The Banner Boy Scouts Afloat / Or, The Secret of Cedar Island

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Online Distributed Proofreading Team

The Banner Boy Scouts Afloat

OR

The Secret of Cedar Island

By GEORGE A. WARREN

1913

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I THE MYSTERIOUS BOXES

II GLORIOUS NEWS
III FOR CEDAR ISLAND—GHOST OR NO GHOST
IV LAYING IN THE STORES
V JUST AFTER THE CLOCK STRUCK TEN
VI THE GREAT CRUISE OF THE SCOUTS BEGUN
VII STUCK FAST IN THE MUD
VIII WHAT THE WATER GAUGE SHOWED
IX ON THE SWIFT RADWAY
X DODGING THE SNAGS AND THE SNARES
XI THE CAMP ON CEDAR ISLAND
XII WAS IT A BURSTING METEOR?
XIII THE FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND
XIV TRYING TO FIGURE IT ALL OUT
XV ORDERED OFF
XVI UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS
XVII PITCHING TENTS IN THE “SINK”
XVIII WHAT LAY IN THE BRUSH
XIX LAYING PLANS
XX THE EXPLORING PARTY
XXI A MYSTERY OF THE OPEN GLADE
XXII THE WIGWAG MESSAGE
XXIII STILL FLOUNDERING IN THE MIRE
XXIV THE DISCOVERY
XXV TIME TO GO BACK
XXVI HONORABLE SCARS
XXVII ANOTHER THREATENING PERIL
XXVIII PREPARED FOR THE WORST
XXIX LIFTING THE LID
XXX GOOD-BYE TO CEDAR ISLAND
XXXI A SCOUT’S DUTY
XXXII CONCLUSION

PREFACE

Dear Boys:—

It is with the greatest pleasure that I present you with the third volume
of the “Banner Boy Scouts Series.” This is a complete story in itself;
and yet most of the leading characters you, who have already read the
first and second volumes, will easily remember. I trust you will heartily
welcome the appearance once more on the stage of Paul, Jack, Bobolink and
all the other good fellows belonging to Stanhope Troop of Boy Scouts.

Those of you who are old friends will recollect that while the Red Fox
Patrol was forming, the boys had a most strenuous time, what with a deep
mystery in their midst, and the bitter strife resulting from their
competition with rival troops belonging to neighboring towns. How the
beautiful banner was cleverly won by Stanhope, I related in the first
volume, called: “The Banner Boy Scouts.”

In the succeeding story the Stanhope Scouts went on their first long
hike, to camp in the open. The remarkable adventures they met with
while enjoying this experience; as well as the stirring account of how
they recovered a box of valuable papers that had been stolen from the
office of Joe Clausin’s father, form the main theme of “The Banner Boy
Scouts on a Tour.”

And now, in this third book, I have endeavored to interest you in another
series of happenings that befell these wide-awake boys before their
summer vacation was over. I hope you will, after reading this story
through to the last line, agree with me that what the young assistant
scout master, Paul Morrison, and his chums of Stanhope Troop endured
while afloat all went to make them better and truer scouts in every sense
of the word.

Cordially yours

GEORGE A. WARREN.

CHAPTER I

THE MYSTERIOUS BOXES

“What are you limping for, Bobolink?”

“Oh! shucks! I see there’s no use trying to hide anything from your sharp
eyes, Jack Stormways. Guess I just about walked my feet off today, goin’
fishin’ with our patrol leader, away over to the Radway River, and about
six miles up.”

“Have any luck, Bobolink?” instantly demanded the third member of the
group of three half-grown boys, who were passing after nightfall through
some of the partly deserted streets on the outskirts of the thriving town
of Stanhope; and whose name it might be stated was Tom Betts.

“Well, I should say, yes. Between us we got seven fine bass, and a
pickerel. By the way, I caught that pickerel; Paul, he looked after the
bass end of the string, and like the bully chap he is divided with me;”
and the boy who limped chuckled as he said this, showing that he could
appreciate a joke, even when it was on himself.

About everybody in town called him Bobolink; and what boy could do
otherwise, seeing that his real name was Robert O. Link?

As the trio of lads were all dressed in the khaki suits known all over
the world nowadays as typifying Boy Scouts, it could be readily taken for
granted that they belonged to the Stanhope Troop.

Already were there three full patrols enlisted, and wearing uniforms;
while a fourth was in process of forming. The ones already in the field
were known as, first, the Red Fox, to which these three lads belonged;
then the Gray Fox, and finally the Black Fox. But as they had about
exhausted the color roster of the fox family, the chances were that the
next patrol would have to start on a new line when casting about for a
name that would stamp their identity, and serve as a totem.

An efficient scout master had been secured in the person of a young man
by the name of Mr. Gordon, who cheerfully accompanied the lads on their
outings, and attended many of their meetings. But being a traveling
salesman, Mr. Gordon often had to be away from home for weeks at a time.

When these lapses occurred, his duties fell upon the shoulders of Paul

Morrison, who not only filled the position of leader to the Red Fox

Patrol, but being a first-class scout, had received his commission from

Headquarters that entitled him to act as assistant scout master to the

whole troop during the absence of Mr. Gordon.

“How did you like it up on the Radway?” continued the one who had made
the first inquiry, Jack Stormways, whose father owned a lumber yard and
planing mill just outside the limits of the town, which was really the
goal of their present after-supper walk.

“Great place, all right,” replied Bobolink. “Paul kept calling my
attention to all the things worth seeing. He seems to think a heap of the
old Radway. For my part, I rather fancy our own tight little river, the
Bushkill.”

“Well, d’ye know, that’s one reason I asked how you liked it,” Jack went
on. “Paul seemed so much taken with that region over there, I’ve begun to
get a notion in my head he’s fixing a big surprise, and that perhaps at
the meeting to-night he may spring it on us.”

“Tell me about that, will you?” exclaimed Bobolink, who was given to
certain harmless slang ways whenever he became in the least excited, as
at present. “Now that you’ve been and gone and given me a pointer, I c’n
just begin to get a line on a few of the questions he asked me. Well,
I’m willing to leave it to Paul. He always thinks of the whole shooting
match when trying to give the troop a bully good time. Just remember
what we went through with when we camped out up on Rattlesnake Mountain,
will you?”

“That’s right,” declared Tom Betts, eagerly; “say, didn’t we have the
time of our lives, though?”

“And yet Paul said only today that as we had so long a time before

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