H. A. Cody - Rod of the Lone Patrol

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ROD OF THE LONE PATROL

by

H. A. CODY

Author of "If Any Man Sin," "The Chief of the Ranges,"
"The Long Patrol," "The Frontiersman," Etc., Etc.

"_A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts._"
--LONGFELLOW.

McClelland and Stewart
Publishers ------ Toronto
Copyright, 1916,
George H. Doran Company
Made in U. S. A.

To My

Three Little Boys

DOUGLAS, KENNETH AND NORMAN,

Who are anxious to become Boy Scouts,

This Book is

Affectionately Dedicated

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. A WAIF OF THE NIGHT
II. GIVING AND RECEIVING
III. THE WIDOW'S VISIT
IV. RODNEY DEVELOPS
V. CAPTAIN JOSH TAKES A HAND
VI. A NEW FRIEND
VII. CHUMS
VIII. THE CHUMS TO THE RESCUE
IX. WHYN
X. HIS FIRST "GOOD TURN"
XI. MISS ARABELLA'S "AFFAIR"
XII. SCOUT WORK
XIII. THE VISIT
XIV. UNEXPECTED ASSISTANCE
XV. IN THE CITY
XVI. WHYN DECIDES
XVII. ANNA ROYANNA
XVIII. THE WAY OF THE HEART
XIX. THE SURPRISE
XX. THE ISLAND ADVENTURE
XXI. THE ROUNDING UP
XXII. A NEW ADVENTURE
XXIII. FIRST AID
XXIV. THE PRODIGAL SON
XXV. DRIFT-LOGS
XXVI. THE BEST "GOOD-TURN"
XXVII. JIMMY
XXVIII. EXCITEMENT AT THE ANCHORAGE
XXIX. THE TROOPS DECIDE
XXX. THE NIGHT RUN
XXXI. BETTER THAN A FAIRY TALE

ROD OF THE LONE PATROL

CHAPTER I

A WAIF OF THE NIGHT

Parson Dan chuckled several times as he sipped his hot cocoa before the
fire. It was an open fire, and the flames licked around an old dry
root which had been brought with other driftwood up from the shore.
This brightly-lighted room was a pleasing contrast to the roughness of
the night outside, for a strong late October wind was careening over
the land. It swirled about the snug Hillcrest rectory, rattling any
window which happened to be a little loose, and drawing the
forked-tongued flames writhing up the large commodious chimney.

When the third chuckle had been emitted, Mrs. Royal laid aside the
paper she had been reading and looked somewhat curiously at her husband.

"The missionary meeting must have been very amusing to-night, Daniel,"
she remarked. "It is too bad that I didn't go."

"Oh, no, it wasn't the meeting which was amusing," was the reply. "But
I must say it was the best one I ever attended. That missionary had a
great story to tell and he told it well. There was a good attendance,
too, especially for such a cold night. But you can't guess, my dear,
who was there."

"The Bishop?"

"No, no," and the parson rubbed his hands in glee and gave another
boyish chuckle. "Give it up, eh?" and his eyes sparkled as he turned
them upon his wife's puzzled face.

"Yes."

"I thought so. You could never guess, for you would never think of
Captain Josh."

"No, surely not, Daniel!" and Mrs. Royal, now all attention, drew her
chair a little closer to the fire. "What in the world took him there
to-night? I never knew him to go to church, let alone to a missionary
meeting."

"Oh, that is easily explained, dear. His only son, you know, is in the
Yukon, and he was anxious to hear about that country. He was certainly
the most interested person there, and after the meeting was over, he
walked right up to Mr. Dicer and asked him if he had met his son."

"And had he?" Mrs. Royal inquired.

"Yes; knew him well. Now, the way those two men did talk would have
done your heart good. To think of Captain Josh chatting with a
missionary, when for years he has been so much down on missions and
missionaries. That is one on the old captain, and I shall not forget
it when I see him again, ho, ho," and Parson Dan leaned back in his
comfortable chair and fairly shook with merriment.

"I hope that his interest will keep up," was Mrs. Royal's comment, as
she picked up the paper she had laid aside. "Perhaps he will learn
that missionaries are of some use in the world after all."

"I am afraid not, Martha," the parson returned, as he reached for his
pipe and tobacco lying on a little stand by his side. "It is only his
son which made him interested to-night, and that is as far as it goes."

"It might be the beginning, though, Daniel, who can tell? I always
liked Jimmy. He and Alec got on so well together. Do you know what
day this is?"

