Boy Scouts in the Philippines

G >> G. Harvey Ralphson >> Boy Scouts in the Philippines

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From the hill--it could not be termed a mountain, though it was of
volcanic formation--Jimmie looked into a glade from which the smoke of a
fire ascended. He would have observed the two columns of smoke which had
been seen from the motor boat had he reached the position earlier, or if
he had not been surrounded by the thicket when the Boy Scout signal rose
to the sky.

He could see people moving about the fire, which was partially protected
from the storm by a heavy canvas on the windward side. A crude shelter
composed of great leaves and canvas was also seen, and in this he
thought he saw several reclining figures. By this time the boy had given
up all hope of coming upon Ned, and also of finding his way back to the
_Manhattan_ without a careful study of the location.

From the place where he stood he could look over a large portion of the
island. He could see a river running to the east, and wondered if the
bay in which the motor boat was lay not near the mouth of the stream.
Still, there were many indentations in the shores of the little isle; he
could not discover the _Manhattan_ in any of them.

He studied over the situation for a time and then arrived at the
conclusion that he could best find his way back to the boat by following
the line of the coast. That, however, necessitated a long journey and,
perhaps, the swimming of streams which would doubtless take him far into
the night, and a Philippine jungle is no place to travel in the
darkness. Besides being decidedly uncomfortable, such a trip would be
dangerous. Even if there were no wildcats on the island, there were
plenty of reptiles. Then he caught sight of a launch off to the east and
changed his plans.

His idea was to circle the camp and gain a position between it and the
place where the launch had made its appearance. If the people on the
boat were planning to land he wanted to see them before they reached the
camp. If they were enemies he thought he could avoid them readily
enough; if they were friends they might assist him in releasing the
prisoners.

"Of course they're in with the game that's goin' on, though," he mused,
as he made his way around the hill. "If they wasn't, what would they be
comin' to the island for? There's no one here to visit--or wouldn't be
if this party of dagoes hadn't landed. The men in the launch are here to
meet the others, and that's all there is to it. I'm goin' to see what
their business is!"

It was growing dim over the forest when Jimmie gained the position he
sought, and there were lights in the launch down in a little bay and
lights in the camp halfway up the hill. The rain still came down
heavily, driven with considerable force by the wind, and the boy was, of
course, soaked to the skin and suffering from the stings of the insects
which swarm in Philippine forests, but still he waited patiently for
some signs of communication between the people on the boat and those in
the camp.

There was no stir in the thicket which lay between the two, and Jimmie
concluded that he had arrived too late to witness the meeting of the two
parties. The next thing to do was to get as close to the camp as he
could without danger of detection and observe what was taking place
there. It might be even possible, he thought, to get near enough to hear
something of the conversation.

With this object in view he moved as stealthily as possible through the
jungle, up the hill, toward the fire, shining dimly in the rain. Much to
his surprise he found no guards posted about the camp. When fifty yards
away, concealed from any possible view of those about the fire by a mass
of creepers, he saw that the inhabitants of the camp were hustling about
in the work of building a good-sized shelter of the huge leaves which
grew about. The reclining forms in the shelter he had first seen were
now only partly in sight.

"They are tryin' to keep the prisoners dry, anyway," the boy thought.

The shelter last spoken of was at the right of the fire, and Jimmie
circled off so as to reach it from the rear, his purpose being to learn
if the persons lying there were really the men who had been carried away
from the island where Captain Godwin had his headquarters.

Presently he came upon a group of four people, standing, somewhat
protected from the storm, under a great tree. He drew as close as he
dared, even risking discovery, and listened. He could hear voices above
the wailing of the wind and the patter of the rain, but could not
understand what was being said. The conversation was being carried on in
a tongue with which he was unfamiliar.

"Three of them are Chinks," he mused, when, in moving about, the men
came between his line of vision and the slow flame of the fire. "They
wear their shirts outside their trousers and have their hair done up
like the Chinese in Pell street!"

Directly the fourth man of the party, who seemed to be an American, or,
at least, an Englishman, asked:

"And the treaty? Will they sign?"

The others nodded and chattered away in their own tongue.

"When will they be here?" he then asked.

More chattering followed, and then the four hastened to the shelter
which was being constructed. Jimmie gathered from the two questions he
had heard that the island had been chosen as a meeting place, and that
the shelter was being built for the accommodation of those expected.

