The Boy Scouts of Bob's Hill: A Sequel to 'The Bob's Hill Braves'Burton, Charles Pierce
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The Boy Scouts of Bob's Hill: A Sequel to 'The Bob's Hill Braves'
Burton, Charles Pierce
Boy Scouts of America -- Juvenile fiction; Camping -- Juvenile fiction; Youth -- Social life and customs -- Juvenile fiction
Say, I've heard Bill Wilson a lot of times, but I never heard anything
like that. Although I knew what was doing it, shivers chased up and down
my back, until I 'most forgot about the girls.
He started with a moan like he was in pain. Then for a minute it sounded
as if a whole menagerie had been turned loose, with a dog fight in the
middle. From the midst of the dog fight came a blood-curdling screech
which died away again in a moan and sob, and then all was still while
Bill was getting his breath for another.
It was awful to hear, and the girls didn't wait for another, or even for
the sob part. At the first moan they started to their feet, looking
around with scared faces, and when the menagerie turned loose away they
went on a run.
"Charge, my braves!" cried Skinny, as soon as he could stop laughing
long enough to speak. "Let's surround 'em."
With a yell, we charged across the top of the hill, down the slope
beyond and into a field which rose gently up to Plunkett's woods.
Just before the girls reached the woods one of them looked back, saw us,
and told the others. I thought they would run harder than ever when they
saw us coming, but it was just as Hank said about not knowing what they
would do. They turned and stood there, the whole twelve of them, looking
so mad that we stopped running and waited to see what would happen.
"We know who you are, Skinny Miller," said the one who had seen us
first, "and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. We'll fix you for
this."
She said something to the others, which we couldn't hear, and pointed
toward us. Then they stooped and each one grabbed a stick from the edge
of the woods.
"Great snakes!" said Bill. "I wish I hadn't come."
"Fellers," said Skinny, looking at his watch. "It's 'most four o'clock.
We'll have to run like sixty if we get to the cave in time for the
meetin'."
There are a lot of boys who never saw a mountain, and the Band, even,
never saw the Rockies and big mountains like those. But Greylock is big
enough for us. On a summer day, with fleecy clouds chasing over his head
like great, white butterflies; sunshine resting on the pine trees, and
the mountain smiling down on us with arms outstretched, as if he would
gather in all of Massachusetts and a part of Vermont, and the cawing of
crows in the Bellows Pipe, and no school to call us back--say, that's
living; that is!
Soon we came to the woods and followed along a path until we could hear
the rushing and roaring of Peck's Falls in front of us, sounding as if
old Greylock himself was talking.
We stopped at Pulpit Rock a minute to see the falls and the foaming pool
below; then followed Skinny down the side of the steep ravine to our
cave at the edge of the stream.
"The meetin' will come to order," said Skinny, after we had crawled in
and were sitting on the floor. "Are we all here?"
"I am," said Benny, "and I," "and I," "and I," said the others, faster
than I could count them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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