[Illustration: HERVEY FIXED HIS EYES UPON THE ONE REMAINING LIGHT AND RANWITH UTTER DESPERATION. Tom Slade's Double Dare. Frontispiece--Page 40]

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

TOM SLADE'S DOUBLE DARE

BY PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT, TOM SLADE AT BLACK LAKE, ROY BLAKELEY, ETC. 

ILLUSTRATED BY R. EMMETT OWEN

Published with the approval of THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA

GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK

Made in the United States of America

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY GROSSET & DUNLAP

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

 The life of a scout is bold, so bold, His adventures have never been told, been told. His legs they are bare, And he won't take a dare, The life of a scout is bold. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

 CONTENTS

 CHAPTER PAGE I THE LIGHT GOES OUT 1 II THE BRIDGE 10 III AN IMPORTANT MISSION 14 IV THE TREE 21 V WIN OR LOSE 26 VI SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 33 VII THE LIGHT THAT FAILED 37 VIII ALMOST 44 IX THE HERO 51 X PROVEN A SCOUT 57 XI THE NEW SCOUT 63 XII THE GRAY ROADSTER 68 XIII THE UNKNOWN TRAIL 74 XIV ON THE SUMMIT 80 XV A SCOUT IS THOROUGH 85 XVI THE WANDERING MINSTREL 90 XVII TOM'S INTEREST AROUSED 97 XVIII TRIUMPH AND---- 101 XIX HERVEY SHOWS HIS COLORS 104 XX TOM ADVISES GOLIATH 116 XXI WORDS 123 XXII ACTION 130 XXIII THE MONSTER 133 XXIV GILBERT'S DISCOVERY 140 XXV A VOICE IN THE DARK 145 XXVI LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG 151 XXVII TOM LEARNS SOMETHING 157 XXVIII THE BLACK SHEEP 164 XXIX STUNTS AND STUNTS 169 XXX THE DOUBLE DARE 173 XXXI THE COURT IN SESSION 181 XXXII OVER THE TOP 187 XXXIII QUESTIONS 198 XXXIV THE MESSAGE 205 XXXV THE HERO 209 XXXVI HARLOWE'S STORY 213

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

TOM SLADE'S DOUBLE DARE

CHAPTER I

THE LIGHT GOES OUT

If it were not for the very remarkable part played by the scouts in thisstrange business, perhaps it would have been just as well if the wholematter had been allowed to die when the newspaper excitement subsided. Singularly enough, that part of the curious drama which unfolded itselfat Temple Camp is the very part which was never material for glaringheadlines. 

The main occurrence is familiar enough to the inhabitants of theneighborhood about the scout camp, but the sequel has never been told, for scouts do not seek notoriety, and the quiet woodland community inits sequestered hills is as remote from the turmoil and gossip of theworld as if it were located at the North Pole. 

But I know the story of Aaron Harlowe from beginning to end, and thepart that Tom Slade played in it, and all the latter history of Goliath, as they called him. And I purpose to set all these matters down for yourentertainment, for I think that first and last they make a pretty goodcamp-fire yarn. 

 * * * * *

For a week it had been raining at Temple Camp, and the ground was soggyfrom the continuous downpour. The thatched roofs of the more primitivetype of cabins looked bedrabbled, like the hair of a bather emergingfrom the lake, and the more substantial shelters were crowded with theoverflow from these and from tents deserted by troops and patrols thathad been almost drowned out. 

The grub boards out under the elm trees had been removed to the mainpavilion. The diving springboard was submerged by the swollen lake, therowboats rocked logily, half full of water, and the woods across thelake looked weird and dim through the incessant stream of rain, rain, rain. 

The spring which supplied the camp and for years had been content tobubble in its modest abode among the rocks, burst forth from its shadyand sequestered prison and came tumbling, roaring down out of the woods, like some boisterous marauder, and rushed headlong into the lake. 

Being no respecter of persons, the invader swept straight through thecabin of the Silver Fox Patrol, and the Silver Fox Patrol took up theirbelongings and went over to the pavilion where they sat along the deepveranda with others, their chairs tilted back, watching the gloomy sceneacross the lake. 

"This is good weather for the race, " said Roy Blakeley. 

"What race?" demanded Pee-wee Harris. 

"The human race. No sooner said than stung. It's good weather to studymonotony. "

"All we can do is eat, " said Pee-wee. 

"Right the first time, " Roy responded. "There's only one thing you don'tlike about meals and that's the time between them. "

"What are we going to do for two hours, waiting for supper?" a scoutasked. 

"Search _me_, " said Roy; "tell riddles, I guess. If we had some ham we'dhave some ham and eggs, if we only had some eggs. We should worry. It'sgoing to rain for forty-eight hours and three months more. That's whatthat scout from Walla-Walla told me. "

"That's a dickens of a name for a city, " said Westy Martin of Roy'spatrol. 

"It's a nice place, they liked it so much they named it twice, " Roysaid. 

"There's a troop here all the way from Salt Lake, " said Dorry Benton. 

"They ought to have plenty of pep, " said Roy. 

"There's a troop came from Hoboken, too, " Will Dawson observed. 

"I don't blame them, " Roy said. "There's a troop coming from Kingstonnext week. They've got an Eagle Scout, I understand. "

"Don't you suppose I know that?" Pee-wee shouted. "Uncle Jeb had aletter from them yesterday; I saw it. "

"Was it in their own handwriting?"

"What do you mean?" Pee-wee demanded disgustedly. "How can a troop havea handwriting?"

"They must be very ignorant, " Roy said. "Can you send an animal bymail?"

"Sure you can't!" Pee-wee shouted. 

"That's where you're wrong, " said Roy. "I got a letter with a seal onit. "

"Can you unscramble eggs?" Pee-wee demanded. 

"There you go, talking about eats again. Can't you wait two hours?"

There was nothing to do but wait, and watch the drops as they pattereddown on the lake. 

"This is the longest rain in history except the reign of QueenElizabeth, " Roy said. "If I ever meet Saint Swithin----"

This sort of talk was a sample of life at Temple Camp for seven dayspast. Those who were not given to jollying and banter had fallen back oncheckers and dominos and other wild sports. A few of the moreadventurous and reckless made birchbark ornaments, while those who werein utter despair for something to do wrote letters home. 

Several dauntless spirits had braved the rain to catch some fish, butthe fish, themselves disgusted, stayed down at the bottom of the lake, out of the wet, as Roy said. It was so wet that even the turtleswouldn't come out without umbrellas. 

Rain, rain, rain. It flowed off the pavilion roof like a waterfall. Itshrunk tent canvas which pulled on the ropes and lifted the pegs out ofthe soggy ground. It buried the roads in mud. Hour in and hour out thescouts sat along the back of the deep veranda, beguiling their enforcedleisure with banter and riddles and camp gossip. 

On Friday afternoon a brisk wind arose and blew the rain sideways sothat most of the scouts withdrew from their last entrenchment and wentinside. You have to take off your hat to a rain which can drive a scoutin out of the open. 

It began blowing in across the veranda in fitful little gusts and withinan hour the wind had lashed itself into a gale. A few of the hardierspirits, including Roy, held their ground on the veranda, squeezing backagainst the shingled side whenever an unusually severe gust assailedthem. 

There is no such thing as twilight in such weather, but the sodden skygrew darker, and the mountainside across the lake became gloomier andmore forbidding as the night drew on apace. 

The few remaining stragglers on the veranda watched this darkening scenewith a kind of idle half interest, ducking the occasional gusts. 

"How would you like to be out on the lake now?" one asked. 

The question directed their gaze out upon the churning, black sheet ofwater before them. The lake, lying amid those frowning, wooded hills, was somber enough at all times, and a quiet gloom pervaded it whichimparted a rare charm. But now, in the grip of the rain and wind, theenshrouding night made the lake seem like a place haunted, and theenclosing mountains desolate and forlorn. 

"I'll swim across with anybody, " said Hervey Willetts. 

He belonged in a troop from western New York and reveled in stunts whichbespoke a kind of blithe daring. No one took him up and silence reignedfor a few minutes more. 

"There's the little light on the top of the mountain, " said Will Dawsonof Roy's patrol. "If there's anybody up there, I hope he has anumbrella. "

But of course there was no one up there. For weeks the tiny light awayup on the summit of that mountain wilderness had puzzled the scouts ofcamp. They had not, indeed, been able to determine that it was a light;it seemed rather a tiny patch of brightness which was always brighterwhen the moon shone. This had led to the belief that it was caused bysome kind of natural phenomena. 

The scouts fixed their gaze upon it, watching it curiously for a fewmoments. 

"It isn't a reflection, that's sure, " said Roy, "or we wouldn't see iton a night like this. "

"It's a phosphate, " said Pee-wee. 

"It's a chocolate soda, " said Roy. 

"You're crazy!" Pee-wee vociferated. "Phosphate is something that shinesin the dark. "

"You mean phosphorus, " said Westy Martin. 

That seemed a not unlikely explanation. But the consensus of opinion incamp was that the bright patch was the reflection of some powerful lightin the low country on the opposite side of the mountain. 

"It's a mystery, " said Pee-wee, "that's what it is. "

Suddenly, while they gazed, it went out. They watched but it did notcome again. And the frowning, jungle-covered, storm beaten summit wasenshrouded again in ghostly darkness. And the increasing gale beat thelake, and the driven rain assailed the few stragglers on the verandawith lashing fury. And across the black water, in that ghoul-haunted, trackless wilderness, could be heard the sound of timber being rent insplinters and of great trees crashing down the mountainside. 

Suddenly a word from Westy Martin aroused them all like a cannon shot. 

"Look!" he shouted, "_Look! Look at the springboard!_"

Every one of them looked, speechless, astonished, aghast, at the sightwhich they beheld before their very eyes. 

CHAPTER II

THE BRIDGE

There, just below them was the springboard an inch or two above thesurface of the lake. Ordinarily it projected from the shore nearly ayard above the water, but lately the swollen lake had risen above it. Now, however, it was visible again just above the surface. 

This meant that the water had receded more in an hour than it had risenin a whole week. The strong wind was blowing toward the pavilion andwould naturally force the water up along that shore. But in spite of thewind the water in the lake was receding at an alarming rate. Somethingwas wrong. The little trickle from the spring up behind the camp hadgrown into a torrent and was pouring into the lake. Yet the water in thelake was receding. 

Down out of the mountain wilderness across the water came weird noises, caused no doubt by the tumult of the wind in the intricate fastnessesand by the falling of great trees, but the sounds struck upon the earsof the besieged listeners like voices wild and unearthly. The banging ofthe big shutters of the pavilion was heard in echo as the furious galebore the sounds back from the mountain and the familiar, homely noisewas conjured into a kind of ghostly clamor. 

"There goes Pee-wee's signal tower, " a scout remarked, and just as hespoke, the little rustic edifice which had been the handiwork and prideof the tenderfoots went crashing to the ground while out of the woodsacross the water came sounds as of merry laughter at its downfall. 

"Something's wrong over on the other side, " said Westy Martin of Roy'spatrol; "the lake's breaking through over there. "

Scarcely had he uttered the words when all the scouts of the littlegroup were at the railing craning their necks and straining their eyestrying to see across the water. But the wind and rain beat in theirfaces and the driving downpour formed an impenetrable mist. 

As they withdrew again into the comparative shelter of the porch theysaw a young fellow standing with his bare arm upraised against thedoor-jam, watching and listening. This was the young camp assistant, TomSlade. He had evidently come out to fasten the noisy shutters and hadpaused to contemplate the tempest. 

"Some storm, hey, Tomasso?" said Roy. 

"I think the water's going out through the cove, " said Tom. "It musthave washed away the land over there. "

"Let it go, we can't stop it, " said Roy. 

"If it's running out into the valley, it's good-night to Berry's garage, and the bridge too, " said Tom. 

The young assistant was popular with the boys at camp, and struck bythis suggestion of imminent catastrophe, they clustered about him, listening eagerly. So loud was the noise of the storm, so deafening thesound of rending timber on that gale-swept height before them, that Tomhad to raise his voice to make himself heard. The danger to human lifewhich he had been the first to think of, gave the storm new terror tothese young watchers. It needed only this touch of mortal peril in thatpanorama of dreadfulness to arouse them, good scouts that they were, tothe chances of adventure and the possibility of service. 

"We can't do anything, can we?" one asked. "It's too late now, isn'tit?"

"It's either too late or it isn't, " said Tom Slade; "and it's for us tosee. I was thinking of Berry's place, and I was thinking of the crowdthat's coming up tonight on the bus. If the water has broken throughacross the lake and is pouring into the valley, it'll wash away thebridge. The bus ought to be here now. There are two troops from thefour-twenty train at Catskill. Maybe the train is late on account of theweather. If the bridge is down. . . . "

"Call up Berry's place and find out, " said Westy Martin. 

"That's just what has me worrying, " said Tom; "Berry's doesn't answer. "

CHAPTER III

AN IMPORTANT MISSION

Temple Camp was situated on a gentle slope close to the east shore ofthe lake. Save for this small area of habitable land the lake wasentirely surrounded by mountains. And it was the inverted forms of thesemountains reflected in the water which gave it the somber hue whence thelake derived its name. On sunless days and in the twilight, the waterseemed as black as night. 

Directly across the water from the camp, the most forbidding of thosesurrounding heights reared its deeply wooded summit three thousand feetabove the sea level. A wilderness of tangled underbrush, like barbedwire entanglements, baffled the hardiest adventurer. No scout hadpenetrated those dismal fastnesses which the legend of camp reputed tobe haunted. 

Beside the rocky base of this mountain was a tiny cove, a dim, romanticlittle place, where the water was as still as in a pool. Its two sideswere the lower reaches of the great mountain and its neighbor, and allthat prevented the cove from being an outlet was a little hubble of landwhich separated this secluded nook from a narrow valley, or gully, beyond. 

Sometimes, indeed, after a rainy spell the water in the cove overflowedthis little hubble of land enough to trickle through into the gully, andthen you could pick fish up with your hands where they flopped aboutmarooned in the channel below. Probably this gully was an old dried-upstream bed. 

About a mile from the lake it became wider and was intersected by aroad. Here it was that the bridge spanned the hollow. And here it was, right in the hollow near the bridge, that Ebon Berry had his ruralgarage. Along this road the old bus lumbered daily, bringing newarrivals to camp and touching at villages beyond. 

If, indeed, the swollen lake had washed away the inner shore of thecove, the sequel would be serious if not tragic at that quiet roadcrossing. The question was, had this happened, and if so, had the busreached the fatal spot? All that the boys knew was that the bus was longoverdue and that Berry's "did not answer. " And that the fury of thestorm was rising with every minute. 

Tom Slade spoke calmly as was his wont. No storm could arouse him out ofhis stolid, thoughtful habit. 

"A couple of scoutmasters have started along the road, " he said, "to seewhat they can find out. How about you, Hervey? Are you game to skirt thelake? How about you, Roy? There may be danger over there. "

"Believe me, I hope it'll wait till we get there, " said Hervey Willetts. 

"I'll go!" shouted Pee-wee. 

"You'll go--in and get supper, " said Tom. "I want just three fellows;I'm not going to overload a boat in this kind of weather. I'll take Royand Hervey and Westy, if you fellows are game to go. You go in and get alantern, Pee-wee. "

"And don't forget to leave some pie for those two troops that are comingon the bus, " added Roy. 

Pee-wee did better than bring a lantern; he brought also three oilskinjackets and hats which the younger boys donned. He must also haveadvertised the adventurous expedition during his errand indoors, for acouple of dozen envious scouts followed him out and watched the littleparty depart. 

The four made their way against a blown rain which all but blinded themand streamed from their hats and rendered their storm jackets quiteuseless. Tom wore khaki trousers and a pongee shirt which clung to himlike wet tissue paper. If one cannot be thoroughly dry the next bestthing is to be thoroughly wet. 

They chose the widest and heaviest of the boats, a stout old tub withtwo pairs of oarlocks. Each of the four manned an oar and pulled withboth hands. It was almost impossible to get started against the wind, and when at last their steady, even pulling overcame the deterring powerof the gale they were able to move at but a snail's pace. They followedthe shoreline, keeping as close in as they could, preferring thecircuitous route to the more perilous row across the lake. 

As their roundabout voyage brought them to the opposite shore, theirprogress became easier, for the mountain rising sheer above themprotected them from the wind. 

"Let her drift a minute, " said Tom, panting; "lift your oars. "

It was the first word that any of them had spoken, so intense had beentheir exertions. 