"Ay, ay, Martha," and the clergyman's face grew grave, and a slight
mistiness dimmed his eyes. "I haven't forgotten it."

"He would have been twenty-five to-day, Daniel."

"I know it, and it seems only yesterday that I went for old Doctor
Paddock. It was a night something like this, and I was so afraid that
we would not get back in time."

The fire danced cheerily before them, and the clock on the mantel
ticked steadily as the two sat for some time in silence, gazing
thoughtfully upon the blazing sticks.

"I dreamed last night that I saw him," Mrs. Royal at length remarked.
"He was a baby, and had on his little white dress. He looked up into
my face and smiled, just like he used to do. I gave a cry of joy and
put out my arms to take him. At that I awoke, and he disappeared. Oh,
Daniel, we didn't value him enough when we had him--and now he's gone."

"And do you remember, Martha, what plans we made for his future? Our
hopes have been sadly shattered."

"We have only his memory with us now, Daniel," was the quiet reply. "I
always think of him as a baby, or as a strong manly boy coming home
from school. But for that precious recollection I hardly know how I
could bear up at all."

Scarcely had she finished speaking, when a faint knock sounded upon the
front door. They both started and listened attentively, thinking that
perhaps it was only the wind. But when the knock was repeated, Parson
Dan rose quickly to his feet, crossed the room and entered the outer
hall. As he unlocked and opened the front door, a shaving of cold wind
whipped into the room, while the inky night rose suddenly before him
like a great perpendicular wall. For a few seconds he could see
nothing, but as his eyes became accustomed to the blackness, he beheld
a dim form standing before him. Then a large bundle was thrust
suddenly into his arms, and the figure disappeared. He thought he
heard a sob borne on the night air as he stood in the door-way
clutching the burden imposed upon him. But perhaps it was only the
wailing of the wind he heard. He was too dazed to be sure of himself
as he stood there peering forth into the night, expecting some one to
enter, or at least to speak and explain the meaning of this strange
behaviour. But none of these things happened, so, still bewildered, he
closed the door with his foot and made his way back into the
living-room.

"Daniel, Daniel! what are you standing there in the draught for?" his
wife remonstrated. "You will get your death of cold."

She ceased abruptly, however, when she saw her husband enter with the
strange bundle in his arms.

"What is it?" she gasped, rising quickly to her feet.

"Don't know," was the reply. "It's alive, anyway, whatever it is, for
it's beginning to wriggle. Here, take it."

But Mrs. Royal shrank back, and raised her hands as if to protect
herself.

"It won't hurt you, dear. What are you afraid of?"

"But it's alive, you say. It might not be safe to have it in the
house. Where did it come from?"

Before a reply could be given, the bundle gave a vigorous twist, while
a muffled squeal came from beneath the clothes, which almost caused the
parson to drop his burden upon the floor. But that sound stirred Mrs.
Royal to immediate action. No longer did she hesitate, but stepping
forward relieved her husband of his charge.

"It is a baby!" she cried, at the same time drawing aside the shawl and
exposing the chubby face of a child nestling within. A pair of bright
blue eyes looked up into hers, and a queer little chuckle of delight
came from the small rose-bud of a mouth. So pleased was it to have its
face uncovered, that it performed the rest of the job itself, and by
means of a few strenuous kicks disengaged its feet from their covering
and stuck them straight up into the air.

"Bless its little heart!" was Mrs. Royal's motherly comment. "It is
going to make itself at home, anyway."

Seating herself before the fire, she laid aside the shawl and
straightened out the baby's mussed garments. They were clothes of the
plainest, but spotlessly clean.

Parson Dan stood watching his wife with much interest. This little
waif of the night appealed to him in a remarkable manner.

"Who do you suppose left it here?" he at last asked. "It is no child
of this parish, I feel quite sure of that."

"Perhaps it was an angel who did it," Mrs. Royal replied. "It may be
that the good Lord has taken compassion upon our loneliness since we
lost Alec and has given us this in his stead."

"No, I cannot believe that, Martha. I do not for a moment doubt that
such a thing is possible, oh, no. But that old shawl and those plain
clothes do not look much like heavenly robes, do they? I think that
the hands which made that little white dress were human hands such as
ours, and the sob which I heard to-night was not the sob of an angel
but of a heart-broken mother."

"Well, she is the angel, then, whoever she is," Mrs. Royal insisted,
"and perhaps she will come for the baby to-morrow."

"Oh, do you think so, Martha?" and there was a note of anxiety in the
parson's voice. "How nice it would be to keep it."

"Why do you say 'it,' Daniel? Why don't you say 'her'?"