He had heard something of the purpose of the government in sending Ned
to the Philippines, and remembered now that there had been talk of a
possible organization of the native tribes against the United States
government. Now he suspected that the chiefs were to meet there to
execute the treaty which was to tie the tribes together and bring about
an armed revolt against American occupancy.

"It looks to me," he thought, "like the Chinese were at the bottom of
the trouble. I guess China would like to get a foothold here!"

There was nothing more to be learned from the position he occupied, and
so he moved on, always keeping to the right of the campfire, blazing
dimly in the rain and requiring constant care, until he came out in a
thicket close to the rear of the shelter where the men he believed to be
prisoners lay. In five minutes he was at the canvas wall of the refuge,
listening.

All was still inside, and it was evident that the conspirators did not
suspect that they had been followed to their retreat. Looking about, he
saw that most of the men of the party were still busily engaged in
constructing the shelter and that no one was near the place he wished to
investigate, so he cautiously lifted a corner of the canvas and looked
inside.

The men there were four in number, and all seemed to be bound hand and
foot! The captors were not taking any chances on escape, although they
evidently believed themselves to be in full possession of the little
island. All was still inside the shelter except that the rain descended
steadily on the leaf roof and now and then a low moan came from the
front of the place.

"That must be the man they cut up," thought the boy. "I wonder if it is
Lieutenant Rowe who is wounded?"

While the boy waited, uncertain what course to pursue, another signal
came from the shore and was answered by another pistol shot.

"Another bunch of Chinks!" he thought.

The signals brought considerable excitement to the camp, and Jimmie
concluded that the new arrival must be a person of some importance. In a
short time nearly every person in the camp rushed away down the hill
toward the bay where the first launch was anchored, as if to welcome the
new arrivals.

"Now's my time!" thought the boy, and in an instant his inquisitive head
was thrust under the canvas, and then the low, snarling call of a wolf
penetrated the shadowy place where the men he believed to be prisoners
lay.

The effect of the signal was instantaneous. A figure half arose and
dropped back again, only to roll over and over in the direction from
which had come the Boy Scout signal used by all members of the Wolf
Patrol. As the bound figure came awkwardly rolling on, Jimmie saw, with
what joy may be readily understood, a red head shining in the firelight!
Never in all his life had any color looked so good to Jimmie as that
brilliant red did at that time!

"Pat Mack?" he whispered.

The figure wiggled and twisted vigorously, but there was no verbal
reply.

"I'll bet dollars to doughnuts they've put a stick in his mouth," said
Jimmie, and this whispered observation was answered by another muscular
demonstration.

"Sure," muttered the boy, "it is Pat an' he's tryin' to talk to me with
his feet, an' them tied up plenty!"

Bolo in hand he crept into the shelter, although the sound of voices
told him that the people who had gone down the hill were now returning.
He could not see the cords which held the still struggling man, but he
found them with his fingers and cut them, not quite certain that he was
serving a friend, but willing, under the circumstances, to take the
risk. First the cords which held the feet were severed, then those which
held the wooden gag in place, then that which confined the hands.

When this last cord was cut two muscular arms flew up and seized the boy
about the neck, drawing his head down until his nose was buried in the
wet clothes of the man he had released.

"Let up!" he muttered in a smothered voice.

Still the powerful arms drew him down, and the boy was beginning to
wonder if he had not better use his bolo when a voice whispered:

"Jimmie! Is it dead we both are?"

"We will soon be if you don't let up!" answered Jimmie.

"Jimmie from the Bowery?" demanded the other.

"Sure!" was the reply. "What is this, anyway, a catch-as-catch-can? If
you don't let up I'll take a rib out with my bolo."

With a spring which almost keeled the boy over the figure sprang up,
ducked under the dripping canvas, and crouched in the thicket from which
Jimmie had observed the tent. Jimmie's first thought was to follow, then
he thought of the remaining prisoners and turned to cut their bonds.

But he was too late. As he turned three men came to the front of the
shelter and bent low for the purpose of entering. To have hesitated
longer would have been to invite capture, and so, with a sigh of regret,
the boy shot under the canvas and joined the other in the thicket.

"It's leg bail for it!" came the familiar voice of Pat Mack, and the
boys poked their faces into the thicket and kept going, regardless of
the thorns and creepers which tore at their garments and tripped their
feet. It was so dark now that they could not see a hand held two inches
from their eyes, but they kept on, making as little noise as possible.