"She's going straight ahead, " said Westy. 

"What's that?" said Roy suddenly. "Look out!"

He spoke just in time to enable them to get out of the path of afloating tree which was drifting rapidly in the same direction as theboat. Its great mass of muddy roots brushed against them. 

"It's just as I thought, " Tom said; "the water must be pouring outthrough the cove. We're caught in it. Let's try to get a little offshore; we'll have one of those trees come tumbling down on our heads thefirst thing we know. "

"Not so easy, " said Hervey, as they tried to backwater and at the sametime get out from under the mountain. 

"Put her in reverse, " said Roy, who never failed to get the funny squinton a situation. 

But there was no use, the rushing water had them in its grip and theywere borne along pell-mell, with trees and broken limbs which had fallendown the mountainside. 

They were directly opposite the camp now, and cheerful lights could beseen in the pavilion where the whole camp community was congregated, safe from the storm. The noises which had seemed weird enough at campwere appalling now, as out of that havoc far above them, great bowlderscame tumbling down into the lake with loud splashes. 

Tom realized, all too late, the cause of the dreadful peril they werein. Out on the body of the lake and toward the camp shore the wind wasblowing a gale from the mountains and, as it were, forcing the waterback. But directly under the mountain there was no wind, and theirposition was as that of a person who is _under_ the curve of awaterfall. And here, because there was no wind to counteract it, thewater was rushing toward what was left of the cove. It was like a rapidriver flowing close to the shore and bearing upon its hurrying water thedébris which had crashed down from that lonesome, storm-torn height. 

The boat was caught in this rushing water and the danger was increasedby its closeness to the shore where every missile of rock or tree, castby that frowning monster, might at any minute dash the craft tosplinters. 

The little flickering lights which shone through the spray and fineblown rain across that black water seemed very cheerful and invitingnow. 

CHAPTER IV

THE TREE

"We're in a bad fix, " said Tom; "let's try to make a landing and see ifwe can scramble along shore to the cove. "

It is doubtful whether they could have scrambled along that precipitousbank, but in any case, so great was the impetus of the rushing waterthat even making a landing was impossible. The boat was borne along witha force that all their exertions could not counteract, headlong for thecove. 

"What can we do?" Roy asked. 

"The only thing that I know of, " said Tom, "is to get within reach ofthe shore in the cove. If we can do that we might get to safety even ifwe have to jump. "

Presently the boat went careening into the cove; an appalling sound ofscraping, then of tearing, was heard beneath it, it reared up forward, spilling its occupants into the whirling water and, settling sideways, remained stationary. 

The boys found themselves clinging to the branches of a broken treewhich was wedged crossways in the cove, its trunk entirely submerged. Itformed a sort of makeshift dam and the boat, caught in its branches, added to the obstruction. 

If it had not been for this tree the boat would have been borne upon theflood, with what tragic sequel who shall say?

"All right, " said Tom, "we're lucky; keep hold of the branches, it'sonly a few feet to shore; careful how you step. If you let go it's allover. We could never swim in this torrent. "

"Where do you suppose this tree came from?" Roy asked. 

"From the top of the mountain for all I know, " Tom answered. "Watch yourstep and follow me. We're in luck. "

"You don't call this luck, do you?" Westy asked. 

"Watch me, I can go scout-pace on the trunk, " said Hervey, handinghimself along. 

"Never mind any of those stunts, " said Tom; "you watch what you're doingand follow me. "

"The pleasure is mine, " said Hervey; "a scout is always--whoa! There'swhere I nearly dipped the dip. Watch me swing over this branch. I betyou can't hang by your knees--like this. "

There are some people who think that trees were made to bear fruit andto afford shade, and to supply timber. But that is a mistake; they weremade for Hervey Willetts. They were the scenes of his gayest stunts. Hehad even been known to dive under the water and shimmy up a tree thatwas reflected there. He even claimed that he got a splinter in his hand, so doing! Upside down or wedged across a channel under water, trees wereall the same to Hervey Willetts. He lived in trees. He knew nothingwhatever about the different kinds of trees and he could not tell sprucefrom walnut. But he could hang by one leg from a rotten branch, thewhile playing a harmonica. He was for the boy scout movement, because hewas for movement generally. As long as the scouts kept moving, he waswith them. He had a lot of merit badges but he did not know how many. "He should worry, " as Roy said of him. 

"Here's a good one--known as the jazzy-jump, " he exclaimed. "Put yourleft foot. . . . "

"You put your left foot on the trunk and don't let go the branches andfollow me, " said Tom, soberly. "Do you think this is a picnic we're on?"

"After you, my dear Tomasso, " said Hervey, blithely. "I guess we're notgoing to be killed after all, hey?"

"I'm afraid not, " said Tom. 

"I wish I had an ice cream soda, I know that, " said Roy. 

"Careful how you step ashore now, " Tom said. 

"Terra cotta at last, " said Roy; "I mean terra firma. "

"Jump it, " called Hervey, who was behind Roy. 

Thus, emerging from a peril, which none but Tom had fully realized, theyfound themselves on the comparatively low shore of the cove. The tree, itself a victim of the storm, poked its branches up out of the blackwater like specters, which seemed the more grewsome as they swayed inthe wind. These had guided the little party to shore. 

So it was that that once stately denizen of the lofty forest had pausedhere to make a last stand against the storm which had uprooted it. So itwas that this fallen monarch, friend of the scouts, had contrived tocheck somewhat the mad rush of water out of their beloved lake, and hadguided four of them to safety. 

CHAPTER V

WIN OR LOSE

The dying mission of that noble tree suggested a thought to Tom. Thewater from the lake was pouring over it, though checked somewhat by thetree and the boat. If this tree, firmly wedged in place, could be madethe nucleus of a mass of wreckage, the flood might be effectuallychecked, temporarily, at least. One thing, a moment's glance at thecondition of the cove showed all too certainly what must have happenedat the road-crossing. That the little rustic bridge there could havewithstood the first overwhelming rush of the flood was quiteunthinkable. Berry's garage too, perched on the edge of the hollow, musthave been swept away. 

[Illustration: THE TREE POKED ITS BRANCHES UP OUT OF THE BLACK WATERAND GUIDED THEM TO SAFETY. Tom Slade's Double Dare. Page 25]

[Illustration: (Transcriber's note: Map including Black Lake, the rusticbridge, and Berry's Garage. )]

And where was the lumbering old bus? That was the question now. If ithad been a motor bus its lights might have foretold the danger. But itwas one of those old-fashioned horse-drawn stages which are still seenin mountain districts. 

In all that tumult of storm, Tom Slade paused to think. All about themwas Bedlam. Down the precipitous mountainside hard by, were crashing thetorn and uprooted trophies of the storm high in those dizzy recessesabove, where eagles, undisturbed by any human presence, made their homesupon the crags. The rending and crashing up there was conjured by thedistance into a hundred weird and uncanny voices which now and againseemed like the wailing of human souls. 

The rush of water, gathering force in the narrow confines of the cove, became a torrent and threw a white spray in the faces of the boys as itbeat against the fallen tree. It seemed strange that they could be soclose to this paroxysm of the elements, in the very center of it as onemight say, and yet be safe. Nature was in a mad turmoil all about them, yet by a lucky chance they stood upon a little oasis of temporaryrefuge. 

"There are two things that have to be done--quick, " said Tom. "Somebodyhas got to pick his way down the west shore back to camp. It's throughthe mountains and maybe two of you had better go. Here, take mycompass, " he added, handing it to Westy. "Have you got some matches?"

"I've got my flashlight, " said Roy. 

So it fell out that Westy and Roy were the ones to make the journey backto camp. 

"Keep as close to the shore as you can, it's easier going and shorter, "Tom said. "Anyway, use the compass and keep going straight south tillyou see the lights at camp, then turn east. You ought to be able to doit in an hour. Tell everybody to get busy and throw everything in thewater that'll help plug up the passage. Chuck in the logs from thewoodshed. "

"How about the remains of Pee-wee's signal tower?"

"Good, chuck that in. Throw in everything that can be spared. Most of itwill drift over here and get caught in the rush. If the wind dies itwill all come over. Hurry up! I'll stay here and try to get in placeanything more that comes in in the meantime. There are a lot of brokenlimbs and things around here. Hurry up now, _beat it!_ And don't stoptill you get there. . . . Don't let anybody try to start over in a boat, "he called after them. 

Scarcely had they set off when he turned to Hervey Willetts, placingboth his hands on the boy's shoulders. The rain was streaming down fromHervey's streaked hair. The funny little rimless hat cut full of holeswhich he wore on the side of his head and which was the pride of hislife had collapsed by reason of being utterly soaked, for he had veryearly discarded the oilskin "roof" in preference for this old love. Oneof his stockings was falling down and he hoisted this up as Tom spoke tohim. 

"Hervey, I'm glad you're going alone, because you won't have to do anystunts for anybody's benefit. You're going to keep your mind on just onething. Understand?"

"I can think of nine things at once, " said Hervey, blithely, "and sing_Over There_ and eat a banana at the same time. How's that?"

"That's fine. Now listen--just two seconds. You're to hit right straightup through this country--north. You notice I gave the compass to Roy?That's because I know you can't get rattled when you're alone and whenyou put your mind on a thing. You're to go straight north till youreach the road. I'll have to keep the lantern here, but you won't needit. You've got about a quarter of a mile of rough country and then easygoing. Straight north beyond the road is Crows Nest Mountain. Turnaround, that's right. Shut your eyes. One--two--three--four--five. Nowopen them suddenly. You see that black bulk. That's Crows Nest. Now youknow how to see a dark thing in the dark. . . . "

"Do you know how to tell time with a clothespin?"

"Never mind that. About every ten minutes stop and shut your eyes andold Crows Nest will guide you. Don't get rattled. When you get to theroad wait for the bus and _stop it_. If it has passed by now, we can'thelp it. I'm afraid it has. But if it _hasn't_, there are two troops init and their _lives depend on you_. Now get out of here--quick!"

"What was that?" Hervey said, pausing and clutching Tom's arm. 

"What was what?"

"That sound--away off. Hear it?"

Amid the wild clamor of the tempest, the dashing of the impeded waterclose by, and the ghostly voices up in that mountain wilderness, theresounded, far off, subdued and steady, a low melodious call, spent andthin from the distance, and blended with the myriad sounds of the ragingstorm. 

"_It's the train_, " said Tom. 

Still Hervey did not move, only clutched his companion's arm. Onesecond--two seconds--three, four, five, six. The sound died away in theuproar of wind and rain. . . . Still the two paused for just a moment more, as if held by a spell. 

"A mile and a half--four miles, " said Tom. "Four miles of road. A mileand a half of hills and swamps. They're at the station now. You _can't_do it, kid. But you'd better fail trying than not try at all. What doyou say?"

There was no answer, for Hervey Willetts had already plunged into thetorrent, by which hazardous act ten minutes might be saved. Oreverything lost. Tom caught a glimpse of that funny perforated hatbobbing in the rushing water of the cove, pulled tight down over itsyoung owner's ears. Sober as his thoughts were in the face of harrowingperil, he could not repress a smile that Hervey should toss his life soblithely into the enterprise and yet be careful to save that precioushat. He was more proud of it than of all his deeds of reckless valor. 

Tom knew there was no restraining him, or advising him. He knew no moreof discipline than a skylark does. He was either the best scout in theworld or no scout at all, as you choose to look at it. He was going uponthis business in reckless haste, without forethought or caution. Hewould stake his life to save twenty yards of distance. There was nodiscretion in his valor. Blithe young gambler that he was, he would dothe thing in his own way. No one could tell him. Tom knew the utterfutility of shouting any last warnings or instructions to him. 

For Hervey Willetts was like a shot out of a rifle. With him it was acase of hit or miss. He had no rules. . . . 

CHAPTER VI

SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT

One thing Hervey did bear in mind, and that was what Tom had told himabout how to distinguish a dark object in the dark. He would notremember this twenty-four hours hence, but he remembered it then, andthat is saying much for him. He tried to improve upon the formula byexperimenting with his eyes cross-eyed, but it didn't work. Skirting thelower western reach of the mountain and beyond, in the comparativelyflat country, he kept squinting away at old Crows Nest and its shadowy, black mass guided him. "Slady's got the right dope on mountains, " hesaid to himself. 

The race was about as Tom had said; four miles for the horses, against amile and a half for Hervey. Both routes were bad, Hervey's the worse ofthe two. All things considered, hills, muddy roads, trackless woodland, swampy areas, it should take the heavily loaded team a little over anhour to reach the bridge. By Tom's calculation it must take Hervey atleast an hour and a half. 

So there you are. 

Going straight north, Hervey would have that dim black mass, hovering onthe verge of invisibility, to guide him. Traveling a little west ofnorth he might have reached the road at a nearer point. But here thetraveling was bad and the danger of getting lost greater. Tom hadweighed one thing against another and told Hervey to go straight north. 

Hervey found the first half hour of his journey very difficult, pickinghis way around the base of the mountain. Beyond the country was flat andcomparatively open, being mostly sparse woodland. The wind was very keenhere, since there was no mountain to break its force and the rain blewin his face, almost blinding him. 

Again and again he wiped his dripping face with his sleeve and ploddedon, picking out his beacon now and again in the darkness. It wassurprising how easy it was for him to do this by the little trick ofwhich Tom had told him. His eyes would just catch the mountain for asecond, then it would evaporate in the surrounding blackness, likebreath on a pane of glass. 

Suddenly, something happened which quite unnerved him. He was hurryingthrough a patch of woodland when, not more than ten feet ahead of him, he was certain that he saw something dark glide from one tree toanother. 

He stopped short, his heart in his mouth. The minutes, he knew, wereprecious, but he could not move. The wind in the trees moaned like somelost soul, and in his stark fear the beating of the drops on the leafycarpet startled him. He heard these because he was standing still, andthe ceasing of his own footfalls emphasized the steady patter. Somewhere, in all that stormy solitude and desolation, an uncanny owlhooted its dismal song. 

Hervey did not move. 

It was not till he bethought him of those horses lumbering along theroad ever nearer and nearer to that trap of death that he got control ofhimself and started off. 

It was just the gloom of those dark woods, the play of some freakish anddeceptive shadow conjuring itself into a human presence, that he hadseen. . . . Who would be out in that lonely wood on such a night?

With a sudden, desperate impulse to challenge his fear and have donewith it, he stepped briskly toward the tree to glance about it anddispel his illusion. If it was just some branch broken by the wind andhanging loose. . . . 

He approached the trunk and edged around it. As he did so a form movedaround the trunk also. Hervey paused. The pounding of his heart seemedlouder than the noises of the storm. In his throat was a queer burningsensation. He could not speak. He could not stir. The dark form movedagain, ever so little. . . . 

CHAPTER VII

THE LIGHT THAT FAILED

The suspense was worse than any outcome could be, and Hervey, in anotherimpulse of desperation, took a step to the right, then quickly anotherto the left. This ruse brought the two face to face. And in a flashHervey realized that he had little to fear from one who had tried sodesperately to escape his notice. 

The figure was that of a young man, his raiment torn and disordered andutterly drenched. He wore a plaid cap, which being pulled down over hisears by reason of the wind, gave him an appearance of toughness whichhis first words belied. 

"You needn't be afraid, " he said. 

"I'm not afraid, " said Hervey. "Who are you?"

"Did you hear some one scream?" the stranger asked. 

"Scream? No. It was the wind, I guess. Are you lost, or what?"

"I want to get out of here, that's all, " the young man said. "This placeis full of children screaming. Did you ever kill anybody?"

"No, " said Hervey, somewhat agitated. 

The stranger placed a trembling hand on Hervey's shoulder. "Do you knowa person can scream after he's dead?" he said. 

"I don't know, " said Hervey, somewhat alarmed and not knowing what tosay. "Anyway, I have to hurry; it's up to me to save some people'slives. There's a bridge washed away along the road. "

He did not wait longer to talk with this singular stranger, but thoughtsof the encounter lingered in his mind, particularly the young fellow'sspeech about dead people and children screaming. As he hurried on, Hervey concluded that the stranger was demented and had probablywandered away from some village in the neighborhood. He had reason laterto recall this encounter, but he soon forgot it in the more urgentmatter of reaching the road. 

