugh?”

“As you’ve put it up to me straight, Billy, I’ll tell you what I think. It’s out of the question for one of those greenhorns to be away up here in the woods; and it was too deep and heavy to be the call of even a big Virginia horned owl. If you fellows will take the trouble to look up through the treetops you’ll notice that there’s a lot of queer flying clouds racing overhead right now.”

“Whew! do you mean it’s going to storm, Hugh?” demanded the boy who had answered to the name of Billy. He seemed to be a good-natured, easy-going lad, though just now his face bore an expression of sudden concern.

“I’m sure that was the distant growl of thunder we heard,” came the answer from Hugh Hardin, an athletic fellow who had long been the leader of the Wolf patrol. Very lately, on the resignation of the assistant scout master of the troop, Hugh had been elected to that office, receiving a certificate from Boy Scout Headquarters in New York City that fully qualified him to serve in place of the real chief should the latter be unable to accompany the troop.

There were just four of the lads up in the woods, where they had come to spy out the chances for gathering a bountiful nut crop later on in the fall. Incidentally they practiced certain maneuvers that had to do with scout lore and knowledge of woodcraft.

Besides Hugh and Billy Worth, there were Bud Morgan and Arthur Cameron, the latter of whom had made rapid progress to the grade of a second-class scout, with aspirations for even better things.

All of these boys belonged to the Wolf patrol, the doings of which have been told in the various stories preceding this volume. And though they were by this time pretty well versed in a knowledge of the great outdoors, the fact that a storm was sweeping toward them, with not a single house within a radius of several miles, was enough to create considerable consternation among them.

“We ought to do something right away, hadn’t we, Hugh?” demanded Arthur, possibly a trifle more inclined to be timid than any of his mates.

“If we only had plenty of time,” spoke up confident Billy, “we might make a lean-to out of branches that would shed rain. I’ve helped do it before, and we didn’t get wet, so you could notice. But listen to that growl, will you? No time for us to cut brush and branches, because before we got her half done the old rain would be howling down on top of us. Let’s cut and run for it, fellows!”

“That’s all right, but run where?” demanded Hugh. “It would be silly for us to think we could make as fast time as the storm.”

“Whoop! I’ve guessed a way out of the trouble!” ejaculated Arthur, beginning to show signs of sudden excitement.

“Then, for goodness sake, tell us what it is,” urged Bud, as a third peal of thunder broke in upon their hearing, considerably louder than either that had gone before.

“There, look at that whopping big oak tree, fellows! Don’t you see that it’s hollow to the core?” declared Arthur, pointing as he spoke. “Why, chances are the whole kitting lot of us could squeeze inside; and if the storm comes from the direction of that thunder, not a drop of rain would beat in on us. Well, why don’t somebody say what you think of my bully scheme?”

“How about that, Hugh?” asked Billy, as if in doubt.