CHAPTER VII.

A MISSING MOTOR BOAT.

"You rapscallion," Pat Mack whispered, as the two came together in the
embrace of a particularly tough creeper, "how did you ever get here? I
saw you last on the good old Bowery!"

"I didn't fly over," replied Jimmie. "Here," he added, "take this bolo
an' cut that rope! What did you mean by chokin' me when I cut you
loose?"

"A hug of affection!" retorted the other. "You looked like an angel to
me! Did you flutter down from the sky in the rain?"

"I ought to give you a good punch for it!" Jimmie replied. "You near
took the hide off me beautiful nose! Have you got that bloomin' steel
cable cut? Seems to me they are comin' after us!"

The boys stood perfectly still and listened. Above the patter of the
rain, above the murmur of the trees, above the chattering of the aroused
monkeys, came the crash of heavy bodies through the bushes, the sound of
human voices.

"Sure they are!" whispered Pat, and they set off again.

Working their way painfully through the jungle, falling now and then
over long vines, coming into contact with great trees and swinging
parasites which brushed against their faces like snakes, the boys
pressed on as rapidly as possible, but ever the sounds of pursuit came
closer! The pursuers were more familiar with jungle methods than they,
and no pretense of secrecy was made.

"Have you got a gun?" whispered Jimmie.

"I haven't even got a toothpick," was the reply.

"We'll have to fight before long," Jimmie said, panting with the
exertion of the unfamiliar struggle with the jungle.

"There's plenty of hollow trees about," suggested Pat. "Why not hide in
one of them until they pass?"

The suggestion seemed a good one, for a moment. Then the uselessness of
such an effort at concealment became apparent. With sinking hearts the
boys heard the low whine of a hound!

"I wonder how they managed to track us so easily," Jimmie said.

"Give me the bolo," Pat said. "I'll split the dog's head open if he
comes near us. Use your gun on the men."

The boys did not give up hope of final escape, but pressed on for a
time. However, the acclivity they were ascending grew steeper as they
advanced, and they were obliged to stop now and then to rest. On one of
these occasions they heard a commotion in the jungle just ahead of them.
This was disheartening!

"They've flanked us!" whispered Pat.

The pursuers were carrying a torch which, in the rain, gave a dim light,
but still served to direct their steps, and the glow of the flame now
reached to the very spot where the lads stood. The bushes behind them
parted and the glowing eyes of the hound looked up in their faces. Then
the call of the beast told the men following that he had at last sighted
his prey.

The boys turned to flee again, but came up against an almost
perpendicular wall of rock. The pursuers saw them now and came on with
cries of victory.

"Guess they've got us!" Pat said.

"Not yet!" Jimmie answered.

But, however courageous the lads might have proved themselves to be,
they would have been taken in a moment had they not received unexpected
assistance. The hound was almost at their feet when a shot was heard and
the great beast fell to the ground, struggled for an instant, and lay
still.

Another shot followed the first instantly, and the torch dropped from
the uplifted hand of the evil-faced man who was carrying it in the lead.
An intense, uncanny darkness followed the extinction of the torch, and
the two boys took advantage of it to edge around the face of the rock
which had blocked their progress. Without the help of the dog, and
without the torch, the pursuers could do little, and stood on equal
terms with the pursued.

It was impossible, of course, for the boys to make their way through the
jungle without making any noise, and in a moment the pursuing party
showed its temper by firing revengeful shots at the spots from which the
sounds of their progress proceeded. After half a dozen bullets had
clipped the bushes about the heads of the lads two shots came from in
front, the lead whizzing over their heads. A sharp cry of distress was
heard in the rear at the second shot, and then all was still.

The boys crouched in the open space between the "legs" of a balete tree
and waited for some possible explanation of the strange thing that had
taken place. Who had killed the hound, and who was it that was shooting
at the enemy over their heads? These questions were hard to answer.

"It is one of the boys from the _Manhattan_," Jimmie concluded, at last.

"Then why don't he show up?" demanded Pat. "Who is in the _Manhattan_?"

"Ned Nestor and two members of the Black Bear Patrol," was the reply.
"We came over here to sleuth."

"To what?"

"To sleuth. To do the Sherlock Holmes stunt. To put down an insurrection
in the Philippines!"

"You seem to be putting it down," Pat said, in a sarcastic tone.