He had now about half a mile of level country to traverse, consistingof fields separated by stone walls. The land was soggy, and here andthere in the lower places were areas of water. These he would not takethe time to go around, but plunged through them, often going knee deepinto the marshy bottom. It was sometimes with difficulty that he wasable to extricate his leg from these soggy entanglements. 

But he no longer needed the uncertain outline of that black mass amidthe surrounding blackness to guide him, for now the cheerful lights ofan isolated house upon the road shone in the distance. There was theroad, sure enough, though he could not see it. 

"That's what Slady calls deduction, " he panted, as he trudged on, running when he could, and dragging his heavy, mud-bedraggled feet outof the mire every dozen steps or so. Over a stone wall he went andscrambled to his feet and hastened on. 

The lights in the house cheered and guided him and he made straight forthis indubitable beacon. "Mountains are all--all right, " he panted, "butkerosene lamps--for--for--mine. I hope that--bunch--doesn't go to--bed. "His heart was pounding and he had a cruel stitch in his side from running, which pained him excruciatingly when he ran fast. He tried scout pacebut it didn't work; he was not much of a hand for that kind of thing. "It's--it's--all--right when--you're running through--the--handbook, "he said, "but--but. . . . "

Over another stone wall he went, tearing a great gash in his trousers, exposing the limb to rain and wind. The ground was better for a spaceand he ran desperately. Every breath he drew pained him, now and againhe staggered slightly, but he kept his feet and plunged frantically on. 

Then one of the lights in the house went out. Then another. There wasonly one now. "That's--that's--what--it means for--for--people to--to goto--to bed early, " he panted with difficulty. "I--I always--said----" Hehad not the breath to finish, but it is undoubtedly true that he hadalways been a staunch advocate of remaining up all night. 

He fixed his eyes upon the one remaining light and ran with utterdesperation. His breathing was spasmodic, he reeled, pulled himselftogether by sheer will, and stumbled on. On the next stone wall he madea momentary concession to his exhaustion and paused just a moment, holding his aching side. 

Then he was off again, running like mad. The single little light seemedtwinkling and hazy and he brushed his streaming face with his sleeve sothat he might see it the more clearly. But it looked dull, more like alittle patch of brightness than a shining light. Either it was failing, or he was. 

He had to hold his stinging side and gulp for every breath he drew, buthe ran with all his might and main. He was too spent and dizzy to keephis direction without that distant light, and he knew it. He was not TomSlade to be sure of himself in complete darkness. He was giddy--on theverge of collapse. The bee-line of his course loosened and becameerratic. But if his legs were weakening his will was strong, and hestaggered, reeled, ran. 

On, on, on, he sped, falling forward now, rather than running, butkeeping his feet by the sheer power of his will. His heart seemed up inhis mouth and choking him. With one hand he grasped the flying shred ofhis torn trousers and tried to wipe the blood from the cut in his leg. Thus for just a second his progress was impeded. 

That was the last straw. The trifling movement lost him his balance, hisexhausted and convulsed body went round like a top and he lay breathingin little jerks on the swampy ground. 

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. In another five seconds he wouldrise. He raised himself on one trembling arm and looked about. Hebrushed his soaking hair back from his eyes and looked again. 

"Where--what--where--is--it--anyway?" he panted. He did not know whichdirection was north or south or east or west. He only knew that a daggerwas sticking in his side and that he could not rise. . . . 

Yes, he could. He pulled himself together, rested a moment on his knees, staggered to his feet and looked around. 

"Where--where--th--the dickens--is north?"

He turned and looked around. He looked around the other way. Nothing butdesolation and darkness. He thought of what Tom had told him and, closing his eyes, opened them suddenly. The mountain must have been toonear to show in outline now; it had probably melted into the generallandscape. There was just an even, solid blackness all about him. Thewind moaned, and somewhere, high and far off, he heard the screech of aneagle. But at least the rain did not assail him as it had done. This, however, was small comfort. He had lost, _failed_, and he knew it. 

In pitiable despair, in the anguish of defeat, he looked about him againin every direction, as if to beseech the angry night to give him backhis one little beacon, and let him only save those people if he died forit. 

But there was no light anywhere. It had gone out. 

CHAPTER VIII

ALMOST

Well, he would not go back. They should find him right there, his bodymarking the very last foot he had been able to go. He would die as thosebrother scouts of his would have to die. He would not go back. 

That good rule of the scouts to stop and think was not in Hervey's line. But he would do the next best thing--a thing very characteristic ofHervey Willetts. He would take a chance and start running. Yes, thatwould be better. There would be just one chance in four of his going inthe right direction. But he had taken bigger chances than that before. Anyway, the rain was ceasing. And he soon overcame the sentimentalnotion of just lying there. 

The momentary rest had restored some measure of his strength. Theaching in his side was not so acute. The land was not so muddy where hewas and he took off his jacket and washed some of the heavy mud from hisshoes. 

Then he started off pell-mell. Who shall say what good angel promptedhim to look behind? Perhaps it was the little god Billikins of whom youare to know more in these pages. But look behind Hervey Willetts did. And there in the distance, very tiny but very clear, was a spark bobbingin the darkness. 

He paused and watched it over his shoulder. It moved along slowly, veryslowly. It disappeared. Then appeared again. And now it moved a littlefaster. A little faster still. Now it moved along at an even, steadyrate. The long, hard pull up Cheery Hill was over, and the horses werejogging along the road. Oh, how well Hervey knew that lantern which hungunder the rear step of the clumsy, lumbering old bus. 

_Then it had not passed. _

Hervey Willetts was himself now. Tearing a loose shred from his tatteredtrousers, he soaked it in a little puddle, then stuffed it in his mouth. He clasped his jack-knife in one fist and a twig in the other. He drewup his belt. He took that precious hat off and stuffed it in his pocket, campaign buttons and all. Ah, no, he did not throw it away. He rippedoff another rag and tied it fast around his neck and he bound his scarfaround his forehead. He knew all these little tricks of the runner. Itwas not thought, but _action_ now. 

But, oh, Hervey, Hervey! What sort of a scout are you? Did you not knowthat the shriek of the eagle must have been from the mountain in thenorth? Did you not know that eagles live on mountain crags? Why did younot face into the wind and you would have headed north? When the raindid not blow in your face or against either cheek, that was because youwere facing _south_. It had not stopped raining. It was raining andblowing for _your_ sake and you did not know it. You were hunting for akerosene lamp!

But there are scouts and scouts. 

Bareheaded, half naked, he sped through the darkness like a ghostlyspecter of the night. He headed for a point some fifty yards ahead ofthe bus. He knew that coming from behind he could not catch it in time. He was running to _intercept_ it, not to _overtake_ it. He was runningat right angles to it and for a point ahead of it. Therein lay his onlychance, and not a very good chance. By all the rules there was _no_chance. By the divine law which gives power to desperation, there was--alittle. 

He ran in utter abandonment, in frenzy. Some power outside of himselfbore him on. What else? Like a fiend, with arms swinging and headswathed in a crazy rag, he moved through wind and storm, invincible, indomitable! His head throbbed, his mouth was thick, his side ached, buthe seemed beyond the power of these things now. Over the fences he went, leaving shreds of clothing blowing in the gale, and tearing his flesh onstone walls. In the madness of despair, and in the insane resolve thatdespair begets, he sped on, on, on. . . . 

The bus was now almost even with his course. He changed his course tokeep ahead of it. The lumbering old rattle-trap gave out a human notenow, which cheered the runner. He could hear the voices within it. Veryfaint, but still he could hear them. He knew he could not make himselfheard because the wind was the other way. Besides which, he had not thevoice to call. His whole frame was trembling; he could not have spokeneven. 

On, on, on. The trees passed him like trees seen from a train window. Heturned the wet rag in his mouth to draw a little more moisture from it. He clutched his sweating hands tighter around the knife and twig. Heshook the blowing, dripping hair from his eyes. Forward, _forward!_ Ifhe slackened his speed now he would fall--collapse. Like a top, hisspeed kept him up. 

Running straight ahead he would about run into the bus, which meant thatit was gaining on him. Again he bent his course to a point ahead of it. Each maneuver of this kind narrowed the angle between himself and thebus until soon he would be _pursuing_ it. The angle would be no more. Hewould be running _after_ the bus and losing ground. 

By a supreme, final spurt, he had now a fair chance to make the road andintercept the bus before it reached the broad, level stretch to thebridge. Should it reach that point his last chance would have vanished. 

In this desperate pass he tried to shout, but found, as the spent runnerusually does, that he was almost voiceless. A feeble call was all hecould manage, and on the contrary wind and noise of the storm, this wasquite inadequate. He could only stumble on, borne up by his indomitablewill. He was weakening and he knew it. 

Yet the light of the bus so near him gave him fresh hope, and with itfresh strength. It seemed a kind of perversity of fate that he shouldhave reached a point ordinarily within earshot, and yet could not makehis approach known. 

Just as the bus was passing his course, and when it was perhaps three orfour hundred feet distant, Hervey, putting all his strength into a finalspurt, sped forward in a blind frenzy like one possessed. He saw the busgo by; heard the voices within it. Throwing his jack-knife from him in akind of frantic, maniacal desperation, he tried to scream, and findingthat he could not, that his voice was dead while yet his limbs lived, and that his panting throat was clogged up and his nerves jangled anduncontrollable, he bounded forward in a kind of delirium of concentratedeffort. 

Then, suddenly, his foot sank into a hole. Perhaps with a littlecalmness and patience he could have released it. But in his wild hurryhe tried to wrench it out. A sudden, sharp pain rewarded this insaneeffort. He lost his balance and went sprawling to the ground, anotherquick, excruciating twinge accompanying his fall, and lay there on thesoggy ground like a woodchuck in a trap. 

The old bus went lumbering by. 

CHAPTER IX

THE HERO

The best account of this business was given by Darby Curren, the busdriver, or Curry, as the boys called him. 

"We was jes' comin' onter the good road, we was, and I was jes' aboutgoin' ter give Lefty a taste o' the whip ter let 'er know ter wake up. Them kids inside was a hollerin', '_Hit 'er up!" 'Step on 'er!' 'Give'er the gas!_' and all sech nonsense. Well, by gorry, I never seed secha night since Noah sailed away in the ark, I didn't. So ye'll understandI was'n' fer bein' surprised at nuthin' I see. Ghosts nor nuthin'. 

"Well, all of a sudden Lefty begins to jump and rear step sideways andwas like to drag us all in the ditch when what do I see but that therething, like a ghost or somethin' it was, hangin' onter her bridle. Itwas makin' some kind of a noise, I dunno what. First off I thought plumcertain it was a ghost. Then I thought it was Hasbrooks' boy, that'swhat I thought, on account o' him havin' them fits and maybe bein'buried alive. It was me that druv the hearse fer 'im only a week back. And I says then to Corby that was sittin' with me, I says, no son o'mine that ever had them fits would be buried in three days, not if Iknowed it. Safety first, I said, dead or livin'. 

"Well, I hollered to him what he wanted there and I didn't get no answerso I got down. And all the rest o' that howlin' pack got out, and thetwo men. I guess they thought we was held up, Jesse James like. Only thelittle codger stayed inside. 

"Well, there he was, all tore and bloody and not enough duds left tostop up a rat-hole. And we hed ter force his hand open, he was hangin'onter the bridle that hard. "

Well, that was about all there was to it; the rest was told by manymouths. They forced open his grip on the horse's bridle and he collapsedand lay unconscious on the ground. They lifted him and carried himgently into the bus, and laid him on one of the long seats. His leftfoot was shoeless and lacerated. 

There were a couple of first aid scouts in the party, and they did whatthey could for him, bathing his face and trying to restore some measureof repose to his jangled nerves. They washed his torn foot withantiseptic while one kept a cautious hold upon his fluttering pulse. They administered a heart stimulant out of their kit, and waited. He didnot speak nor open his eyes, save momentarily at intervals, when hestared vacantly. But the stout heart which had served him in hissuperhuman effort, would not desert him now, and in a little while thebrother scout who held his wrist laid it gently down and, in a kind offreakish impulse, made the full scout salute to the unconscious figure. That seemed odd, too, because at camp he was not thought to be a reallyA-1 scout. . . . 

The two scoutmasters of the arriving troops remained in the bus with thefirst aid scouts and a queer little codger who seemed to be lame; theothers walked. Hervey Willetts had ridden on top of that bus (contraryto orders), but he had never before lain quietly on the seat of it andbeen watched by two scoutmasters. He was always being watched byscoutmasters, but never in just this way. . . . 

So the old bus lumbered on. Soon he opened his eyes and mumbledsomething. 

"Yes, my boy, " said one of the scoutmasters; "what is it?"

"S--sma--smashed--br--, " he said incoherently. 

"Yes, we'll have a doctor as soon as we reach camp, " the scoutmastersaid soothingly. "Try to bear it. Don't move it and perhaps it won'tpain so. "

Hervey shook his head petulantly as if it were not his foot he spoke of. "Br--oken--the--br--look out----" And again he seemed to faint away. 

The scoutmaster was puzzled. 

In a few moments he spoke again, his eyes closed. But the word he spokewas clear. 

"Ahead, " he whispered. 

The scoutmaster was still puzzled but he opened the bus door and called, "Gilbert, suppose you and a couple of the boys go on ahead and watchyour step. " Then to the other scoutmaster he said, "I think he's a bitdelirious. "

So it happened that it was Gilbert Tyson of the troop from Hillsburgh, forty or fifty miles down the line, who shouted to Darby Curren to stop, that the bridge had been washed away. 

A funny part of the whole business was that the little duffer in thebus, who was attached to that troop, thought that Tyson was the hero ofthe occasion. He was strong on troop loyalty if on nothing else. So faras he was concerned (and he was very much concerned) Tyson had saved thelives of every scout in those two troops. Subsequent circumstancesfavored this delusion of his. For one thing, Hervey Willetts carednothing at all about glory. You could not fit the mantle of heroism onhim to save your life. He never talked about the affair, he was seldomat camp, except to sleep, and he did not know how he had managed thelast few yards of his triumphal errand. For another thing, theHillsburgh troop kept to themselves more or less, occupying one of theisolated "hill cabins. " As for Tom Slade, he seldom talked much. He hadseen too many stunts to lose his head over a new one, and he was a poorsort of publicity agent for Hervey. 

Thus Goliath, as the little codger came to be known, had the field allto himself, and he turned out to be a mighty "hero maker. "

CHAPTER X

PROVEN A SCOUT

The bus came to a stop a hundred feet or so from the ruined bridge andits passengers, going forward cautiously, looked down shudderingly intothe yawning chasm. For a few seconds the very thought of what might havehappened filled them with silent awe. 

Goliath was the first to speak. "It's good Tyson saved our lives, isn'tit?" he piped up. "We'd all be dead, 'wouldn't we?"

"Very dead, " said one of the scouts; "so dead we probably wouldn't knowit. "

"Wouldn't _know_ it?" asked Goliath, puzzled. 

For answer the scout gave him a bantering push and tousled his hair forhim. The little fellow took refuge with one of the scoutmasters. 

"Will we get to that camp soon?" he asked. 

"Pretty soon, I hope. Perhaps some one will come down and show us theway. "

"Are we lost?"

"No, we're saved. "

"I'm glad we're in Tyson's troop, aren't you?"

The scoutmaster laughed. "You bet, " he said. 

"Are there wild animals in that camp?"

"Scouts are all wild animals, " the scoutmaster laughed again. 

"Am I a wild animal?"

"Surest thing you know. "

"Are you?"

"That's what. "

"Is that fellow that's inside lying on the seat--is he dead?"

"No--not dead. But you mustn't go in and bother him. "

The scene about the bridge was one of utter ruin. No vestige of therustic structure was left; it had probably been carried away in thefirst overwhelming rush of water. The flood had subsided by now, andonly a trickle of water passed through the gully. In this, and upon thesloping banks and the wreckage which had been Ebon Berry's garage, thescouts climbed about and explored the scene of devastation. 

After a while a scoutmaster and several boys arrived from camp by wayof the road. They had fought their way through mud and storm, bringingstretchers and a first aid kit, in expectation of finding disaster. 

"This is not a very cheerful welcome to camp, " one of the scoutmasterssaid. "The lake broke through up yonder. The boys have checked the floodwith a kind of makeshift dam. We were afraid you had met with disaster. All safe and sound, are you?"

"Oh, yes, several of our boys went ahead and one of them shouted for usto stop----"

"That's the one right there, " piped up the little fellow. "Maybe he'llget a reward, hey? Maybe he'll get a prize. "

"I guess we're all safe and sound, " said the other arriving scoutmaster;"but wet and hungry----"

"Especially hungry, " one of the scouts said. 

