Chapter XXIII: The White Flag

"What time of day is it?" asked Jerry presently.

He had evidently lost all track of time while a prisoner in the cabin.

"Just ten o'clock," replied Frank. "What's become of your watch, pard?"

"Decorating the vest of Waddy, just now, though I have hopes of wearing it again after he's tired of it," grinned Jerry.

"Hope we get fixed up again before night. I'm thinking all the while of a bully camp dinner. Say, wasn't this the day the girls promised to come over and bring us some home grub?" asked Bluff suddenly.

"Just as you say, and they'll be along this afternoon on schedule time. Too bad if they have that long row for nothing. I expected to have dinner waiting for them when they got here, and then we could take them home in the canoes. This rumpus has upset all our plans," remarked Frank dismally; for secretly, Violet Milton had promised to cook a dish that was an especial favorite of his and bring it over, to prove her accomplishments in the culinary line.

"Oh, I hope it may all turn out right yet. Now, that reminds me of my plan. If we could only force these two rascals to surrender it would shorten our stay out in the bush, and we could make for the beach, call Will ashore, and have our tents up again in a jiffy."

"Talk to me about your persistent youngsters, ain't he all to the good, though? What is this jim-dandy plan of yours, Bluff? Suppose you give us a look-in, so we can cheer you on, or condemn it as altogether too ridiculous?" suggested Jerry.

"Smoke!"

"You mean, make it so uncomfortable for the hoboes that they'll be glad to come out and hold up their little hands for us--is that the programme?"

"Well, don't you think it would work, Jerry?" demanded the originator.

"Who's going to do the smoking act? Tell me that."

"That's easy. Count on me, if you don't mind holding my gun while I chase around and gather some stuff that will smolder and not blaze up. Some green weeds make a bitter smoke that smarts the eyes dreadfully. I'll try that on. Those tramps may be able to stand for a good deal, but if they stay in that place long they'll feel like a couple of smoked hams," declared the energetic Bluff.

"Oh, so far as that goes, I'm only too willing to grab a good old gun again. I reckon you let Will have mine," observed Jerry as he relieved the other of the repeating shotgun.

"And you won't feel disgraced because it happens to be one of those pump-guns?" Bluff took occasion to remark, maliciously.

"Circumstances alter cases. This is one. I've no doubt that a gun like this can be very useful at times. Anyhow, I'm open to a trial. Just let those hoboes show up and try to attack us, and if I don't fill their miserable bodies full of bird shot, then it's twenty-three for mine. Now, watch him begin his new job, Frank."

"You saw what happened to those other boys when they started to rush the door with that log battering-ram, didn't you, Bluff? Perhaps they've got more hot water handy. Look out for it, my son," warned Frank.

"Oh, I'm onto that racket. I can dodge any Niagara that comes. Besides, I don't mean to give 'em more of a chance at me than I can help. One of you keep watch on the door, and if they start to open just bang away in the air to tell that we mean business. Here goes, boys."

So Bluff commenced moving hither and thither under the trees, searching for just the kind of wood he wanted. It was his intention to start his fire alongside the tree that grew nearest to the cabin wall. Then, after he had it smoking at a furious rate he could push the whole mass under the structure with a long stick.

For some time he worked. Not a sound or a sign of life came from the cabin. If Waddy Walsh and his pal, Biffins, were still inside, they knew how to keep quiet.

By this time our friends had become convinced that the hobo couple could not be in possession of any kind of firearm, for they would surely have made some use of the same at the time Pet Peters and his crowd pushed them so warmly.

Feeling sure of this, Bluff worked openly, only keeping behind the trees whenever he approached close to the hut, for fear lest a sudden shower of scalding fluid should greet him.

Frank and Jerry had separated, each watching a side of the cabin. Frank also kept close to the tree which had sheltered the singular being whose coming on the scene had completed the fright of Pet Peters and his cronies. From the way he cast frequent looks up at that yawning cavity it would seem as though he half anticipated a reappearance of the remarkable creature that had vanished inside the tree.