"We've got it by the neck!" insisted Jimmie.

"Ned's being along will help some," said Pat. "He's the boy to get to
the bottom of a tough case. If he's on this side of the world, that's
him in the shrubbery just ahead. Did you hear the signals a short time
ago?"

"Of course."

"Well, that's the bunch coming."

"What bunch?" demanded Jimmie.

"Why, the Chinks, of course."

"What they coming here for?"

"I guess they expect to take the Philippines home with 'em," was the
reply. "Anyway, they're plotting to take Uncle Sam down and search him
for them."

"Did you hear much of their talk?" asked Jimmie.

"Quite a little, but Lieutenant Rowe made so much noise I couldn't hear
all that was said when they were near me. He's badly wounded."

"I'd like to know just what took place at the hut Captain Godwin put you
fellows in night before last," Jimmie said.

"There's treachery somewhere," began Pat, but just then a sound reached
their ears which drove all thoughts of that other night from their
minds. It was the low, snarling call of a wolf!

"That's Ned!" whispered Jimmie.

"It's a Wolf, anyway," Pat exclaimed, losing caution in the excitement
of the moment. "That will help some!"

The boy's voice must have been heard above the rain and the swishing of
the tropical growth, for several shots came from the rear, and one of
the bullets cut into the tree near Pat's head.

"They seem to be gettin' the range!" Pat said, scratching his head and
blessing his lucky star that a bullet had not connected with it.

"They couldn't hit a flock of bridges!" said Jimmie, disdainfully.

Then he straightened up and gave out a long, shrill cry, like that of a
wolf calling to the pack. Pat caught him by the arm and drew him back
into the semi-shelter of the "legs" of the balete tree.

"You'll have a spray of lead flying this way in a second!" he said.
"Can't you give the Wolf call without alarming the people of Hong Kong,
six hundred miles away?"

"I'm celebratin'!" answered the boy.

Again the wolf cry echoed through the forest, and this time it was
answered from within a few feet of where the boys stood. There were no
shots this time, and it was concluded that the pursuers had returned to
the camp.

"Ned!" called Jimmie.

"Hey, there!" added Pat.

"That voice sounds like Chatham Square!" said a voice close to the boy's
elbow, and in the darkness two hands fumbled together and clasped in a
hearty greeting.

"What you followin' me about for?" demanded Jimmie, as the three started
on through the jungle again.

"You've got your nerve!" said Pat. "Only for the darkness I'd hand you
one for that. What's he following you for? If he hadn't followed you,
both of us would have been captured back there."

"Hereafter," Ned said, "when Jimmie goes into the woods I'm going to tie
a string to him, so he can be pulled back home."

"Huh!" snickered Pat, "they tied plenty of strings to me, but they
didn't pull me back home!"

It was so still in the rear, for all of any sounds of pursuit, that the
boys decided that their enemies had given up the search for them, so
they walked faster and soon came out on the elevation which Ned had
mounted on leaving the _Manhattan_ in the afternoon. The rain ceased
gradually, and a fugitive moon was seen now and then among the hurrying
clouds.

With the first show of light Ned looked Pat Mack over with interest. The
Irish lad returned the friendly glance with interest, and the two again
clasped hands.

"We didn't anticipate such a meeting," Ned said.

"You knew I had gone to the Philippines," Pat said, "but I had no idea
you would ever wander off here. Tell me about it."

The story was soon told, in condensed form, and then Ned asked:

"That was Lieutenant Rowe who was captured?"

"Sure! They got into our hut and geezled us good. I shall not be able to
straighten out my arms for a month."

"Your hands must have been free when you left those signs in the grass,"
said the patrol leader.

"They caught me doing it," said Pat, "and that is why I was tied up
tighter than the others."

"Well, you did a good job before they caught you," Jimmie said. "When
you goin' back to let the others loose?"

"Lieutenant Rowe is in great pain because of his wound," Pat replied,
"and we ought to do something for him soon."

"Where is the fourth man--the fellow who climbed in the window?" asked
Ned in a moment.

"Say!" Pat answered, "there was something strange about that! He came in
with new instructions--instructions which would have sent us off to
Manila again, and the Lieutenant wouldn't stand for them, and so--"

"They had a scrap?" asked Jimmie.

"Did the Lieutenant doubt the authenticity of the instructions?" asked
Ned.