"That's a common failing here, " said the man from camp. 

"There's a funny fellow inside; want to see him?" piped up Goliath. "Hehasn't got any clothes hardly, and he don't know what he's talkingabout; he hasn't got any conscience----"

"He means he's unconscious, " said the scoutmaster. "We ran into him onthe road. He really hasn't spoken yet, so we don't know anything abouthim. He seems a kind of victim of the storm--crazed. I think it justpossible he intended--Come inside, won't you? I think we'll have to takehim with us on a stretcher. I suppose he belongs in the countrysidehereabouts. "

Thus it was that Hervey's own scoutmaster looked down upon theunconscious form of his most troublesome and unruly scout. It was nowonder that the others had not thought him a scout. He looked more likea juvenile hobo. But sticking out of his soaking pocket was that oneindubitable sign of identification, his rimless hat cut full of holesand decorated with its variety of badge buttons. Ruefully, Mr. Dennylifted this dripping masterpiece of original handiwork, and held itbetween his thumb and forefinger. 

"This is one of our choicest youngsters, " he said. "He is in my owntroop. The last time I saw him, I explicitly told him not to leave campwithout my permission. I suppose he has been on some escapade or other. I think he's about due for dismissal----"

"I don't think he's seriously injured, sir. "

"Oh, no, he has a charmed life. Nine lives like a cat, in fact. Well, we'll cart him back. "

"He doesn't look like a scout fellow, " Goliath said. 

"Well, he isn't what you would call a very good scout fellow, my boy, "Mr. Denny said. "Good scout fellows usually know the law and obey it, ifanybody should ask you. "

"If they ask me, that's what I'll tell 'em, " said Goliath, "hey?"

"You can't go far wrong if you tell them that, " Mr. Denny said. 

"And they have to save lives too, don't they?" the little codger pipedup. 

"Why, yes, you seem to have it all down pat, " Mr. Denny said. 

"We've got one of them in our troop, " the little fellow said; "he's ahero. "

"Well, I hope he reads the handbook and obeys the scout laws, " said Mr. Denny significantly. 

"I'm always going to have good luck, " the little fellow said, ratherirrelevantly. "I got a charm, too. Want to see it?"

"I think we'd better see if we can get to camp and find some hot stew, "said Mr. Denny. 

"That's the kind of a charm for me, " said one of the scouts. 

So it fell out that on this occasion, as on most others, Goliath was notpermitted to dig down into the remote recess of his pocket to show thatwonderful charm. 

CHAPTER XI

THE NEW SCOUT

"Well, " laughed Mr. Baxton, scoutmaster of the troop to which thatlittle brownie of a boy belonged; "since we have a hero, we may as welluse him. Suppose you stay here, Gilbert, and stop any vehicles thathappen along. "

"I think one of our boys from camp ought to do that, " said one of theother scoutmasters. "How about you, Roy?"

The boy addressed was of a compact, natty build, with brown curly hair, and with the kind of smile which was positively guaranteed not to washout in a storm. On his nose, which was of the aggressive and impudenttype, were five freckles, set like the stars which form the big dipper, and his even teeth, which were constantly in evidence, were as white assnow. Across the bridge of his nose was a mark such as is seen upon thenoses of persons who wear spectacles. But he wore no spectacles, thoughthe imprint between his laughing, dancing eyes was said to have beencaused by glasses--soda water glasses which were continually tipped upagainst his nose in obedience to the dictum that a scout shall bethorough. 

"We'll both stay, " he said; "if a Ford comes along we'll carry itacross. "

"Well, don't leave the spot, that's all, " said Mr. Denny. 

"Far be it from such, " said Roy. "If we go away we'll take it with us. We should worry our young lives about a spot. Only save some stew forus. This night has been full of snap so far, it reminds me of aginger-snap. We'll sit in one of those old cars, hey?"

Gilbert Tyson stared at Roy. He thought it wouldn't be half bad to stayhere with this sprightly scout. The rest of the party, guided by Mr. Denny, started picking their way along the road to camp, carrying Herveyon a stretcher. Darby Curren, the stage-driver, doubtless tempted by themention of hot stew, unharnessed his team and leaving the horses tograze in the adjacent field, accompanied the party. Roy and GilbertTyson watched the departing cavalcade till it was swallowed in darkness. 

The rain had ceased now, and the wind was dying. In the sky was a littlesilvery break, and by its light flaky clouds were seen hurrying away, all in one direction like a flock of birds. It seemed as if they mightbe fleeing quietly from the wreck which they had caused. 

"If one of the lights on those cars is working, we might use it for asignal, " Roy said. 

The cars of which he spoke were in the wreckage of Berry's garage. Ithad not been much of a garage, hardly more than a shack, in fact, andthe two cars which now stood more or less damaged and exposed to theweather, had been its only contents, save for a work-bench and a fewtools. Mr. Berry's flivver was quite beyond repair, having beenoverturned and carried some yards and apparently dashed against thebridge. There is no wreck in the world like the wreck of a Ford. 

The heavier car had evidently withstood the first onrush of water andhad made a stand against the flood, its wheels deep in the mud. Thiscar was a roadster. Its side curtains were up, completely enclosing thesingle seat. It had evidently been used since the rainy weather started. It was not altogether free from damage, one of the fenders was bent, thebumper in front almost touched the ground on one side, an ornamentalfigurehead had been broken off the radiator cap, and the face of theradiator was dented. This car was equipped with a searchlight fastenedon one end of the windshield, and as Gilbert Tyson handled this itlighted, sending a penetrating shaft of brightness into the night. 

"It's funny the battery works after the soaking it got, " said Roy. "Let's keep playing that light on the road. Anybody could see it half amile off. "

"Spell danger with it, " Gilbert said. 

"Sure, but I don't think anybody from camp will be along. "

"You never can tell who knows the Morse Code and who doesn't, " Gilbertsaid. "Keep playing it on the road, anyway. "

The position of the car was such that this searchlight could be shownupon the road for perhaps the space of a quarter of a mile. It wouldhave been quite sufficient to give pause to any approaching wagon ormachine. Roy and Gilbert climbed into the car and sat upon the seat inthe cosy enclosure formed by the curtains. It was quite pleasant inthere. Since it was more agreeable to be fooling with the light than tolet it shine steadily, Roy amused himself by spelling the word DANGERagain and again. 

Pretty soon one of the curtains opened and a voice said, "What's all thedanger about?"

CHAPTER XII

THE GRAY ROADSTER

It was Tom Slade. With him was one of the best all-around scouts incamp, patrol leader of the Royal Bengal Tigers, Eagle Scout and winnerof the Gold Cross, Bert Winton. 

"What's this? The annual electrical show?" he asked. "What's the matterwith you kids? Lost, strayed or stolen? Who's this fellow?"

"Look at the bridge, it's gone!" said Roy. "Don't bother to look at it. It isn't there anyway. We're a couple of pickets--I mean sentinels. "

"Well, you guided us through the woods, anyway, " said Tom. 

"The pleasure is ours, " said Roy. "We can sit in a car and guide peoplethrough the woods; we're real heroes. What's the news?"

"Do you know anything about the stage?" Tom asked. 

"We know _all_ about it. It's right over there. This fellow comes fromHillsburgh. He got out and walked ahead and stopped it. Didn't you?Hervey Willetts blew in from somewhere or other and they're carrying himto camp. Nothing serious. Got any candy?"

"The crowd from the bus is all right then?"

"Positively guaranteed. "

"And Hervey?"

"He's used up another one of his lives, he's only got three left now. Hemust have hit the trail after Westy and I left the cove. He's going toget called down to-morrow. He should worry, he's used to that. "

"Where did they run into him?" Tom asked. 

"They found him hanging onto one of the horses. Curry thought he was aghost, that's all _I_ know. This fellow went ahead and shouted back thatthe bridge had sneaked off. Didn't you, Gilly?" It was characteristic ofRoy that he had already found a nickname for Gilbert Tyson. 

"Hervey say anything?"

"Mumbled something, I don't know what. "

Tom pondered a few moments. "Humph, " said he, "that's all right. "

He was satisfied about Hervey. The other phases of the episode did notinterest him. What scoutmasters said and thought did not greatly concernhim. He did not give two thoughts to the fact that Hervey was to be"called down. " He had known scouts to be called down before. He hadknown credit and glory to miscarry. Hervey had done this thing and thatwas all that the young camp assistant cared about. It would not hurtHervey to be called down. 

The picturesque young assistant, the very spirit and embodiment ofadventure and romance, made a good deal of allowance for visitingscoutmasters and handbook scouts. He was broad and kind as the trees arebroad and kind; exacting about big things, careless about little things. They knew all about scouting. He was the true scout. They had theirmanuals and handbooks. The great spirit of the woods was his. Hervey hadmade good. Why bother more about that?

So he just said, "Not hurt much, huh? Well, if you kids want to go up tocamp, we'll take care of this job. "

"Whose car is this, anyway?" asked Bert Winton. "I never saw it before. It's got bunged up a little, hey?"

Tom looked at the roadster rather interestedly, whistling to himself. 

"It's gray, " said Bert; "I never saw it before. "

"It wasn't damaged in the flood, " said Tom. 

"Why wasn't it?" Roy demanded. 

"Because it's facing down stream. Anything that hit it would have hit itin the back. I don't know whose it is, but it came here damaged, if youwant to know. "

"Sherlock Nobody Holmes, the boy detective, " vociferated Roy. "We're notgoing to let it worry our innocent young lives, anyway, are we, Gilly?Oh, here comes somebody along the road! The plot grows thicker!"

Tom and Winton had cut through the woods, direct from the cove wherethey had been assisting in throwing together the makeshift dam. Fortunately the searchlight had made their journey easy. The figurewhich now approached along the road turned out to be Ebon Berry, ownerof the wrecked garage, who had ventured forth from his home as soon asthe storm had abated. 

"Well, 'tain't no use cryin' over spilled milk, as the feller says, " heobserved as he contemplated the ruin all about him. 

"You're about cleaned out, Mr. Berry, " said Winton. "Whose car is this?I never saw it before. "

"That? Well, now, that belongs to a feller that left it here, oh, Idunno, mebbe close onto a week ago. I ain't seed him since. Said he'd beback for it nex' day. I ain't seed nothin' of 'im. I guess that's whatyou'd call a racer, now, hain't it?"

"What are you going to do about it?" Tom asked. "It was damaged when itcame here, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it were. Well, now, I don't jes' know _what_ I'd auter do. Jes'nothin', I guess. "

"'Tisn't going to do it any good buried here in the mud, " Tom said. 

"Well, 'tain't my loss, ony six dollars storage. "

"Let's give it the once over, " Tom said, in a way of half interest. Theefforts of the night had been so strenuous that his casual interest inthe car was something in the form of relaxation. It interested him aswhittling a stick might have interested him. "Take a squint into thatpocket there, Roy. "

There was nothing but a piece of cotton waste in the flap pocket of thedoor nearest Roy, but Gilbert Tyson's ransacking of the other onerevealed some miscellaneous paraphernalia; there was a pair ofmotorist's gloves, a road map, a newspaper, and two letters. 

"Here, I'll give you the light, " said Roy, as Tyson handed these thingsto Tom. 

"You keep the light on the road, " said Tom. "Let's have yourflashlight. "

"Now we're going to find out where the buried treasure lays hid--I meanhidden, " said Roy. "We're going to unravel the mystery, as Pee-wee wouldsay. 'Twas on a dark and stormy night----"

"Let's have your flashlight, " said Tom, dryly. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE UNKNOWN TRAIL

Gilbert Tyson and Roy sat in the car. Tyson had removed one curtain andTom, standing close by, examined the papers in the glare of theflashlight which Tyson held. Bert Winton and Mr. Berry peered curiouslyover Tom's shoulder. 

The map was of the usual folding sort, and on a rather large scale, showing the country for about forty or fifty miles roundabout. 

"There's my little old home town, " said Tyson, putting his finger onHillsburgh, "home, sweet home. "

"And here's little old Black Lake--before the flood, " said Roy. "There'sthe camp, right there, " he added, indicating the spot to Tyson; "there'swhere we eat, right there. "

"And here's a trail up the mountain, " said Tom. "See that lead pencilmark? You go up the back way. See?"

So there then was indeed a way up that frowning mountain opposite thecamp. It was up the less precipitous slope, the slope which did not facethe lake. The pencil marking had been made to emphasize the fainterprinted line. 

"Humph, " said Tom, interested. "There's always _some_ way up amountain. . . . Maybe the light we saw up there . . . Let's have a squint atthat letter, will you?"

"Have we got a right to read it?" Winton asked. 

"We may be able to save a life by it, " said Tom. "Sure. "

But the letter did not reveal anything of interest. It was, in fact, only the last page of a letter which had been preserved on account ofsome trifling memorandums on the back of the sheet. What there was ofthe letter read as follows:

 hope you will come back to England some time or other. I suppose America seems strange after all these years. You'll have to be content with shooting Indians and buffaloes now. But we'll save a fox or two for you. And don't forget how to ride horseback and we'll try not to forget about the rattle wagons. 

 REGGY. 

"That's very kind of Reggy, " said Roy. "Indians and buffaloes! PoorIndians. If he ever comes here, we'll teach him to shoot the shutes. Ifhe's a good shot maybe we'll let him shoot the rapids. "

"They all think America is full of Indians, " said Winton. 

"Indian pudding, " said Roy; "_mmm, mmm!_"

"Well, let's see the newspaper, " said Tom. "I don't suppose there'sanything particular in that. Somebody that lived in England has beentrying to go up the mountain--_maybe_. That's about all we know. Wedon't know that, even. But anyway, he hasn't come back. "

"Maybe he's up there shooting Indians and buffaloes, " said Roy. "Weshould worry. "

"When was it he came here?" Tom asked. 

"'Bout several days ago, I reckon, " said Mr. Berry. 

"That light's been up there all summer, " Winton said. 

"Until to-night, " Tom added. 

For a few moments no one spoke. 

"Well, let's see the paper, " said Tom, as he took it and began lookingit over. He had not glanced at many of the headings when one attractedhis attention. Following it was an article which he read carefully. 

 AUTOIST KILLS CHILD

 Negligence and Reckless Driving Responsible for Accident

 DRIVER ESCAPES

 An accident which will probably prove fatal occurred on the road above Hillsburgh yesterday when a car described as a gray roadster ran down and probably mortally injured Willy Corbett, the eight-year-old son of Thomas Corbett of that place. 

 Two laborers in a nearby field, who saw the accident, say that the machine was running on the left side of the road where the child was playing and that but for this reckless violation of the traffic law, the little fellow would not have been run down. The driver was apparently holding to the left of the road, because the running was better there. 

 Exactly what happened no one seems to know. The autoist stopped, and started again, and when the two laborers had reached the spot where the child lay, the machine was going at the rate of at least forty miles an hour. 

 All efforts of town and county authorities to locate the gray roadster have failed. 

"That's only about ten miles from where I live, " said Gilbert Tyson. 

Tom seemed to be thinking. "Let's look at that letter again, " said he. "Humph, " he added and handed it back to Roy. 

"What?" Roy asked. 

"Nothing, " said Tom. "I guess this is the car all right. "

"I don't see it, " said Winton. "Just because it's a gray roadster----"

"Well, there may be other little things about it, too, " said Tom. 

"About the car or the letter or what?" Winton asked. 

"Answered in the affirmative, " said Roy. 

"Well, anyway, " Tom said, "it looked as if the owner of the car mighthave gone up the mountain. And he hasn't come down. At least he hasn'tcome after his car. I'd like to get a look at him. I'm going to followthat trail up a ways----"

"To-night?"

"When did you suppose? Next week? I'd like to find out where the trailgoes. I'm not saying any more. The bright spot we saw from camp went outto-night. And here's a trail on the other side of the mountain that Inever knew of. Here's a man that had a map of it and he went away andhasn't come back. I'm not asking anybody to go with me. "

"And I'm not asking you to let me, " said Roy. "I'll go just for spite. You don't think you're afraid of me, am I, quoth he. Now that we'rehere, we might as well be all separated together. What do you say, Gilly? Yes, kind sir, said he. We'll _all_ go, what do you say? Indeedwe will, they answered joyously----"

"Well, come ahead then, " said Tom, "and stop your nonsense. "

"Says you, " Roy answered. 

