ns of
Bridgeboro, speeding along a lonely country road.

Now and then they whizzed past some dark farmhouse, or through some
village in which the law abiding citizens had gone to their beds.
Occasionally Pee-wee, peeking from beneath the robe, saw cheerful lights
shining in houses along the way and in his silent terror and
apprehension he fancied these filled with boy scouts in the full
enjoyment of scout freedom; scouts who were in no danger of being added
to some bloody list of dead ones.

That he, Pee-wee Harris, mascot of the Raven Patrol, First Bridgeboro
Troop, should have come to this! That he should be carried away by a
pair of inhuman wretches, to what dreadful fate he shuddered to
conjecture. That _he_, Scout Harris, whose reputation for being wide
awake had gone far and wide in the world of scouting, should be carried
away unwittingly by a pair of thieves and find himself in imminent peril
of being added to that ghastly galaxy of "dead ones." It was horrible.

Pee-wee curled up under the robe so as to disarm any suspicion of a
human form beneath that thick, enveloping concealment and even breathed
with silent caution. Suppose--_suppose_--oh horrors--suppose he should
have to sneeze!

CHAPTER VI

A MESSAGE IN THE DARK

Pee-wee seldom had any doubts about anything. What he knew he _knew_.
And what is still better, he knew that he knew it. No one ever had to
remind Pee-wee that he knew a thing. He not only knew it and knew that
he knew it, but he knew that everybody that he knew, knew that he knew
it. As he said himself, he was "absolutely positive."

Pee-wee knew all about scouting; oh, everything. He knew how and where
tents should be put up and where spring water was to be found. He did
not know all about the different kinds of birds, but he knew all about
the different kinds of eats, and there are more kinds of eats than there
are kinds of birds. How the Bridgeboro troop would be able to get along
without their little mascot was a question. For he was their "fixer."
That was his middle name--"fixer."

And of all of the things of which Pee-wee was "absolutely positive" the
thing of which he was the _most_ positive was that two thieves connected
with the "crime wave" were riding away in Mr. Bartlett's big Hunkajunk
"touring model" and carrying him (a little scout model) along with them.

What should he do? Being a scout, he took council of his wits and
decided to write on a page of his hikeb