"I think he did," was the reply, "and so did the messenger! Odd, eh?"

"But he must have been expecting the messenger," Ned went on, "for the
screen at the window where he entered was left unfastened for him."

"He was expecting some one," answered Pat, "but of course he did not
know who it would be. Anyway, he was not anticipating faked
instructions."

"But why was he so secret about letting the fellow in? Why wasn't the
door used when he came?"

"I don't know. The messenger the Lieutenant was expecting was to come
secretly and go secretly. That's all I know about it."

"He was to be sent by the government officers?"

"Of course."

"From what point?"

"Oh, I don't know," answered Pat. "It is all a muddle. I can't
understand how a man could follow us with instructions, anyway. We came
fast in the motor boat, and could not have been followed in a canoe. I
don't know where this messenger was to spring from, I'm sure. Anyhow,
the wrong one came, or the right one brought the wrong dispatches, and
Lieutenant Rowe wouldn't stand for it, and there was a conference, and
then the brown men came in and we were geezled. Looked like a raid on a
pool room in little old New York!"

"But this false messenger--the wrong man, or the right man with the
wrong instructions--was captured also?"

"Yes, he was; and he made a row about it. I'll tell you what I think.
There's treachery in the secret service somewhere. Some interest or some
nation is trying to take the Philippines away from Uncle Sam."

"And receiving assistance from those in the employ of Uncle Sam!" Ned
said, musingly. "Well, I'm here to see what can be done in the line of
locking the traitors up in a nice hot cell at Manila."

"You needn't look much farther," Jimmie said. "There's a second motor
boat out in a bay west of the island, and I'm tellin' you that it came
across from China. It is the washee-washee people who are kicking up
this mess, all right."

"You seem to have solved the mystery," laughed Ned. "From the first we
have known that there was a conspiracy against Uncle Sam, but the
question has always been 'Who?' and not 'What for?' The purpose of the
alleged treaty has never been a mystery. What we are here for is to
catch the conspirators with the goods, as Inspector Byrnes used to say.
And now you've solved the puzzle!"

"Quit yer kiddin'!" exclaimed Jimmie. "I can say what I think, can't I?
Besides, if it ain't the Chinks, who is it?"

"That is just what we want to know," Ned replied, more soberly. "There
is a notion at Washington that it may be some financial interest. The
newspapers were saying, when we left civilization, that a certain
monopoly was financing the Mexican revolution, and there is a suspicion
that some disloyal men in the United States are doing the same with the
ignorant natives of the Philippines--urging them on and supplying them
with guns and ammunition."

"Well," Pat observed, "whoever it is that is doing the business, there
are traitors in the secret service department. The Americans who acted
with the Filipinos who captured us are posted as to what is going on at
Washington, all right."

"Let's go and get them," suggested Jimmie. "I guess the third degree
would make them tell all about it!"

"Yes," suggested Pat, "you run out and get them while we find the
_Manhattan_! That will be a nice little job for you!"

"I wouldn't let them tie me up, anyway," growled Jimmie, annoyed at the
chaffing of his friends. "Say!" he added, "here's our little bay now,
but where is that bloomin' motor boat? Some one's come and carried it
away while we've been in the woods, an' took Jack and Frank away with
it!"

CHAPTER VIII.

WIGWAGS FROM THE BEACH.

For a long time after the departure of Ned, Jack and Frank sat in the
cabin of the _Manhattan_, looking out on the steady downpour. They were
not quite satisfied with their share in the activities of the day.
Instead of being housed in the cabin, they preferred an exciting hunt
even in the rain, over the hills of the little island in view.

"If we stand for it," grumbled Jack, "we'll have to spend most of our
time keeping house! Jimmie will scatter himself all over the Asiatic
division of the map, and Ned will spend most of his time looking him
up!"

Frank laughed at this outbreak of ill humor, although he was as anxious
as his chum to be on the firing line.

"I wish we'd not taken the _Manhattan_," Jack continued. "I'm the only
one in the party that can operate it, and I'll be tied down like a
galley slave!"

"Go it!" laughed Frank. "Growl your head off, if you want to, Mr. Black
Bear! Instead of snarling, why don't you tell me what makes the boat go
when you do something to the wheel and that switch?"

"I thought you owned a launch?" said Jack.

"Father bought me one," was the reply, "but I've never learned how to
run it. I'm too fat to bother my head about such things!"

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