"I never knew before that it was a 'her,'" and the parson chuckled as
he stroked his clean-shaven chin with the fingers of his right hand.

"You didn't?" and his wife looked her surprise. "Why, any one who has
the least knowledge of babies can tell a boy from a girl at the first
glance. There is always a marked difference in the way they behave."

"Ah, is that so, dear?"

"Certainly. A boy as a rule is cranky when he wakes. But do you
notice how good natured this baby is? and how she lies so quietly in my
lap, looking wonderingly into the fire? And notice how delicately she
is formed; how perfect her face; how slight her neck, and how tiny her
arms and hands. Oh, it is always easy for a woman to tell which is
which."

"What shall we call her, Martha?" and Parson Dan drew up his chair and
sat down.

"I have been thinking of that, Daniel, but have not decided yet. I
always liked Deborah; it is such a good strong name."

"It is a good old name, anyway," was the somewhat reluctant assent.
"But she is sure to get 'Debbie,' or 'Deb,' which I dislike very much."

"Oh, that all depends upon what a child is called at home, Daniel. If
we begin at once to call her Deborah, people will do the same."

"Very well, Martha, if you wish to call her Deborah, I have no
objection. But----"

Here the parson paused, leaned over and picked up a small piece of
white paper lying upon the floor. He glanced carelessly at it at
first, but as he read the words written thereon his eyes opened wide.
He looked at his wife, who was intently watching the baby, and an
amused expression broke over his face. Then came the inevitable
chuckle.

"What is it now, Daniel?" his wife questioned. "That is the fourth
time you've chuckled already to-night. It seems to take very little to
amuse you."

"Suppose the baby isn't a girl after all, dear?" the parson replied,
ignoring his wife's sarcastic remark.

"Not a girl! What do you mean?"

"Suppose she should be a boy, after all?"

"The idea is ridiculous, Daniel. Don't you suppose I know a girl from
a boy?"

"Very well, then, read that," and the clergyman handed her the slip of
paper.

"Please take care of Rodney. I will come for him some day. The Lord
will reward you even if I can't.

"HIS MOTHER."

As Mrs. Royal read this brief note, a peculiar expression overspread
her face. She uttered no word, but her head drooped lower over the
baby and she remained very still. Her husband at once realising how
she felt, laid his hand upon hers.

"There, there, dear," he soothed. "I didn't mean to make you feel
badly. It was only a little mistake after all, and I am really glad it
is a boy, for if will make us think that we have Alec with us again."

Mrs. Royal looked up and brushed away a tear. At that instant the baby
gave a vigorous kick, accompanied by a peculiar gurgle of delight, at
which the two attendants laughed heartily.

"That's right, little man," and the parson nodded his head approvingly.
"You're pleased, too, are you, to know that we've found out that you
are a boy? You didn't want to be called Deborah, Debbie, or Deb, did
you? Rodney suits you better, eh? How do you like the name, Martha?"

"Very well, indeed," and Mrs. Royal gave a sigh of relief. "It removes
quite a load from my mind. But, there," she added, "I must put him to
bed. It isn't good for a baby to be up so late. Come, Rodney," and
she lifted the little one in her arms, "kiss your----"

"Grandad," the parson assisted as his wife paused. "We shall teach him
to call me that, eh? It will be better than 'daddy.'"

"You look after him, Daniel, while I make his bed ready. Don't let him
fall. There, that's good," and Mrs. Royal stepped back to view the
baby lying in her husband's arms.

Lighting a candle which was standing on tin mantel over the fire-place,
she went upstairs and stopped before a door on the left of the hall-way
This she opened and softly entered. The room was small, but neat and
cosy. Every piece of furniture was in its proper place, and the bed
looked as if it had been recently made. The walls were adorned with
various articles, from a number of shelves, filled with books for boys,
to snow-shoes, fishing-rods, a rifle, and college colours. It had been
several years since any one had slept in that room, but not a day had
passed during that period that Mrs. Royal had not entered and sat for a
while in the big easy chair by the side of the bed. Everything was
there just as Alec had left it, though a few things had been added
since.

One of these was a crib which had been his. This was standing in a
corner of the room with the little pillow and white spread in perfect
order. For a few moments Mrs. Royal stood looking down upon the small
cot associated with such sweet memories. Then she placed the candle
upon a small table and set earnestly to work. First she removed the
clothes and mattress and carried the crib into her own room across the
hall. Going back for the clothes, she carried them downstairs, and
spread them upon the backs of several chairs for them to warm before
the fire.

