The Boy Patrol Around the Council Fire. Ellis Edward Sylvester

he would have hardly been the equal of one of them in a “shindy” which could be easily started and which it seemed he had set out to provoke.

      “I observe,” said Biggs, “that you have a brass chain dangling from yer coat pocket in front; does the same signify that there’s a watch anchored at t’other end?”

      Mike answered the question by flipping out his time piece and displaying it.

      “The best Waterbury chronometer made, – price a dollar and a half.”

      “I should like to borrer the same for my pal and me.”

      “I’m thinking ye would like to borrer a good many things ye can’t; I carry a little loose change in me pocket. Mebbe you’d like to borrer the same?”

      “Yer guessed it the fust time; while yer turning over that turnip and chain yer may as well h’ist out the few pennies in yer garments.”

      The tramp took a step toward the lad, his companion grinningly watching proceedings.

      The words and manner of Biggs left no doubt that he meant to rob Mike of his watch and money, – though neither was of much value. Was the Irish youth angry? I cannot do justice to his feelings, so let us try to imagine his state of mind.

      Prudence demanded that he should try to conciliate the scamps, or, failing in that, to dash off at the top of his speed, but two reasons checked this course. You know he was not formed for running, and either one of the tramps could have overtaken him by half trying. The other reason was that Mike never ran from any foe. He would die fighting before showing the white feather. Convinced that nothing could avert a fierce struggle, he instantly prepared for it. He would have felt better had his shillaleh been in his grasp, but it has already been shown that his only weapons were those which nature had furnished and no youth of his years could have known better how to use them.

      I should be distressed if I had to describe Mike’s fight with two full grown men, for it was impossible that he should not get much the worst of it. While it may be a relief to picture one in his situation as baffling, if not defeating two burly despoilers, yet to do so would be contrary to truth.

      The youth recoiled a single step, closed his fists and assumed an attitude of defense. Saxy Hutt, still stood grinningly listening and watching. As he viewed the situation it was preposterous to think his pal would need his help. None the less, he would be quick to give it should the call be made.

      “Come on as soon as ye plaise, and I’d as lief take both as one; don’t kaap me waiting.”

      “Hear him talk,” said Biggs, still advancing, though more slowly than before; “he makes believe he ain’t scared half to death.”

      “Ye’ll be thankful in less nor a minute if ye’re allowed to escape wid yer life.”

      This sounded like the wildest kind of boasting, but it was justified. Since Mike Murphy faced the two tramps, he saw what was behind them, which they did not. In a direct line with Biggs, slightly to the left of Saxy, and no more than a dozen paces to the rear, stood Dr. Spellman with leveled revolver and face red with anger.

      “Move a little to one side, Mike, so I shall run no risk of hitting you,” called the physician; “just now you’re right in line with that ruffian.”

      Buzby Biggs leaped fully a foot in air, and with a gasp flashed his head about and stared at the point whence the dreadful voice had come. Then his spiky hair seemed to rise on end and lift his dilapidated hat to a height of several inches.

      “Shall I wing him, Mike?” asked the doctor, with the weapon still at a level.

      “Folly yer own plisure in that regard; I don’t begrudge ye the enj’yment, as Mrs. O’Flaherty remarked whin she refoosed to fire at the bear that was chasing her husband.”

      At that instant, Biggs emitted a howl, and with what was left of his fragmentary hat fluttering to the ground, dashed in a headlong panic through the wood and undergrowth toward the lake.

      The sharp crack of the Smith and Wesson rang out, and the fugitive made another bound in air, as if he felt the sting of the bullet, and dived out of sight.

      “I missed him on purpose,” remarked the doctor; “he isn’t worth a cartridge, but I’m undecided about you.”

      As he spoke he shifted his aim to Saxy Hutt, who was a-tremble with fear.

      “I – I – I’ve got an engagement,” he stuttered, beginning to shamble in the direction taken by his companion; “I’ll bid you good day.”

      “Hold on!” sharply commanded his master; “wait till I decide what’s best to do with you.”

      “Why – why, boss, I haven’t done anything.”

      And too weak to stand in his excessive terror, Saxy sagged back and sat down heavily on the log. Mike could not help pitying him.

      “It was t’other spalpeen that meant to rob me, docther.”

      “One is as bad as the other; this one would have helped had it been necessary.”

      “Oh, doctor,” protested the aggrieved Saxy, “how can yer think such a crool thing of a gentleman like me? I was just going to stop Buzby when yer spoke up.”

      The physician lowered his weapon with a laugh.

      “Off with you! I hope never to see the face of yourself or Buzby again. You may drink your coffee if you wish before you leave.”

      But the tramp had lost his thirst as well as his appetite for the time. He came unsteadily to his feet, and began moving gingerly over the trail of his companion.

      “I say, doctor,” he said, pausing a few steps away, “if you feel like firing off that little thing in your hand, please p’int t’other way.”

      “I shall take your request into consideration, but don’t advise you to bank on my granting it.”

      Saxy increased his pace until it equalled that of him who had gone before. Dr. Spellman extended his hand to Mike.

      “I hope that is the last of them. I supposed they left the neighborhood, but they will do so now.”

      “Why do ye think that, docther?”

      “Heretofore we had nothing positive to bring against them. Now I can bear witness that they tried to rob you. They know it and have no wish to go to jail while the weather is so pleasant outside. Let’s sit down on this log for a wee bit, before going to my house. Tell me how you came to be in this place.”

      “I was on me way from Uncle Elk’s cabin whin the smoke of this camp caused me to turn aside, wid the result that I’d been mixed up in the biggest shindy of me life if ye hadn’t took it in yer head to spoil the picnic.”

      “It was mighty lucky for you that I did so, Mike. Did Uncle Elk send any message to me?”

      “He did that,” gravely replied Mike, who thereupon told his friend of the assertion of the hermit that he and the physician must not meet.

      “I had begun to suspect some such feeling on his part, though not to the degree he shows. I have called there twice, the last time with my wife, who insists that the old man was in his cabin at the time and purposely kept out of our sight. He can depend upon it that I shall not put myself in his way, though I am wholly at a loss to understand his enmity. But we may as well go to the house, Mike.”

      As he spoke, the doctor rose to his feet, and the two began threading their way through the wood to the point where Mike had left his canoe.

      CHAPTER III – A Strange Occurrence

      It was not far to the edge of the lake, and, as you will remember, there was abundant undergrowth, but the fleeing tramps had left a trail of broken and twisted branches which it would have been easy to follow, even with greater distance and more uncertainty of direction. Mike kept a few paces in the lead, and soon caught the shimmer of water, but when he glanced around saw nothing of his craft. He stood perplexed when Dr. Spellman stepped beside him.

      “Where’s the canoe?”