CHAPTER XIV

ON THE SUMMIT

The two facts uppermost in Tom's mind were these: Some one had markedthe trail up that mountain, and the patch of brightness on the top ofthe mountain which had lately been familiar to the boys in camp had thatvery night disappeared. 

The owner of the gray roadster had not come back for it. He might be thefugitive of the newspaper article, and he might not. If Tom had any_particular_ reason for thinking that he was, he did not say so. Thereare a good many gray roadsters. One thing which puzzled Tom was this:the car had been in storage at Berry's for a few days at the very most, but the bright patch on the mountain had been visible for a month ormore. So if the owner of this machine had gone up the mountain, at leasthe was not the originator of the bright patch there. But perhaps, afterall, the bright patch was just some reflection. 

[Illustration: SUDDENLY ROY CALLED, "LOOK HERE! HERE'S A BOARD!"Tom Slade's Double Dare. Page 83]

"Let's have another look at that letter, " said Tom. 

He read it again with an interest and satisfaction which certainly werenot justified by the simple wording of the missive. 

"Come ahead, " he said; "we can't get much wetter than we are already. Wemight as well finish the night's work. I guess Mr. Berry'll take care ofthe searchlight. "

Mr. Berry had no intention of leaving the scene of his ruinedpossessions to the mercy of vandals. Moreover, it seemed likely thatwith the abatement of the storm the neighboring village would turn outto view the devastation. 

Once the end of the trail was located, the ascent of the mountain wasnot difficult, and the four explorers made their way up thecomparatively easy slope, hindered only by trees which had fallen acrossthe path. The old mountain which frowned so forbiddingly down upon thecamp across the lake was very docile when taken from behind. It was justa big bully. 

As Tom and the three scouts approached the summit, the devastationcaused by the storm became more and more appalling. Great trees had beentorn up as if they had been no more than house plants. These had fallen, some to the ground and some against other trees, their spreading rootsdislodging big rocks which had gone crashing down against other trees. Some of these rocks remained poised where the least agitation wouldrelease them. 

Nature cannot be disturbed like this without suffering convulsionsafterwards, and the continual low noises of dripping roots and of treesand branches sinking and settling and falling from temporary supports, gave a kind of voice of suffering and anguish to the wilderness. 

These strange sounds were on every hand and they made the wrecked anddrenched woods to seem haunted. Now and again a sound almost human wouldstartle the cautious wayfarers as they picked their way amid the soddenchaos. In places it seemed as if the merest footfall would dislodge somethreatening bowlder which would blot their lives out in a second. Andthe ragged, gaping chasms left by roots made the soggy ground uncertainsupport for yards about. 

Toward the summit the path was quite obliterated under the jumble of thewreckage, and the party clambered over and threaded their way amid thisdébris until the tiny but cheering lights of Temple Camp were visiblefar down across the lake. There the two arriving troops were aboutfinishing their hot stew! Far down and nearer than the camp was a movingspeck of light; some one was on the lake. The boys did not venture toonear that precipitous descent. 

Suddenly Roy, who had been walking along a fallen tree trunk, called, "Look here! Here's a board!"

He had hauled it out from under the trunk, and the others, approaching, looked at it with interest. In all that wild desolation there wassomething very human about a fragment of board. Somehow it connectedthat unknown wilderness with the world of men. 

"That didn't come up here by itself, " said Tom. 

"You're right, it didn't, " said Tyson. 

"Here's a rusty nail in it, " Roy added. 

The board, unpainted and weather beaten as it was, seemed singularly outof place in that remote forest. 

Suddenly Roy grasped Tom's arm; his hand trembled; his whole form wasagitated. 

"_Look!_" he whispered hoarsely. "Look--down there--right _there_. See?Do you see it? Right under. . . . Oh, boy, it's _awful_. . . . "

CHAPTER XV

A SCOUT IS THOROUGH

Scout though he was, Roy's hand trembled as he passed his flashlight toTom. He could not, for his life, point that flashlight himself at thegrewsome object which he had seen in the darkness. 

Lying crossways underneath the trunk was the body of a man, his facelooking straight up into the sky with a fixed stare, and a soulless grinupon his ashen face. Somewhere nearby, mud was dripping from an exposedroot, and the earth laden drops as they fell one by one into the raggedcavity gave a sound which simulated a kind of unfeeling laughter. Itseemed as if that stark, staring thing might be chuckling through itsrigid, grinning mouth. Roy's weight and movement on the trunkcommunicated a slight stir to the ghastly figure and its head moved everso little. . . . 

"No, " said Tom, anticipating Winton's question; "he's dead. Get off thelog, Roy. "

"Well, I wish that dripping would stop, anyway, " said Winton. 

Tom approached the figure, the others following and standing about insilence as he examined it. They all avoided the log, the slightestmovement of which had an effect which made them shudder. 

Raising one cold, muddy hand, Tom felt the wrist, laying it gently downagain. There was not even a faint, departing vestige of life in thetrapped, crushed body. 

"Is it him?" Gilbert Tyson asked in a subdued tone. 

"Guess so, " said Tom, kneeling. 

The others stood back in a kind of fearful respect, watching, waiting. . . . Now and then a leaf or twig fell. And once, some broken treelimb crackled as it adjusted itself in its fallen estate. And all thewhile the mud kept dripping, dripping, dripping. . . . 

Lying on the dead man's open coat, as if they had fallen from hispocket, were two cards and a letter. These Tom picked up and glancedat, using Roy's flashlight. One of the cards was an automobileregistration card. The other was a driver's license card. They were bothof the State of New Jersey and issued to Aaron Harlowe. The letter hadbeen stamped but not mailed. It was addressed to Thomas Corbett, NorthHillsburgh, New York. This name tallied with the name of the child'sfather in the newspaper. 

Here was pretty good proof that the man who had met death here upon thiswild, lonely mountain was none other than the owner of the grayroadster, the coward who had fled from the consequences of hisnegligence, and turned it into a black crime!

"Are you going to open it?" Bert Winton asked. 

"I guess no one has a right to do that but the coroner, " Tom said. "Wehave no right to move the body even. "

"Well, " said Bert Winton, his awe at the sight of death somewhatsubsiding at thought of the victim's cowardice, "there's an end of AaronHarlowe who ran over Willie Corbett with a gray roadster and----"

"And was going to send a letter to the kid's father, " concluded Tom. "And here's his footprint, too. I'd like to take his shoe off and fit itinto this footprint, " Tom said. 

"What for?" Roy asked. 

"Just to make sure. "

But Tom soon dismissed that thought and the others did not relish it. Moreover, Tom knew that the law prohibited him from doing such a thing. 

With the mystery, as it seemed, cleared up, there remained nothing to dobut explore the immediate vicinity for the sake of scout thoroughness. Their search revealed other loose boards, a few cooking utensils andfinally the utter wreck of what must have been a very primitive and tinyshack. This was perhaps a couple of hundred feet from the body and belowthe highest point of the mountain. It was conceivable that a fire heremight have shown in a faint glare down at camp. The blaze could not havebeen seen. Amid the ruin of the shack were a few rough cooking utensils. The soaking land and the darkness effectually concealed the charredremnants of any fire. 

"Well, he'll never shoot any buffaloes and wild Indians, " said Roy. 

Tom replaced the cards and letter, or rather put them in the dead man'spocket for fear the wind might blow them away, though being under thelee of the trunk they had been somewhat protected. Then the partyretraced their path down the mountain and, circling its lower reaches, found themselves at last upon the lake shore. 

Thus ended the work of that fretful night, a night ever memorable atTemple Camp, a night of death and devastation. The mighty wind whichsmote the forest and drove the ruinous waters before it, died in themoment of its triumph. The sodden, sullen heaven which had cast itsgloom and poured its unceasing rain, rain, rain, upon the camp for twofull weeks, cleared and the edges of the departing clouds were bathed inthe silver moonlight. And the next morning the bright, merry sun aroseand smiled down upon Temple Camp and particularly on Goliath who satswinging his legs from the springboard. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE WANDERING MINSTREL

He was defying, single handed, half a dozen or more scouts who wereflopping about in rowboats under and about the springboard. They hadjust rowed across after an inspection of the washed-out cove, and wereresting on their oars, jollying the little fellow whose legs dangledabove them. 

"Where did that big feller go?" he asked. 

"To the village. "

"He found a dead man last night, didn't he?"

"That's what he did. "

"I know his name, it's Slade. "

"Right the first time. You're a smart fellow. "

"I like that big feller. He says Gilbert Tyson is all right; I askedhim. I bet Gilbert Tyson can beat any of you fellers. He's in my troop, he is. I bet you were never in a hospital. "

"I bet you were never in prison, " a scout ventured. 

"I bet you never got hanged, " Goliath piped up. 

"I bet I did, " another scout said. 

"When?"

"To-morrow afternoon. "

"To-morrow afternoon isn't here yet, " Goliath said, triumphantly. 

"Sure it is, _this_ is to-morrow afternoon. Somebody told me yesterday. If it was to-morrow afternoon yesterday it must be to-day. "

"Posolutely, " said Roy Blakeley. "What was true yesterday is trueto-day, because the truth is always the same--only different. "

"Sure, " concurred another scout, "to-morrow, to-day will be yesterday. It's as clear as mud. "

Goliath thought for a few moments and then made a flank attack. 

"Gilbert Tyson is a hero, " he said; "he saved the lives of everybody inthat bus--he did. "

"That's where he was wrong, " said Roy Blakeley; "a scout is supposed tobe generous. He mustn't be all the time saving. "

"Isn't it good to save lives?" Goliath demanded. 

"Sure, but not too many. A scout that's all the time saving gets to bestingy. "

Goliath pondered a moment. 

"Gilly is all right but he's not a first-class scout, " said Roy. 

"A first-class scout, " said Westy Martin, "is not supposed to turn back. Gilbert turned back. Then he shouted '_stop_. ' Law three says that ascout is courteous. He should have said '_please_ stop. ' Law ten saysthat a scout must face danger, but he turned his back to it. He wasn'tthinking about the danger, all he was thinking about was the bus. All hewas thinking about was being thrifty--saving lives. I've known fellowslike that before. It's just like striking an average; a scout thatstrikes an average is a coward. "

"You mean if the average is small?" said Roy. 

"Oh, sure. "

"Because it all depends, " Roy continued; "a scout isn't supposed tofight, is he? But he can strike an attitude. The same as he can hit atrail. Suppose he hits a poor, little thin trail----"

"Then he's a coward, " said Connie Bennett. 

"Not necessarily, " said Westy, "because----"

"_A scout has to be obedient! You can't deny that!_" Goliath nearlyfell off the springboard in his excitement. "That other feller is goingto get sent away because I heard a man say so!"

This was not exactly an answer to the well-reasoned arguments of Roy andhis friends, but it had the effect of making them serious. Moreover, just at that juncture, Mr. Carroll, scoutmaster of the Hillsburgh troop, appeared and very gently ordered Goliath from his throne upon thespringboard. The little fellow's mind had been somewhat unsettled by theskillful reasoning of his new friends. He trotted off in obedience toMr. Carroll's injunction that he go in and take off his wet shoes. 

"Boys, " said the new scoutmaster, in a pleasant, confidential tone whichwon all, "I want to say a word to you about the little brownie we havewith us. You'll find him an odd little duck. I'm hoping to make a scoutof him some time or other. Meanwhile, we have to be careful not to gethim excited. It's a rule of our troop to take with us camping eachsummer, some little needy inmate of an orphan home or hospital or someplace of the sort, and give him the benefit of the country air. Thislittle fellow is our charge this year. You won't talk to him about hispast, because we want him to forget that. We want to take him home welland strong and I look to you for help. Make friends with him and get himinterested in things about camp. His heart isn't strong; be careful. "

Good scouts that they were, they needed no more than these few words. Temple Camp usually took new boys as it found them, anyway, concerningitself with their actions and not with the history of their lives. Halfthe scouts in the big summer community didn't know where the other halfcame from, and cared less. From every corner of the land they came andall they knew or cared about each other was limited to their intercourseat camp. 

"You don't suppose that's true, do you?" one of them asked when Mr. Carroll had gone. 

"What? About Willetts?"

"Sure. "

"Dare say. He's about due for the G. B. , I guess. But if you want tocook a fish you've got to catch him first. "

"Where is he, anyway?" one asked. "I thought his foot was so bad. "

"I saw him limping off this morning, that's all _I_ know, " another said. 

"It would take more than a lame ankle to keep _him_ at camp, " said DorryBenton of Roy's patrol. "Did you see that crazy stick he was using for acane?"

"The wandering minstrel, " another scout commented. 

"He stands pat with Slady, all right. "

"Gee, you can't help liking the fellow. "

"I have to laugh at him, " Westy said. 

"You can't pal with him, that's one thing, " another observed. 

"That's because you can't keep up with him; even Mr. Denny has a sneakyliking for him. "

"Do you know what one of his troop told me? He told me he always wearsthat crazy hat to school when he's home. Some nut!"

"Reckless, happy-go-lucky, that's what he is. "

"Come on over and let's look on the bulletin board. "

They all strolled, half idly, to the bulletin board which stood outsidethe main pavilion. It was a rule of camp that every scout should readthe announcements there each afternoon. Then there would be no excusefor ignorance of important matters pertaining to camp plans. Upon theboard were tacked several announcements, a hike for the morrow, lettersuncalled for, etc. Conspicuous among these was the following:

 Hervey Willetts will report _immediately_ to his scoutmaster at troop's cabin, upon his arrival at camp. WM. C. DENNY. 

CHAPTER XVII

TOM'S INTEREST AROUSED

On that same day a solemn little procession picked its way carefullydown the trail from the storm-wrecked summit of the mountain. Four ofthe county officials bore a stretcher over which was tied a white sheet. With the party was Tom Slade who had guided the authorities to thegrewsome discovery of the previous night. In this work, and in thesubsequent assistance which he rendered, he was absent from campthroughout the day. This unpleasant business had not been advertised incamp. 

Of the tragic end of Aaron Harlowe nothing more was known. Several dayspreviously he had come to the neighborhood in his gray roadster, afugitive, with the stigma of cowardice upon his conscience. He had triedto compromise with his conscience, as it appeared, by enclosing a sumof money in an envelope and addressing it to the father of the child hehad run down. But his death had prevented the mailing of this. Thetelltale finger of accusation was pointed at him from the newspaperwhich was in his car. 

His identity was established to the satisfaction of the authorities bythe name upon the license and registration cards found with his body. Why he had ascended the mountain and remained there several days only tobe crushed to death in the storm, no one could guess. The conclusion ofthe authorities was that he was crazed by fear and remorse. This seemednot improbable, for his weak attempt to make amends with money showedhim to be not altogether bad. 

With the taking of the body by the authorities, Tom's participation inthe tragic business ended. Yet there were one or two things which stuckin his mind and puzzled him. There had been a light on the mountainbefore ever this Harlowe had gone up there. There had been a crude shacknear the summit. The light had disappeared amid the storm. The boys, watching the storm from the pavilion, had seen the light disappear. DidHarlowe, therefore, climb the mountain to _escape_ man or to _seek_ man?Harlowe's life went out in that same tempestuous hour when the lightwent out. But how came the light there? And where was the originator ofit?

One rather odd question Tom asked the authorities and got very littlesatisfaction from them. "Do you notice any connection between thatarticle in the newspaper and the letter the dead man got from England?"he asked. 

"No manner uv connection; leastways none as I kin see, " said thesheriff. "The paper showed what he done; the map showed whar he went;the license cards showed who he was. And thar ye are, sonny, whole thingsure's gospel. "

"It's funny about the light, " said Tom, respectfully. 

"I ain't botherin' my head 'baout no lights, son. I found Aaron Harlowe'n that's enough, hain't it?"

It was in Tom's thoughts to say, "You didn't find him, I found him. " Butout of respect for the formidable badge which the sheriff wore on onestrand of his suspenders, he refrained. 

The next morning the newspapers told with conspicuous headlines, thetragic sequel of Aaron Harlowe's escape. "_Found on lonely mountain_, "they said. "_Fugitive motorist killed in storm_, " one of the write-upswas headed: "_Storm wreaks vengeance on autoist_, " which was one of thebest headings of the lot. "_Sheriff's posse makes grewsome find_" wasanother. And all told how Aaron Harlowe, fleeing guiltily from hiscrime, had met his fate in the storm-tossed wilds of that frowningmountain. They dwelt on the justice of Providence; they made the storm akind of avenging hero. It was pretty good stuff. 