Parson Dan watched her intently, but made no comment. He fully
realised how risky it was to speak just then. He knew how much it
meant for his wife to disturb that little cot and make it ready for a
strange child. Neither did he wish to say anything, for he himself was
deeply stirred as memories of other days rushed upon him. When at last
Rodney was carefully covered and sound asleep in the crib upstairs,
they both stood looking down upon his sweet round face.

"Poor little waif," Mrs. Royal remarked. "He is somebody's child, and
perhaps his mother is longing for him at this very moment."

"There is no doubt about it," her husband replied. "That sob which I
heard to-night is still ringing in my ears, and I know it was the sob
of a heart-broken mother."

CHAPTER II

GIVING AND RECEIVING

The baby awoke bright and early the next morning, in fact too early for
Mr. and Mrs. Royal. The former, especially, enjoyed the hour from six
to seven, when, as he once said, he obtained his "beauty sleep." But
the little stranger of the night was no respecter of persons. He
lifted up his voice at the unnatural hour of five, and by means of a
series of gurgles, whoops, and complaints, drove all sleep from drowsy
eyes. He was not in the least abashed in the presence of strangers,
but standing in his crib, he rattled the side, and yelled shouts of
baby defiance at the other occupants of the room.

"I didn't know that he could stand alone," the parson remarked as he
first saw Rodney scramble to his feet. "How old do you suppose he is?"

"About fourteen months, I should judge, Daniel," his wife replied. "He
may be older, though. One can't always tell."

"He's a stirring lad, anyway, Martha, and we shall have our hands full.
Won't you need some help, dear? How would it do to get a woman in
occasionally to assist with the work, as the baby will take so much of
your time?"

"That will not be necessary, Daniel. By the look of things now we
shall be up earlier each morning, and one hour then is worth two later
in the day."

After the parson had lighted the fire in the cooking-stove, and also
the one in the living-room, he went to the barn to milk. He kept one
Jersey cow which supplied enough milk for the house. This was a fine
animal, and the pride of the neighbourhood, as it had taken the first
prize at the large Exhibition held that very fall in the city.

The rectory was situated upon land known as "The Glebe," about fifty
acres in extent, which had been granted to the Church by the Crown in
Loyalist days. About one-third of this was under cultivation,
producing hay and oats for the horse and cow, as well as all the
vegetables needed for the table. Several acres were given up to
pasturage, while the remainder was wooded. The Royals were, therefore,
most comfortably situated, and quite independent. A small orchard
provided them with apples, the taste of which was well known to every
person in the parish, especially the children, for Parson Dan seldom
started forth without his pockets filled with Russets, Pippins, or
Fameuse. Mrs. Royal had her hens, and no eggs seemed as large and
fresh as the ones she often sent to some sick or aged person, in the
parish.

While Mrs. Royal was looking after the baby, the parson fed his horse,
"Sweepstakes," and milked "Brindle," the cow. He then turned the
latter loose, and drove her down the lane to the feeding-ground beyond.

"There is a stray cow out in the pasture," the clergyman informed his
wife as he sipped his coffee.

"Whose is it?" was the somewhat absent-minded reply, for Mrs. Royal's
attention was upon Rodney, who was creeping gaily about the floor,
examining every nook, and making himself perfectly at home.

"I don't know whose it is," the parson retorted, a little nettled at
his wife's question. "I can tell you about every man, woman, and child
in this parish; I know all the horses and dogs, and can give you their
pedigrees. But I draw a line at cows, pigs, hens, and cats. I am fond
enough of them, but there is a limit to the things I can remember. I
forget too much as it is. And, by the way, that reminds me that I must
go to Hazlewood to-day. Joe Bradley told me last night that his mother
is ill, and wishes to see me. He came all the way to the meeting on
purpose to tell me, and to think that I nearly forgot all about it! It
was that young rascal, though, who did it," and the parson turned his
eyes upon the baby. "Do you think that you can make out alone with
him, Martha? I fear that I shall be away all day, as there are several
other calls I must make at Hazlewood."

"Oh, I shall make out all right," was the reply. "But there are
several things you might bring me from the store on your way home. I
will make out a list for you, as you would be sure to forget them."

It was almost dusk when Parson Dan returned from his long journey,
tired and hungry.

"How is the boy?" he asked as he entered the house, after having
stabled Sweepstakes.

"He's as good as gold, Daniel," Mrs. Royal replied. "But I am worried
about Brindle. She hasn't come in yet, and I cannot see her anywhere
in the pasture."

"She's with that strange cow, no doubt, Martha, and I shall go after
her at once. It will be too dark if I wait until supper is over."

