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The Banner Boy Scouts on a Tour
OR
The Mystery of Rattlesnake Mountain
By GEORGE A. WARREN
AUTHOR OF "THE BANNER BOY SCOUTS," "THE MUSKET BOYS OF OLD BOSTON," "THE MUSKET BOYS UNDER WASHINGTON," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO.
AKRON, OHIO NEW YORK
MADE IN U. S. A.
Copyright, 1912, by Cupples & Leon Company
PREFACE
Dear Boys:
While this volume is complete in itself, it forms a second link in the chain of books issued under the general title, "The Banner Boy Scouts Series." You will, no doubt, be glad to find most of the old favorites on parade once more; and perhaps make the acquaintance of several new characters who figure in these pages.
In the preceding volume, "The Banner Boy Scouts; or, The Struggle for Leadership," I endeavored to interest my readers in an account of the numerous trials and adventures that befell Paul and his chums when forming the first Red Fox Patrol. You will remember how the mystery of the disappearing coins continued to puzzle Paul and Jack almost up to the very conclusion of the story. And doubtless you were also ready to admit that, hard pressed by jealous rivals at home, as well as forced to compete with two neighboring troops who longed to possess the prize banner, the Stanhope scouts certainly did have a warm time of it, right up to the close of the tournament.
The wonderful way in which they carried off first honors at that same competition certainly ought to inspire all Boy Scouts to emulate their example, and never be satisfied with half-hearted efforts. I sincerely hope and trust the stirring happenings that fall to the lot of Paul and his chums, as related between the covers of the present volume, may give every reader the same amount of pleasure that I have experienced in writing them.
Cordially yours,
George A. Warren.
THE BANNER BOY SCOUTS ON A TOUR
CHAPTER I
THE OPEN DOOR
"Here we are at your father's feed store, Joe!"
"Yes, but there isn't a glimmer of a light. Didn't you say he was going to stay here till you came from the meeting?"
"Shucks! he just got tired waiting, and went home long ago; you can trot along now by your lonesome, Joe."
"Listen! didn't you hear it, fellows? What was that sound?"
The four boys stood, as Joe asked this question, almost holding their breath with awe, while no doubt their hearts pounded away like so many trip-hammers.
It was after ten o'clock at night, and the town of Stanhope, nestling on the bank of the Bushkill, usually closed its business doors by nine, save on Saturdays.
This being the case, it was naturally very quiet on Anderson street, even though electric lights and people abounded on Broad street, the main thoroughfare, just around the corner.
These lads belonged to a troop of Boy Scouts that had been organized the preceding summer. They wore the regular khaki suits that always distinguish members of the far-reaching organization, and one of them even carried a bugle at his side.
The first speaker was Paul Morrison, the scout leader, to whom much of the labor of getting the troop started had fallen. Paul was the son of the leading doctor in Stanhope.