And that, as I said in the beginning, was where the public interest inAaron Harlowe ended. The rest of the strange business was connected withTemple Camp and the scouts, and never got into the papers. . . . 

 * * * * *

It was exactly like Tom Slade that something should interest him in thistragic episode which did not interest the authorities. He left them, quite unsatisfied in his own mind, and with some kind of a bee in hisbonnet. . . . 

CHAPTER XVIII

TRIUMPH AND----

_At_ about the time that Tom was starting back to camp, ratherthoughtful and preoccupied, Hervey Willetts was arriving at camp, not atall thoughtful or preoccupied. 

His ankle was strained and bruised, and he limped. But his rimless hatof many holes and button-badges was perched sideways toward the back ofhis head and had a new and piquant charm by reason of being faded andwater soaked. Putting not his trust in garters, which had so often, betrayed him, he had fastened a string to his left stocking by means ofan old liberty loan pin. The upper end of this string was tied to astick which he carried over his shoulder, so he had only to exert alittle pressure on the stick in front to adjust his stocking. 

He had evidently been to see one of his farmer friends, for he waseating a luscious red tomato, and fate decreed that the last of thisshould be ready for consumption just as he was passing within a fewyards of the bulletin board. For a moment a terrible conflict ragedwithin him. Should he despatch the remainder of the tomato into hismouth, or at the bulletin board? The small remnant was red and mushy anddripping--and the bulletin board won. 

Brandishing the squashy missile, he uttered his favorite passwords togood luck, One for courage One for spunk One to take aim And then----

Suddenly he bethought him of an improvement. Sticking the remnant oftomato on the end of his stick, he swung it carefully. 

 One for courage One for spunk One to take aim And then--_KERPLUNK!_

Those magic words were intended, especially, for use in despatchingtomatoes and they never failed to make good. There, upon the bulletinboard was a vivid area which looked like the midday sun. From ittrickled an oozy mass, down over the list of uncalled for letters, straight through the prize awards of yesterday, obliterating the_Council Call_, and bathing the list of new arrivals in soft and pulpyred. The "hike for to-morrow, " as shown, was through a crimson sea. 

Hervey approached for a closer glimpse of his triumph. No otherincentive would have taken him so close to that prosy bulletin board. Hehad vaulted over it but never read it. But now in the moment of supremevictory he limped forward, like an elated artist, to inspect his work. 

There, in front of him, with a little red river flowing down across themiddle of it, was the ominous sentence. 

 Hervey Willetts will report _immediately_ to his scoutmaster at troop's cabin upon his return to camp. WM. C. DENNY. 

CHAPTER XIX

HERVEY SHOWS HIS COLORS

"_If_ I hadn't fired the tomato I wouldn't have known about that, " saidHervey. Which fact, to him, fully justified the juicy bombardment. "Thatshows how you never can tell what's going to happen next. " And this wascertainly true of Hervey. 

But to do him justice, what was going to happen next never worried him. He took things as they came. He was not the one to sidestep an issue. The ominous notice signed by his scoutmaster had the effect of directinghis ambling course to that officer's presence, on which detour, he mightencounter new adventures. To reach his troop's cabin he would have topass the cooking shack where a doughnut might be speared with a stick. All was for the best. He would as lief go to troop cabin as anywhereelse. . . . 

In this blithe and carefree spirit, he approached the rustic domicilewhich he seldom honored by his presence, singing one of those snatchesof a song which were the delight of camp, and which rounded out his rôleof wandering minstrel:

 Oh, there is no place like the old camp-fire, As all the boy scouts know; And the best little place is home, sweet home-- When there isn't any other place to go, go, go. When there isn't any other place to go. 

Mr. Denny, standing in the doorway of the cabin, contemplated him with arepressed smile. "Hervey, " he could not help saying, "since you think sowell of the camp-fire, I wonder you don't choose to see more of it. "

"I can see it from all the way across the lake, " said Hervey. "I can seeit no matter where I go. "

"I see. It must arouse fond thoughts. I'm afraid, Hervey, to quote yourown song, there isn't any other place for you to go but home, sweethome. You seem to have exhausted all the places. Sit down, Hervey, youand I have got to have a little talk. "

Hervey leaned against the cabin, Mr. Denny sat upon the door sill. Noneof the troop was about; it was very quiet. For half a minute or so Mr. Denny did not speak, only whittled a stick. 

"I sometimes wonder why you joined the scouts, Hervey, " he said. "Yourdisposition----"

"A fellow that sat next to me in school dared me to, " said Hervey. 

"Oh, it was a sort of a wager?"

"I wouldn't take a dare from anybody. "

"And so you joined as a stunt?"

"I heard that scouts jumped off cliffs and all like that. "

"I see. Well, now, Hervey, I've written to your father that I'm sendingyou home. "

Hervey began making rings in the soil with his stick but said nothing. Mr. Denny's last words were perhaps a little more than he expected, buthe gave no other hint of his feelings. 

And so for another minute or so there was silence, except for thedistant voices of some scouts out upon the lake. 

"It is not exactly as a punishment, Hervey; it is just that I can'ttake the responsibility, that's all. You see?"

"Y---- yes, sir. "

"I thought you would. Your father thought the influence of camp would begood, but you see you are seldom at camp. We can't help you because wecan't find you. "

"You can't cook a fish till you catch it, " said Hervey. 

"That's just it, Hervey. "

"If you don't want to leave any tracks the best thing is to swing intotrees every now and then, " Hervey informed him. 

"Ah, I see. Now, Hervey, my boy, I'm anxious that you and I shouldunderstand each other. You have done nothing disgraceful and I don'tthink you ever will----"

"I landed plunk on my head once. "

"Well, that was more of a misfortune than a disgrace. "

"It hurt like the dickens. "

"I suppose it did. "

Mr. Denny paused; he was up against the hardest job he had ever tackled. It was harder than he had thought it would be. 

"You see, Hervey, how it is. Last week you stayed away over night atsome farm. I had told you you must not leave camp without my knowledge. For that I had you stay here all day, making a birchbark basket. Ithought that was a good punishment. "

"I'll tell the world it was, " said Hervey. 

Mr. Denny paused before proceeding. 

"Did it do any good? Not a bit. "

"The basket was a punk one, " said Hervey. 

"Again you rode down as far as Barretstown, hitching onto a freighttrain. "

"I'd have got all the way down to Jonesville, if it hadn't been for theconductor. He was some old grouch, believe _me_. "

"Then we had a little talk--you remember. You promised to be here atmeal times. Look at Mr. Ellsworth's troop, Harris, Blakeley and thoseboys. Always on hand for meals----"

"I'll say so; they're some hungry bunch, " Hervey commented. 

"And you gave me your word that you wouldn't leave camp without mypermission. _You think as little about breaking your word as you doabout breaking your leg, Hervey_, " Mr. Denny added with sober emphasis. 

Hervey began poking the ground again with his stick. 

"That's just the truth, Hervey. And it can't go on any longer. "

"Am I out of the troop?" Hervey asked, wistfully. 

"N--no, you're not. But I want you to learn to be as good a scout in oneway as you are in another. You have won merit badges with an ease whichis surprising to me----"

"They're a cinch, " Hervey interrupted. 

"I want you to go home and stop doing stunts and read the handbook. Iwant you to read the oath and the scout laws, so that when the rest ofus come home you can give me your hand and say, 'I'm an all round scout, not just a doer of stunts. '"

"H--how soon are--the rest of you coming back?" Hervey asked with justthe faintest suggestion of a break in his voice. 

"Why, you know we're here for six weeks, Hervey. Don't you know anythingabout your troop's affairs? You know how much money we have in ourtreasury, don't you?"

Hervey did not miss the reproach. He said nothing, only kept tracing thecircle with his stick. Finally it occurred to him to mark two eyes, anose and a mouth in the circle. Mr. Denny sat studying him. I think Mr. Denny was on the point of weakening. Hervey seemed sober andpreoccupied. But the face on the ground seemed to wink at Mr. Denny asif to intercede in its young creator's behalf. 

Mr. Denny gathered his strength as one does on the point of taking anunpalatable medicine. 

"Yesterday, Hervey, I expressly reminded you of your promise not toleave camp. I did that because I thought the storm might tempt youforth. "

"They call me----"

"Yes, I know; they call you the stormy petrel. You went across the lakewith others. They returned but you did not return with them. Where youwent I don't know. And I'm not going to ask you, Hervey, for it makes nodifference. I understand young Mr. Slade was there, but _that_ makes nodifference. Blakeley and one of his troop, Westy Martin, reached campand reported conditions in the cove----"

"He's all right, Blakeley is----"

"Hours passed, no one knew where you were. I was too proud, or tooashamed, to go and ask Slade if he knew. I am jealous of our troop'sreputation, Hervey--even if you are not----"

Hervey leaned against the cabin, looking abstractedly at his handiworkon the ground. 

"There was great confusion and excitement here, " Mr. Denny continued. "The whole camp turned out to save the lake, to stem the flood. But youwere not here. Your companions in our troop worked till they were dogtired. But where were you? Helping? _No_, you were off on some vagabondjourney--disobedient, insubordinate. "

Mr. Denny spoke with resolute firmness now and his voice rang as heuttered his scathing accusations. 

"You were a traitor not only to your troop, but to the camp--the campwhich held out the hand of good fellowship to you when you came here. A_slacker_----"

Hervey broke his stick in half and threw it on the ground. His breastheaved. He looked down. He said nothing. Mr. Denny studied himcuriously for a few seconds. 

"That is the truth, Hervey. One wrong always produces another. You weredisobedient and insubordinate, and that led to--what?"

Hervey gulped, but whether in shame or remorse or what, Mr. Denny couldnot make out, He was to know presently. 

"It led to shirking, whether intentional or not. And to-night, becausethere is no train, you are going to sleep in the camp which youdeserted. You will, perhaps, row on the lake which others have saved foryou. You see it now in its true light, don't you? You had better go andthank Blakeley and his comrade for what they did, if you have any realfeeling for the camp. "

"I----"

"Don't speak. Nothing you could say would make a difference, Hervey. Iknow from Mr. Carroll and his boys where you showed up. I know theyfound you clinging to one of the stage horses. I was there later and sawyou. You might have been plunged into that chasm with all the rest ofthem and been crushed to pieces, if one of those scouts hadn't goneahead, as he was _told_ to do, and if he hadn't kept his mind on whathe had been _told_ to do, instead of disregarding his scoutmasterand----"

He paused, for Hervey was shaking perceptibly. He watched the boycuriously. Should he go on with this thing and see it through? Hesummoned his resolution. 

"No, Hervey, as I said, I have written to your father. I have saidnothing against you, only that you are too much for me here, where myresponsibility is great. I want you to get your things together and takethe train in the morning. We'll expect to see you when we come home. There is no hard feeling, Hervey. When we come home you're going tostart all over again, my boy, and learn the thing right. You----"

With a kind of spasmodic effort Hervey raised his head and, with a pridethere was no mistaking, looked his scoutmaster straight in the face. Hewas trembling visibly. If there was any contrition in his countenance, Mr. Denny did not see it. He was quite taken aback with the fine show ofspirit which his young delinquent showed. There was even a dignity inthe old cap with its holes and badges, as it sat perched on the side ofhis head. There was a touch of pathos, even of dignity too, in hisfallen stocking. 

"I--I--wouldn't stay here--now--I wouldn't--I--not even if you _asked_me--I wouldn't. I wouldn't even if you--if you got down on your kneesand begged me----"

"Hervey, my boy----"

"No, I won't listen. I--I wouldn't stay even _to-night_--I wouldn't. Doyou think I need a train? I--I can hike to Jonesville, can't I? You sayI'm--I'm no scout--Tom Slade he said----"

"Hervey----"

"I don't--anyhow--I don't care anything about the rest of them. Iwouldn't stay even for supper. Even if you--if you apologized--Iwouldn't----"

"Apologize? Why, Hervey----"

"For what you said--called me--I wouldn't. I don't give a--a--damn--Idon't--for all the people here--only except one--and I wouldn't stay ifyou got down on your knees and begged me--I wouldn't----"

Mr. Denny contemplated him with consternation in every feature. Therewas no stopping him. The accused had become the accuser. There wassomething stirring, something righteous, in this fine abandon. In thesetting of the outburst of hurt pride even the profane word seemed tojustify itself. The tables were completely turned and Hervey Willettswas master of the situation. 

CHAPTER XX

TOM ADVISES GOLIATH

It was late afternoon when Tom Slade, tramping home after his day spentwith the minions of the law, crossed the main road and hit into thewoods trail which afforded a short cut to camp. 

It was the laziest hour of the day, the gap between mid afternoonand supper time. It was a tranquil time, a time of lolling under treesand playing the wild game of mumbly-peg, and of jollying tenderfoots, and waiting for supper. Roy Blakeley always said that the next best thingto supper was waiting for it. The lake always looked black in thatpre-twilight time when the sun was beyond though not below the summit ofthe mountain. It was the time of new arrivals. In that mountain-surroundedretreat they have two twilights--a tenderfoot twilight and a first classtwilight. It was the time when scouts, singly and in groups, came in fromtracking, stalking and what not, and sprawled about and got acquainted. 

But there was one who did not come in on that peaceful afternoon, andthat was the wandering minstrel. If Tom Slade had crossed the main roadten minutes sooner, he might have seen that blithe singer going alongthe road, but not with a song on his lips. The sun of that carefreenature was under a cloud. But his loyal stocking kept descending, andhis suit-case dangled from a stick over his shoulder. His trick hatperched jauntily upon his head, Hervey Willetts was himself again. Notquite, but _almost_. At all events he did not ponder on the injustice ofthe world and the cruelty of fate. He was wondering whether he couldmake Jonesville in time for the night train or whether he had better tryfor the boat at Catskill Landing. The boat had this advantage, that hecould shinny up the flagpole if the pilot did not see him. The trainoffered nothing but the railing on the platforms. . . . 

If Tom had been ten minutes earlier!

The young camp assistant left the trail and hit down through the groveand around the main pavilion. The descending sun shone right in his faceas he neared the lake. It made his brown skin seem almost like that of amulatto. His sleeves were rolled up as they always were, showing brownmuscular arms, with a leather wristlet (but no watch) on one. His pongeeshirt was open almost down to his waist. His faded khaki trousers wereheld up by a heavy whip lash drawn tight around his waist. 

Not a single appurtenance of the scout was upon him. He was rather tall, and you who have known him as a hulking youngster with bull shoulderswill be interested to know that he had grown somewhat slender andexceedingly lithe. He had that long stride and silent footfall which thewoods life develops. He was still tow-headed, though he fixed his hairon occasions, which is saying something. You would have been amused athis air of quiet assurance. Perhaps he had not humor in the same sensethat Roy Blakeley had, but he had an easy, bantering way which wascaptivating to the scouts. 

Dirty little hoodlum that he once was, he was now the most picturesque, romantic figure in the camp. In Tom Slade, beloved old Uncle Jeb, campmanager, seemed to have renewed his own youth. Scouts worshipped at theshrine of this young confidant of the woods, trustees consulted him, scoutmasters respected him. 

As he emerged around the corner of the storage cabin, several scouts whohad taken their station within inhaling distance of the cooking shackfell in with him and trotted along beside him. 

"H'lo, Slady, can we go with you?"

"I'm going to wash my hands, " said Tom, giving one of them a shove. 

"Good night! I don't want to go. "

"I thought you wouldn't. "

In Tent Avenue the news of his passing got about and presently amenagerie of tenderfoots were dogging his heels. 

"Where you been, Slady? Can I go? Take me? Take us on the lake, Slady?"

As he passed the two-patrol cabins Goliath slid down from the woodpileand challenged him. "Hey, big feller, I got a souvenir. Want to see it? Iknow who you are; you're boss, ain't you?"

"H'lo, old top, " said Tom, tousling his hair for him. "Well, how do youthink you like Temple Camp?"

Goliath had hard work to keep up with him, but he managed it. 

"I had two pieces of pie, " he said. 

"Good for you. "

"Maybe I'll get to be a regular scout, hey?"

"Not till you can eat six pieces. "

"Were you ever in a hospital?"

"Yop, over in France. "

"I bet you licked the Germans, didn't you?"

"Oh, I had a couple of fellows helping me. "

"A fellow in my troop is a hero; he's going to get a badge, maybe. A lotof fellers said so. "

"That's the way to do, " said Tom. 

"His name is Tyson, that's what his name is. Do you know him?"