Parson Dan was absent for about an hour, and it was dark when he
returned to the rectory. He looked disappointed.

"Brindle is gone," was the news he imparted to his wife. "I found
where the fence was broken down. That strange cow must have done it,
for I never knew Brindle to do such a thing. I wonder how that cow got
in there, anyway. It is a complete mystery to me. I tried to follow
the cows through the woods, but it got so dark that I was forced to
give up the search. I must be off early in the morning or there will
be no milk for the wee lad's breakfast."

"And none for our coffee, Daniel," was his wife's reminder. "Milk will
be a very poor substitute for cream, but it will be better than
nothing."

"That's quite true, Martha. It's been a long time since we've been
without milk or cream in the house. But we can stand it better than
the baby. Poor little chap, he must not starve, even if we have to
borrow some from our neighbours. I hope Rodney has not tired you too
much to-day, dear. It has been years since you had the care of a baby."

"It has been a great joy, Daniel, to have the laddie with me. He slept
several hours, and when he woke he was so good and full of fun. At
times I imagined he was Alec playing on the floor with his blocks. He
was very sweet when I put him to bed to-night. He never misses his
mother. How soon a baby forgets."

"But I venture to say that his mother hasn't forgotten him," and the
parson's face grew serious as he recalled that sob of the night before.
"I have been thinking of her all through the day, and wondering who she
is, and why she left her baby at our door."

"And so have I, Daniel. I had the idea that she would return, and
several times I started at the least noise, expecting to see her at the
door."

"I do not wish to deprive the mother of her baby," the parson
thoughtfully mused, "but how I should like to keep him! He seems to
belong to us. In fact, he has made himself perfectly at home already."

Parson Dan was astir unusually early the next morning. He stood before
the rectory looking up and down the road, uncertain which course to
take in search of the missing Brindle.

"Let me see," he considered, "that fence is down on the upper side, and
most likely those cows have made their way up the road. I guess I had
better hunt there first."

As he stood there his eyes roamed over the scene before him. The
rectory was situated upon a gentle elevation, surrounded by tall,
graceful elms, and large branching maples. Below the road was the
parish church, standing where it had stood for almost one hundred
years, amid its setting of elms, maples, and oaks. Nearby was the
cemetery, where the numerous shafts of marble and granite could be
plainly seen from the road. To the right and left were pretty
cottages, for the most part closed, as they belonged to people from the
city, who, like the swallows, having spent their summer in this
beautiful spot, had flitted at the approach of winter. Beyond
stretched the St. John River, one of the finest sheets of water in the
province, or even in Eastern Canada. This morning it appeared like a
magic mirror, with not a breath of wind ruffling its placid surface.

Parson Dan's heart filled with pride and peace as he gazed upon the
entrancing scene. Seldom had it looked so beautiful, and he believed
that the early morning hour had much to do with its attractiveness.

"Glorious, glorious!" he murmured, "and so few abroad to see it. How
the spirit of peace is brooding over river and land! Marvellous are
Thy works, O Lord, and Thy mercies are renewed every morning."

He was aroused from his meditation by the sound of foot-steps upon the
road. Glancing quickly around, he saw a tall, powerfully-built man
approaching, carrying in his right hand a large stick, which he brought
down upon the ground with a resounding thump. His clothes were rough;
a heavy pair of boots encased his feet, while an old soft felt hat
covered a head crowned with a wealth of iron-grey hair. He seemed like
a veritable patriarch of ancient Hebrew days, and this likeness was
intensified by his aquiline nose, keen eagle-like eyes, and a long
beard sweeping his expansive chest. A smile lightened his face as he
approached.

"Good mornin', parson," was his cheery greeting. "Ye're abroad early."

"Oh, good morning, captain," was the hearty reply. "We seem to be the
only persons astir, eh?"

"More's the pity, parson. Don't see the like of that every day," and
the captain waved his stick through the air. "Fine sight, that."

"It certainly is," the clergyman assented, "and how few are abroad to
see it. But say, captain, you haven't seen anything of my cow, have
you?"

"Ho, ho, that's a sudden jump, isn't it, parson?"

"A sudden what?"

"A sudden jump from the sublime to the ridiculous; from a scene like
that to a cow."

"Not when you have no milk or cream, captain. Brindle has broken out
of the pasture, and I have no idea where she can be."

"Did ye pray this mornin' that ye might find her, parson?"

"No, I can't say that I did," was the somewhat reluctant reply, for
Parson Dan was well accustomed to Captain Josh's thrusts.

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