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                               TOM SLADE
                              ON THE RIVER


                                   BY
                           PERCY K. FITZHUGH


                               Author of
             "TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT OF THE MOVING PICTURES,"
                    "TOM SLADE AT TEMPLE CAMP" ETC.


                             ILLUSTRATED BY
                            WALTER S. ROGERS


                     PUBLISHED WITH THE APPROVAL OF
                       THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA


                            GROSSET & DUNLAP
                         PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK


                  Made in the United States of America
                          Copyright, 1917, by
                            GROSSET & DUNLAP




                           TABLE OF CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
  I. The First Arrival                                                 1
  II. Tom Surprises the Camp                                          17
  III. Roy's Campfire Yarn                                            25
  IV. The Old Trail                                                   42
  V. Adventure of the Rescue Party                                    53
  VI. The Mountain Shelter                                            63
  VII. "Under Which King?"                                            80
  VIII. Jeffrey Waring                                                87
  IX. A New Kind of First Aid                                        107
  X. The Birthday of the Elk Patrol                                  113
  XI. Garry's Story and Harry Stanton's                              127
  XII. Pee-wee Triumphant                                            138
  XIII. At the Stanton's                                             148
  XIV. First Bridgeboro B.S.A. Becomes a Full Troop                  164
  XV. Cruising in the "Honor Scout"                                  170
  XVI. The Invisible Badge                                           180
  XVII. Lost!                                                        192
  XVIII. The Tragic Adventure of the Freckled Scout                  201
  XIX. "So Long--See You Later!"                                     222




                               TOM SLADE
                              ON THE RIVER




                               CHAPTER I
                           THE FIRST ARRIVAL


"But suppose they shouldn't come."

"Son, when I wuz out in Colorady, in a place we called Devil's Pass, I
gut a grizzly backed up agin' a ledge one day 'n' heving ony one bullet
'twas a case uv me or him, as yer might say. My pardner, Simon Gurthy,
who likewise didn't hev no bullets, 'count uv bein' stripped b' the
Injins, he says, 'S'posin' ye don't fetch him.' 'N' I says, 'S'posin' I
do.'"

Jeb Rushmore, with methodical accuracy, spat at a sapling near by.

"And did you?" asked his listener.

Jeb spat again with leisurely deliberation. "'N' I did," said he.

"You always hit, don't you, Jeb?"

"Purty near."

The boy edged along the log on which they were sitting and looked up
admiringly into the wrinkled, weatherbeaten face. A smile which did not
altogether penetrate through the drooping gray mustache was visible
enough in the twinkling eyes and drew the wrinkles about them like sun
rays.

"They'll come," said he.

The boy was satisfied for he had absolute confidence that his companion
could not make a mistake.

"But suppose you _hadn't_ hit him--I mean fetched him?"

"Son, wot yer _got_ to do, yer do. When I told General Custer onct that
we'd get picked off like cherries offen a tree if we tried rushin' a pack
uv Sioux that was in ambush, he says, 'Jeb, mebbe it cain't be done, I
ain't sayin', but jest the same, we _got_ ter do it.' Some on us got
dropped, but we done it."

"Did General Custer call you by your first name?"

"Same's you do."

This was too much for the little fellow. "Gee, it must have been great to
have General Custer call you by your first name."

"Wal, now, I ben thinkin' 'twas purty fine this winter hevin' _yew_ call
me by my fust name, 'n' keep me comp'ny here. We've got ter be close
pards, me an' you, hain't we, son?"

"Gee, I'm almost sorry they're coming--kind of."

They were certainly coming--"in chunks," as Roy Blakeley would have said,
and before night the camp would be a veritable beehive. All summer troops
would be coming and going, but just now the opening rush was at hand, and
the