"You bet. "

"He saved all the fellers in that wagon from getting killed because heshouted for the wagon to stop. So he's a hero, ain't he?"

"Well, I don't know about that, " said Tom cheerily; "medals aren't soeasy to get. "

"There was a crazy feller near that wagon. I bet you were never crazy, were you?"

"Not so very. "

"Will you help him to get the medal--Tyson?"

"Well, now, you let me tell you something, " said Tom; "don't you pay somuch attention to these fellows around camp. The main thing for you todo is to eat pie and stew and things. A lot of these fellows think it'seasy to get medals. And they think it's fun to jolly little fellows likeyou. Don't you think about medals; you think about dinner. "

"But after I get through thinking about dinner----"

"Then think about supper. You can't eat medals. "

Goliath seemed to ponder on this undesirable truth. He soon fell behindand presently deserted Tom to edify a group of scouts near the boatlanding. 

Of course, Tom did not take seriously what Goliath had said aboutawards. He knew Tyson and he knew that Tyson would be the last one inthe world to pose as a hero. But he also knew something of thedisappointments which innocent banter and jollying had caused in camp. He knew that the wholesome spirit of fun in Roy Blakeley and others hadsometimes overreached itself, causing chagrin. There was probablynothing to this business at all but, for precaution's sake, he would nipit in the bud. 

One incidental result of his little chat with Goliath was that he wasreminded of Hervey's exploit, a matter which he had entirely forgottenin his more pressing preoccupations. Tom was no hero maker and he knewthat Hervey would only trip on the hero's mantle if he wore it. As timehad gone on in camp, Tom had found himself less and less interested inthe pomp and ceremony and theatrical clap-trap of awards. Bravery was inthe natural course of things. Why make a fuss about it?

For that very reason, he was not going to have any heads turned withrapturous dreams of gold and silver awards. He was not going to have anynew scouts' visit blighted by vain hopes. He did not care greatly aboutawards, but he cared a good deal about the scouts. . . . 

CHAPTER XXI

WORDS

After he had prepared for supper he went up the hill to the cabinoccupied by Mr. Carroll's troop. It was pleasantly located on a knolland somewhat removed from the main body of camp. Mr. Carroll was himselfabout to start down for supper. 

"H'lo, Mr. Carroll, " said Tom; "alone in your glory?"

"The boys have gone down, " said Mr. Carroll. "They'll be sorry to havemissed a visit from Tom Slade. "

"Comfortable?" Tom asked. 

"Couldn't be more so, thank you. We can almost see home from up here, though the boys prefer not to look in that direction. "

Tom glanced about. "Sometimes new troops are kind of backward to ask forthings, " he said. "We're not mind readers, you know. So sing out ifthere's anything you want. "

"Thank you. "

"Kid comfortable?"

"Yes, he's giving his attention to pie and awards. "

"Hm, " said Tom, seating himself on a stump. "Pie's all right, but youwant to have these fellows go easy on awards. The boys here in camp area bunch of jolliers. Of course, you know the handbook----"

"Oh, yes. "

"And you know Tyson doesn't stand to win any medal for anything he didlast night. Strictly speaking, he saved your lives, I suppose, but itisn't exactly a case for an award. "

"Oh, mercy, no. "

"I'm glad you see it that way, Mr. Carroll. Because sometimes scouts getto enjoying themselves so much here, that they forget what's in thehandbook. These things go by rules, you know. I like Gilbert and Iwouldn't want him to get any crazy notions from what these old timerssay. There's some talk among the boys----"

"I think the little fellow's responsible for that, " Mr. Carrolllaughed. "Gilbert is level-headed and sensible. "

"You bet, " said Tom. "Well, then, it's all right, and there won't be anybroken hearts. I've seen more broken hearts here at camp than brokenheads. . . . You're a new troop, aren't you?" he queried. 

"Oh, yes, we haven't got our eyes open yet. "

"Goliath seems to have his mouth open for business. "

"Yes, " Mr. Carroll laughed. "Shall we stroll down to supper?"

"I've got one more call to make if you'll excuse me, " said Tom. 

"Come up again, won't you?"

"Oh, yes, I make inspection every day. You'll be sick of the sight ofme. "

He was off again, striding down the little hill. He passed among thetents, around Visitors' Bungalow, and toward the cabins in Good TurnGrove. Somewhat removed from these (a couple of good turns from them, asRoy Blakeley said) was the cabin of Mr. Denny's troop. 

The boys were getting ready to go down and they greeted Tom cheerily. 

"Where's Hervey?" he asked. 

He had not seen Hervey since late the previous night, just afterreturning from the mountain. Hervey was then so exhausted as hardly toknow him. The young assistant fancied a sort of constraint among theboys and he thought that maybe Hervey's condition had taken an alarmingturn. 

"Ask Mr. D. , " said one of the scouts. 

"H'lo, Mr. Denny, " said Tom, stepping into one of the cabins. No one wasthere but the scoutmaster. "Where's our wandering boy to-night?"

"He has been dismissed from camp, I'm sorry to say, " said Mr. Denny. "Sit down, won't you?"

Tom could hardly speak for astonishment. 

"You mean the camp--down at the office----"

"Oh, no, I sent him home. It was just between him and myself. "

"Oh, I see, " said Tom, a trifle relieved, apparently. "It wasn't onaccount of his hurt?"

"Oh, no, he's all right. He just disobeyed me, that's all. That sort ofthing couldn't go on, you know. It was getting worse. "

Mr. Denny had now had a chance to review his conduct and he found it inall ways justified. He was glad that he had not weakened. Moreover, there was fresh evidence. 

"Only just now, " he said, "one of the scoutmasters came to me with anotice from the bulletin board utterly ruined by a tomato which Herveythrew. He was greatly annoyed. "

"Sure, " said Tom. 

"I don't exactly blame you, Slade----"

"Me?"

"But you took Hervey with you across the lake. He had promised me not toleave camp. Where he went, I don't know----"

"You _don't_?"

"No, and I don't care. He was picked up by the people in the bus, and ifit hadn't been for that I suppose I'd be answerable to his parents forhis death. He was very insolent to me. "

"He didn't say----"

"Oh, no, he didn't say anything. He assumed an air of boyishindependence; I don't know that I hold that against him. "

"But he didn't tell you where he had been--or anything?"

"Why, no. I had no desire to hear that. His fault was in _starting_. Itmade no difference where he went. "

"Oh. "

For a few seconds Tom said nothing, only drummed with his fingers on theedge of the cot on which he sat. 

"This is a big surprise to me, " he finally said. 

"It is a very regrettable circumstance to me, " said Mr. Denny. 

There ensued a few seconds more of silence. The boys outside could beheard starting for supper. 

Tom was the first to speak. "Of course you won't think I'm trying tobutt in, Mr. Denny, but there's a rule that the camp can call on all itspeople in an emergency. The first year the camp opened we had a bad firehere and every kid in the place was set to work. After that they made arule. Sometimes things have to be done in a hurry. I took Hervey and acouple of others across the lake, because I knew something serious hadhappened over there. I think I had a right to do that. But there'ssomething else. Hervey didn't tell you everything. You said you didn'twant him to. "

"He has never told me everything. I had always been in the darkconcerning him. This tomato throwing makes me rather ashamed, too. "

"Yes, " said Tom, "that's bad. But will you listen to me if I tell youthe whole of that story--the whole business? I've been away from campall day. I only got here fifteen minutes ago. I know Hervey's a queerkid--hard to understand. I don't know why he didn't speak out----"

"Why, it was because I told him it wouldn't make any difference, " saidMr. Denny, a bit nettled. "The important point was known to me and thatwas that he disobeyed me. I don't think we can gain anything by talkingthis over, Slade. "

"Then you won't listen to me, Mr. Denny?"

"I don't think it would be any use. "

Tom paused a moment. He was just a bit nettled, too. Then he stood. Andthen, just in that brief interval, his lips tightened and his mouthlooked just as it used to look in the old hoodlum days--rugged, strong. The one saving, hopeful feature which Mr. Ellsworth, his oldscoutmaster, had banked upon then in that sooty, unkempt countenance. They were the lips of a bulldog:

"All right, Mr. Denny, " he said respectfully. 

CHAPTER XXII

ACTION

Tom strode down to the messboards which, in pleasant weather, were outunder the trees. He seemed not at all angry; there was a kind of breezyassurance in his stride and manner. As he reached the messboards wheresome of the scouts were already seated on the long benches, severalnoticed this buoyancy in his demeanor. 

"H'lo, kiddo, " he said to Pee-wee Harris as he passed and ruffled thatyoung gourmand's hair. 

Reaching Mr. Carroll, he asked in a cheery undertone, "May I use one ofyour scouts for a little while?"

"I'll have the whole troop wrapped up and delivered to you, " said Mr. Carroll. 

"Thanks. "

Reaching Gilbert Tyson, he laid his hand on Gilbert's shoulder andwhispered to him in a pleasant, offhand way, "Get through and come inthe office, I want to speak to you. "

In the office, Tom seated himself at one of the resident trustees'desks, spilled the contents of a pigeon hole in hauling out a sheet ofthe camp stationery, shook his fountain pen with a blithe air of crispdecision and wrote:

 To Hervey Willetts, Scout:--

 You are hereby _required_ to present yourself before the resident Court of Honor at Temple Camp, which sits in the main pavilion on Saturday, August the second, at ten A. M. , and which will at that time hear testimony and decide on your fitness for the Scout Gold Cross award for supreme heroism. By order of the RESIDENT COUNCIL. 

Pushing back his chair, he strode over to Council Shack, adjoining. 

"Put your sig on that, Mr. Collins, " said he. 

He reëntered the office just as Gilbert Tyson, wearing a look ofastonishment and inquiry, and finishing a slice of bread and butter, entered by the other door. 

"Tyson, " said Tom, as he put the missive in an envelope, "I understandyou're a hero, woke up and found yourself famous and all that kind ofstuff. Can you sprint? Good. I'm going to give you the chance of yourlife, and no war tax. Hervey Willetts started for home about threequarters of an hour ago. Never mind why. Deliver this letter to him. "

"Where is he?" Gilbert asked. 

"I haven't the slightest idea. "

"Started for the train, you mean?"

"Now, Tyson, I don't know any more about it than just that--he startedfor home. To-day's Thursday. He must be here Saturday. Now don't wastetime. Here's the letter. Now _get out_!"

"Just one second, " said Gilbert. "How do you _know_ he started forhome?"

"How do I know it?" Tom shot back, impatiently. 

"Do you think a fellow like Willetts would go home? I'll deliver theletter wherever he is. But he isn't on his way home. I know him. "

"Tyson, " said Tom, "you're a crackerjack scout. Now get out of herebefore I throw you out. "

CHAPTER XXIII

THE MONSTER

It is better to know your man than to know his tracks. Gilbert Tyson hadsomehow come to understand Hervey in that one day since his arrival atcamp, and he had no intention of exhausting his breath in a futile chasealong the road. There, indeed, was a scout for you. He was on the jobbefore he had started. 

The road ran behind the camp, the camp lying between the road and thelake. To go to Catskill Landing one must go by this road. Also to make ashort cut to Jonesville (where the night express stopped) one must gofor the first mile or so along this road. The road was a state road andof macadam, and did not show footprints. 

Tyson did not know a great deal about tracking, but he knew something ofhuman nature, he had heard something of Hervey, and he eliminated theroad. He believed that he would not overtake Hervey there. 

Across the road, at intervals, several trails led up into the thickerwoods. One led to the Morton farm, another to Witches' Pond. 

Tyson, being new at camp, did not know the direction of these trails, but he knew that all trails go somewhere. He had heard, during the day, that Hervey was on cordial terms with every farmer, squatter, tollgatekeeper, bridge tender, hobo, and traveling show for miles around. 

So he examined these trails carefully at their beginnings beside theroad. Only one of them interested him. Upon this, about ten feet in fromthe road, was a rectangular area impressed in the earth which, in thewoods, was still damp after the storm. With his flashlight Gilbertexamined this. He thought a box might have stood there. Then he noticedtwo ruffled places in the earth, each on one of the long sides of therectangle. He knew then what it meant; a suit-case had stood there. 

If he had known more about the circumstance of Hervey's leaving, hemight have been touched by the picture of the wandering minstrelpausing to rest upon his burden, there at the edge of the woods. 

So this was the trail. Elated, Gilbert hurried on, pausing occasionallyto verify his conviction by a footprint in the caked earth. Theconsistency of the earth was ideal for footprints. Yes, some one hadpassed here not more than an hour before. Here and there was anoccasional hole in the earth where a stick might have been pressed in, showing that the stormy petrel had sometimes used his stick as a cane. 

For half an hour Gilbert followed this trail with a feeling of elation, of triumph. Soon he must overtake the wanderer. After a little, thetrail became indistinct where it passed through a low, marshy area. Thedrenching of the woods by the late storm was apparent still in the lowplaces. 

Gilbert trudged through this spongy support, all but losing his balanceoccasionally. Soon he saw something black ahead of him. This wasWitches' Pond, though he did not know it by that name. 

As he approached, the ground became more and more spongy and uncertain. It was apparent that the pond had usurped much of the surrounding marshin the recent rainy spell. 

Gilbert had to proceed with caution. Once his leg sank to the knee inthe oozy undergrowth. He was just considering whether he had not betterabandon a trail which was indeed no longer a trail at all, and pick hisway around the pond, when he noticed something a little distance aheadof him which caused him to pause and strain his eyes to see it better inthe gathering dusk. As he looked a cold shudder went through him. Whathe saw was, perhaps, fifty feet off. A log was there, one end of whichwas in the ground, the other end projecting at an angle. Its positionsuggested the pictures of torpedoed liners going down, and there passedthrough Gilbert's agitated mind, all in a flash, a vision of the great_Lusitania_ sinking--slowly sinking. 

For this great log was going down. Slowly, very slowly; but it was goingdown. Or else Gilbert's eyes and the deepening shadows were playing astrange trick. . . . 

He dragged his own foot out of the treacherous ground and looked aboutfor safer support. There was a suction as he dragged his foot up whichsent his heart to his mouth. "_Quicksand_, " he muttered, shudderingly. 

Was it too late? He backed cautiously out of the jaws of this horriblemonster of treachery and awful death, feeling his way with eachtentative, cautious step. He stood ankle deep, breathing more easily. Hewas back at the edge of that oozy, clinging, all devouring trap. Hebreathed easier. 

He looked at the log. It was going down. It stood almost upright now, and offering no resistance with its bulk, was sinking rapidly. In aminute it looked like a stump. It shortened. Gilbert stood motionlessand watched it, fascinated. Instinctively he retreated a few feet, tostill more solid support. He was standing in ordinary mud now. 

Down, down. . . . 

A long legged bird came swooping through the dusk across the pond, litupon the sinking trunk, and then was off again. 

"Lucky it has wings, " Gilbert said. There was no other way to safety. 

Down, down, down--it was just a hubble. The oozy mass sucked it in, closed over it. It was gone. 

There was nothing but the dusk and the pond, and the discordant croakingof frogs. 

Then, close to where the log had been, Gilbert saw something else. Itwas a little dab of yellow. It grew smaller; disappeared. There wasnothing to be seen now but a little spot of gray; probably some swampgrowth. . . . 

No. . . . 

Just then Gilbert saw upon it a tiny speck which sparkled. There wereother specks. He strained his eyes to pierce the growing darkness. Hewas doubtful, then certain, then doubtful. He advanced, ever socautiously, a step or two, to see it better. 

Yes. It was. 

Utterly sick at heart he turned his head away. There before him, stilldefying by its lightness of weight, the hungry jaws of the heartless, terrible, devouring monster that eats its prey alive, stood the littlerimless, perforated and decorated cap of Hervey Willetts. Joyous andbuoyant it seemed, defying its inevitable fate with the blithe spiritof its late owner. It floated still, after the log and the suit-case hadgone down. 

And that was all that was left of the wandering minstrel. 

CHAPTER XXIV

GILBERT'S DISCOVERY

Gilbert Tyson was a scout and he could face the worst. He soon gotcontrol of himself and began considering what he had better do. 

He could not advance one more step without danger. Yet he could notthink of going back to camp, with nothing but the report of something hehad seen from a distance. He had done nothing. Yet what could he do?

He was at a loss to know how Hervey could have advanced so far into thattreacherous mire. 