Finally Bluff seemed to have arranged the little pile of material to suit.

"Here she goes, fellows! Look out, now! There may be something doing. Hold 'em up if they rush me!" he called, as he applied a match.

The stuff burned briskly at first. When he had allowed it to gain what headway he deemed sufficient, Bluff began to cover the fire with the green weeds brought for the purpose.

"Wow!" shouted Jerry, as a wavering breeze carried some of the dense smoke over to his station. "That's the limit! Ought to be a State's prison offense for any one to make such a smudge as that. You'll suffocate the poor guys--that's what!"

But Bluff only grinned, and labored on. He had a long pole in his hands, with which he was shoving the smoldering mass over so that it would pass under a certain part of the cabin. Here there was a friendly opening ready to receive it.

Bang! went a gun.

The cabin door, which had started to open, was hastily shut, although, of course, Jerry had fired above the roof.

"How does it work?" shouted Bluff, thinking more of his gun in the hands of the one who had always detested it than his own danger from hot water.

"Great!" answered Jerry as he let another shot loose, having, as he thought, detected a movement of the door again.

Thinking they had drawn his fangs, those in the cabin now really opened the door, to get a chance to deluge Bluff, when, to their amazement and alarm, Jerry turned loose a third shot. The door shut, this time to open no more for that purpose.

"Now what do you say?" roared Bluff. "What could you have done with one of your old measly two-shot guns, eh? Tell me that."

"I take back all I ever said against the bully thing. Three more shots waiting for you, Mister Hobo. Just show your nose, and see!" exclaimed the marksman.

"Mark the window, Bluff!" called Frank just then.

Thus warned in time, Bluff was able to scurry around the protecting trunk of the tree as an arm was projected from the small opening, and, as before, a pan of steaming water dashed all around him.

"Tell me about that, will you?" jeered Jerry, who guessed what had happened, though it took place on the other side of the cabin.

Bluff started pushing his mass of smoking weeds forward again.

"Never touched me!" he shouted in his excitement.

By this time the rank smoke had begun to ooze up through the floor of the old cabin. Doubtless there were plenty of gaping cracks between the puncheon boards to allow of a draught. Just how long the inmates could stand this sickening cloud was a question.

"Say! ain't this the real thing? Perhaps the sheriff would like to take a few lessons from our chum Bluff on how to smoke hams. Listen, will you! The poor guys are sneezing to beat the band. Keep up the good work, pard, and you'll force their hand. Get ready to cover 'em, Frank. I reckon something's bound to happen soon."

"Hey, you Waddy! Show up with the white flag, and we quit!" called Bluff from behind his refuge.

He was rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke, for while he had claimed to have escaped entirely, some of the splashing water had dropped on his skin and left an impression in the shape of a red mark.

"A white flag--that's the game! Might as well do it right while we're at it, boys. Come out, Waddy! We want you, and we mean to get you! Three more charges in this elegant pump-gun, and all for you. Do you surrender?" shouted Jerry.

It was happiness to Bluff to hear this scoffing sportsman chum of his thus praise the hitherto detested repeating gun, and he danced around almost recklessly, such was his delight.

But no more charges of scalding water belched out of that small window. Perhaps the two unfortunates within had all they could attend to trying to breathe in that sickening, smoke-laden atmosphere.

"Keep up the good work, Bluff. It's immense," encouraged Frank, who really believed that, after all, the other had hit upon a clever way to force a surrender on the part of the defiant hoboes.

Suddenly the energetic fireman gave a loud cheer.

"They shove out the white flag! They surrender! What d'ye think of my plan, now, fellows? There's Waddy waving it out of the window! Don't shoot the poor duck--he's pretty near all in, and blind with the smoke!" he whooped.

It was so.

Perhaps the article that the boy tramp was waving wildly out of the small opening may have hardly deserved the name of white flag, but his intentions could not be doubted.

Smoke had won against stubborn grit, and the hoboes were ready to throw up their hands!