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"Well," responded Reade slowly, "we might let Hen sleep there. He's the bravest of the lot, you know, and so he's just the fellow for the job." Dutcher choked over the food he was swallowing, and shifted his feet uneasily. Soon after breakfast was over Dick, Dave and Tom stepped outside with the shovels.
To the amazement of some of the others, Dick Prescott raised the bar and swung the door open. In came a figure that of a boy. His cap was pulled down over his ears, and a big tippet obscured most of his face. But Dick grasped him by the shoulder as the youngster started to enter, followed by a heavy swirl of snow. "What in the world are you doing here, Hen Dutcher?" Dick demanded. "Yes!
Greg was the only boy, beside Dutcher, who hadn't been called in the night for a share in the watch duty. "Say, I thought you didn't go on guard until five o'clock, Dick," remarked Greg drowsily. "I didn't, but it's seven, now," Dick laughed. "It'll be broad daylight in a few minutes more. Move! Get a hustle on!" Hen Dutcher, though awake, didn't stir.
"Now lead these cattle to the stable!" roared Fred, gripping Dick by the collar and yanking him to his feet. The battle being lost, Dick and the others could do no more than submit to being pushed outside the cabin, Hen Dutcher following and making faces at all of the captives. Around to the cook shack the four Grammar School boys were led. The door was flung open, and in they were thrust.
"I've a good mind to tell the crowd that Hen really came out to the forest to help Fred Ripley's crew against us," whispered Harry in Prescott's ear. "Don't you do it," Dick warned him sternly. "We don't have to blab. Give Hen Dutcher a little time and he'll let it all out himself, without meaning to do it." "Sa-ay, weren't weren't you stringing me about Mr. Fits?" Hen questioned.
No wonder the great bird of paradise is now almost extinct! Their sale here is possible because the Dutcher law protects from the feather dealers only the birds that belong to avian families represented in the United States.
"You fellows wouldn't put me out in the cold again!" dared Hen. "Wouldn't we?" retorted Greg Holmes. "I just wanted a tramp, and took one," replied Hen sulkily. "That's too thin!" snapped Dan Dalzell. "Then you fellows can invent your own story," offered Hen. "Out with him, fellows!" called Harry Hazelton, making a dive for Hen. "Don't you dare!" blustered Dutcher tremulously.
Listen: "'Back he comes to me to-night, complaining he's being watched. He claims the has got the evil eye. Says he can see you through a two-inch bulkhead, and the like. The Chink's laying in his bunk, turned the other way. "Why don't you go aboard of him," says I. The Dutcher says nothing, but goes over to his own bunk and feels under the straw. When he comes back he's looking queer.
"Hen," grimaced Dave, "I'm afraid you're going to miss your calling in life." "Didn't know I had any," grunted Hen. "Yes, you have; one of your own choosing, too." "What is it?" asked Hen curiously. "You're a walking anvil chorus." "An anvil chorus?" repeated Hen Dutcher, the puzzled expression deepening in his face.
William Dutcher, President of the National Association of Audubon Societies, was so much pleased with the results achieved by the Federal reservation work of 1905, that he declared in his annual report that the existence of the Association was justified if it had done nothing more than secure Federal bird reservations and had helped to guard them during the breeding season.
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