He must have picked his way here and there, knee deep, waist deep, likethe reckless youngster he was, until he plunged all unaware into thefatal spot. The very thought of it made Gilbert shudder. Had he calledfor help? Gilbert wondered. How dreadful it must have been to call forhelp in those minutes of sinking, and to hear nothing but some mockingecho. What had the victim thought of, while going down--down?

Good scout that he was, Gilbert would not go back to camp withoutrescuing that one remaining proof of Hervey's tragic end. At least hewould take back all that there was to take back. 

He pulled out of his pocket a fishline wound on a stick. At the end ofthe line where a hook was, he fastened several more hooks an inch or twoapart. The sinker was not heavy enough for his purpose so he fastened astone to the end of the line. 

As he made these preparations, the rather grewsome thought occurred tohim of what he should do and how he would feel if Hervey's head werevisible when he pulled the cap away. It caused him to hesitate, just fora few seconds, to make an effort to recover it. Suppose that hat werestill on the smothered victim's head. . . . 

With his first throw, the stone landed short of the mark and he draggedback a mass of dripping marsh growth, caught by the fish-hooks. Hissecond attempt landed the stone a yard or so beyond the hat and thetreacherous character of the ground there was shown by the almostinstant submergence of the missile. It was with difficulty that Gilbertdragged it out, and with every pull he feared the cord would snap. Butas he pulled, the hat came also. The line was directly across it and thehooks caught it nicely. There was no vestige of any solid object wherethe cap had been. Gilbert wondered how deep the log had sunk, and thesuit-case and--the other. . . . 

He shook the clinging mud and marsh growth from the hat and looked atit. He had seen Hervey only twice; once lying unconscious in the bus, and once that very day, when the young wanderer had started off to visithis friend, the farmer. But this cap very vividly and very patheticallysuggested its owner. The holes in it were of every shape and size. Thebuttons besought the beholder to vote for suffrage, to buy libertybonds, to join the Red Cross, to eat at Jim's Lunch Room, to use onlyTyler's fresh cocoanut bars, to give a thought to Ireland. There was aCamp-fire Girls' badge, a Harding pin, a Cox pin, a Debs pin . . . Herveyhad been non-partisan with a vengeance. 

With this cap, the one touching memento of the winner of the Gold Cross, Gilbert started sorrowfully back to camp. The dreadful manner ofHervey's death agitated him and weakened his nerve as the discovery of abody would not have done. There was no provision in the handbook forthis kind of a discovery; no face to cover gently with his scout scarf, no arms to lay in seemly posture. One who _had been_, was _not_. Hisdeath and burial were one. Gilbert could not fit this horrible thoughtto his mind. It was out of all human experience. He could not ridhimself of the ghastly thought of how far down those--those_things_--had gone. 

Slowly he retraced his steps along the trail--thinking. He had read ofhats being found floating in lakes, indubitable evidence of drowning, and he had known the owners of these hats to show up at the ends of thestories. But _this_. . . . 

He thought of the alighting of that bird upon the sinking end of thelog. How free and independent that bird! How easy its escape. Howimpossible the escape of any mortal. To carelessly pause upon a log thatwas going down in quicksand and then to fly away. There was blithenessin the face of danger for you!

Gilbert took his way along the trail, sick at heart. How could he tellTom Slade of this frightful thing? It was his first day at camp and itwould cast a shadow on his whole vacation. Soon he espied a lightshining in the distance. That was a camp, no doubt. By leaving the trailand following the light, he could shorten his journey. He was not sosure that he wanted to shorten his journey, but he was ashamed of thishesitancy to face things, so he abandoned the trail and took the lightfor his guide. 

Soon there appeared another light near the first one, and then he knewthat he was saving distance and heading straight for camp. He hadsupposed that the trail went pretty straight from the vicinity of campto that dismal pond in the woods. But you can never see the whole of atrail at once and it must have formed a somewhat rambling course. 

Anyway there were the lights of camp off to the west of the path, andGilbert Tyson hurried thither. 

CHAPTER XXV

A VOICE IN THE DARK

Gilbert soon discovered his mistake. When a trail has brought you to aspot it is best to trust that trail to take you back again. Beacons, artificial beacons, are fickle things. Gilbert had much to learn. 

He had lost the trail and he soon found that he was following a phantom. One of the lights was no light at all, but a reflection in a puddle inthe woods. The woods were still full of puddles; though the ground wasfirm it still bore these traces of its recent soaking. And the damagecaused by the high wind was apparent on every hand, in fallen trees andbroken limbs. There was a pungent odor to the drenched woods. 

Gilbert picked his way around these impediments of wetness and débris. The night was clear. There were a few stars but no moon. Doubtless, hethought, the reflection in the puddle was the reflection of a star. Presently he saw something black before him. In his maneuvers to keep todry ground he had in fact already gone beyond it, and looked back at it, so to say. 

Now he could see that the reflection in the puddle was derived from alight on the further side of the black mass. Other little interveningpuddles were touched with a faint, shimmering brightness. 

Gilbert approached the dark object and saw that it was a fallen tree. The wound in the earth caused by its torn-up roots formed a sort ofcavern where the slenderer tentacles hung limp like tropical foliage. Ifthere was a means of entrance to this dank little shelter it must befrom the farther side. Even where Gilbert stood the atmosphere wasredolent of the damp earth of this crazy little retreat. For retreat itcertainly was, because there was a light in it. Gilbert could only seethe reflection of the light but he knew whence that reflection wasderived. 

He approached a little closer and was sure he heard voices. He paused, then advanced a little closer still. Doubtless this freakish littleshelter left by the storm was occupied by a couple of hoboes, perhapsthieves. 

But Gilbert had played his card and lost. He had forsaken the trail fora light, and the light had not guided him to camp. He doubted if hecould find his way to camp from here. You are to remember that Gilbertwas a good scout, but a new one. 

He approached a little closer, and now he could distinctly hear a voice. Not the voice of a hobo, surely, for it was carolling a blithe song tothe listening heavens. Gilbert bent his ear to listen:

 Oh, the life of a scout is free, is free; He's happy as happy can be, can be. He dresses so neat, With no shoes on his feet; The life of a scout is free!

 The life of a scout is bold, so bold; His adventures have never been told, been told. His legs they are bare, And he won't take a dare, The life of a scout is bold!

 The savage gorilla is mild, is mild; Compared to the boy scout so wild, so wild. He don't go to bed, And he stands on his head, The life of a scout is wild!

Gilbert stood petrified with astonishment. In all his excursions throughthe scout handbook he had never encountered any such formula forscouting as this. No scout hero in _Boys' Life_ had ever consecratedhimself to such a program. 

There was a pause within, during which Gilbert crept a little closer. Hehardly knew any of the boys in camp yet, and the strange voice meantnothing to him. He knew that no member of _his_ troop was there. 

"Want to hear another?" the singer asked. 

"Shoot, " was the laconic reply. 

"This one was writ, wrot, wrote for the Camp-fire Girls around theblazing oil stove. 

 "If I had nine lives like an old tom cat, I'd chuck eight of them away. For the more the weight, the less the speed, And scouts don't carry any more than they need; And I'd keep just one for a rainy day. 

"Good? Want to hear more? Second verse by special request. They're off:

 "If I could turn like an old windmill, I'd do good turns all day; With noble deeds the day I'd fill. But you see I'm _not_ an old windmill. And I ain't just built that way, I ain't. "

Gilbert decided that however unusual were these ballads of scouting, they did not emanate from thief or hobo; and he climbed resolutely overthe log. Even the comparative mildness of the savage gorilla to this newkind of scout did not deter him. 

The scout anthem continued. 

 "If I was a roaring old camp-fire, You bet that I'd go out; Oh, I'd go out and far and near, For a camp-fire has the right idea; And knows what it's about!"

Gilbert crept along the farther side of the log till he came to anopening among the tangled roots. It was a very small but cozy littlecave that he found himself looking into. In a general way, it suggesteda wicker basket or a cage, except that it was black and damp. Withinwas a little fire of twigs. Tending it was a young fellow of perhapstwenty years of age, wearing a plaid cap. He was stooping over thelittle fire. Nearby, in a sort of swing made by binding two hangingtentacles of root, sat the wandering minstrel, swinging his legs to keephis makeshift hammock in motion. 

Gilbert Tyson contemplated him in speechless consternation. There hewas, the ideal ragged vagabond, and he did not cease swinging even whenhe discovered the visitor. 

"H'lo, " he said; "gimme my hat, that's just what I wanted; glad to seeyou. "

Dumbfounded, Gilbert tossed the hat over to him. 

"I wouldn't sell that hat, " said Hervey, putting it on, "not for acouple of cups of cup custard. Sit down. Here's the chorus. 

 "Then hurrah for the cat with its nine little lives, And the good turn windmill, too. And hurrah for the fire that likes to go out, When the hour is late like a regular scout; For that's what I like to do, _I do. _ You bet your life I do!"

CHAPTER XXVI

LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG

"Where did you find the hat?" Hervey inquired. "I bet you can't sit onthis without holding on. Were you in the swamp? This is my friend, Mr. Hood--Robin Hood--sometimes I call him _Lid_ instead of _Hood_. Call him_cap_ if you want to, he doesn't care, " he added, still swinging. 

Mr. Robin Hood did not seem as much at ease as his young companion. Heseemed rather troubled and glanced sideways at Gilbert. 

"We should worry about his name if he doesn't want to give it, hey?"Hervey said, winking at Gilbert. "What's in a name?"

Gilbert was shrewd enough not to mention Tom but to give his visit thedignity of highest authority. 

"Well, this is a big surprise to me, " he said, "and I'm mighty glad it'sthis way, " he added with a deep note of sincerity and relief in hisvoice. "I was sent from the office to find you and give you this note. Itracked you to the pond and I thought--golly, I'm glad it isn't so--butI thought you went down in the quicksand. I near got into it myself. "

"Me?"

"Yes, how did you----"

"Easiest thing in the world. I knew if I could get to the log--did yousee the log?"

"It isn't there now. "

"I knew if I could get to that I could jump from it to the pond. "

"And did you?"

"Surest thing. I kept chucking the suit-case ahead and stepping on it. Ihad an old board, too. I guess they're both gone down by now. "

"Yes. "

"When I got to the log I was all hunk--for half a minute. 'One to getready, ' that's what I said. Oh, boy, going down. Toys and stationery inthe basement. "

Just in that moment Gilbert thought of the bird. 

"Yes?" he urged, "and then?"

 "One to get ready, One to jump high, One to light in the pond or die. "

"And you did it? I heard you were reckless. Here, read the note, "Gilbert said with unconcealed admiration. The wandering minstrel hadmade another capture. 

He was, however, a little sobered as he opened the envelope. He hadnever been the subject of an official missive before. He had never beenhonored by a courier. He had won badges and had an unique reputation forstunts. But when the momentary sting had passed it cannot be said thathe left camp with any fond regrets. On the other hand, he bore the campand his scoutmaster no malice now. He who forgets orders may also forgetgrievances. In Hervey's blithe nature there was no room for abidingmalice. 

"What are they trying to hand me now?" he asked, reading the notice. 

"I don't know anything about it, " said Gilbert; "I think you have tocome back, don't you?"

"Sure, I've got the Gold Cross wished on me. "

"The cross?" said Gilbert in admiring surprise. "What for?"

"Search me. They're going to test some money or something--testimony, that's it. Something big is going to happen in my young life. "

"You'll go back?" Gilbert asked anxiously. 

"Sure, if Robin Hood can go with me. Love me, love my dog. "

"I don't want to go there, " said the young fellow; "you kids better go. "

"Then that's the end of the red cross, " said Hervey, still swinging. "Imean the Gold Cross or the double cross or whatever you call it. What'd'you say, Hoody? They have good eats there. Will you come and seeme cop the cross?"

"He just happened to blow in here, " said the stranger, by way ofexplaining Hervey's presence to Gilbert. "I was knocking around in thewoods and bunking in here. "

Gilbert was a little puzzled, but he did not ask any questions. He wasthoughtful and tactful. He had a pretty good line on Hervey's nature, too. 

"Of course, Hervey has to go back, " he said, as much for Hervey'sbenefit as for the stranger's. "I say all three of us go. You'll liketo see the camp----"

"They've got a washed-out cove and an oven for making marshmallows, anda scoutmasters' meeting-place with a drain-pipe you can climb up to theroof on, 'n everything, " said Hervey in a spirit of fairness toward thecamp and its attractions. "They've got messboards you can dohand-springs on when the cook isn't around. I bet you can't do thedouble flop, Hoody. "

"Well, then, we'll all go?" Gilbert asked rather anxiously. 

Hervey spread out his arms by way of saying that anything that suitedGilbert and the stranger would suit him. 

So the three started off to camp, the stranger rather hesitating, Gilbert highly elated with his success, and Hervey perfectly agreeableto anything which meant action. 

It was characteristic of Hervey that he really had not the faintest ideaof why he was to be honored with the highest scout award. He hadapparently forgotten all about his almost superhuman exploit. He wouldnever have mentioned it nor thought of it. He did recall it in thatmoment of humiliation when Mr. Denny had talked with him. But he wouldnot speak of it even then. He would suffer disgrace first. And how muchless was he likely to think of it now! Surely the Gold Cross had nothingto do with that fiasco which had ended in unconsciousness. That was notsupreme heroism. There was something wrong, somewhere. _That_ was just astunt. . . . 

Well, he would take things as they came--quicksand, a frantic run instorm and darkness, new friends, the Gold Cross, anything. . . . 

Was there one soul in all that great camp that really understood him?

As they picked their way through the woods, following his lead (for healone knew the way) he edified them with another song, for these balladswhich had made him the wandering minstrel he remembered even if heremembered nothing else. 

 "You wouldn't think to look at me That I'm as good as good can be-- a little saint. You wouldn't care to make a bet, That I'm the teacher's little pet-- I ain't. "

CHAPTER XXVII

TOM LEARNS SOMETHING

Tom's absence through the day had resulted in an accumulation of workupon his table. His duties were chiefly active but partly clerical. After supper he started to clear away these matters. 

The camp had already been in communication with Mr. Temple, its founder, and plans had been made for an inspection of the washed-out cove byengineers from the city. It was purposed to build a substantial dam atthat lowest and weakest place on the lake shore. There was a memorandumasking Tom to be prepared to show these men the fatal spot on thefollowing morning. 

Matters connected with the meeting of the resident Court of Honor nextday had also to be attended to. Several dreamers of high awards wouldhave a sleepless night in anticipation of that meeting. Hervey Willettswould probably sleep peacefully--if he went to bed at all. 

It was half an hour or so before Tom got around to looking over thenames of new arrivals. These were card indexed by the camp clerk, andTom always looked the cards over in a kind of casual quest of familiarnames, and also with the purpose of getting a line on first seasontroops. It was his habit to make prompt acquaintance with these and helpthem over the first hard day or so of strangeness. 

In glancing over these names, he was greatly astonished to find on thelist of Mr. Carroll's troop, the name of William Corbett. The identityof this name with that of the victim of the automobile accident greatlyinterested him, and he recalled then for the first time, that this troophad come from Hillsburgh, in the vicinity of which the accident hadoccurred. Yet, according to the newspaper, the victim of the accidenthad been killed, or mortally injured. 

As Tom pondered on this coincidence of names there ran through his mindone of those snatches of song which Hervey Willetts was fond ofsinging:

 Some boys were killed and some were not, Of those that went to war; And a lot of boys are dying now, That never died before. 

Before camp-fire was started Tom hunted up Mr. Carroll. 

"I see you have a William Corbett in your troop, Mr. Carroll, " said he. 

"Oh, yes, that's Goliath. "

"He--he wasn't the kid who was knocked down by an auto?"

"Why, yes, he was. You know about that?"

Tom hesitated. The newspapers had not yet had time to publish thesensational accounts of Harlowe's tragic death on the mountain and thefacts about this harrowing business had not been made public in camp. 

"I thought the kid was killed, " Tom said. 

"Oh, no, that was just newspaper talk. It's a long way from beingmortally injured in a newspaper to being killed, Mr. Slade. "

"Y-es, I dare say you're right, " said Tom, still astonished. 

"Yes, the little codger has a weak heart, " said Mr. Carroll. "When themachine struck him it knocked him down and he was picked upunconscious. Probably he looked dead as he lay there. I dare say that'swhat frightened the man in the machine. No, it was just his heart, " headded. "A couple of the boys in my troop knew the family, mother didwashing for them or something of that sort, and so we got in touch withthe little codger and there was our good turn all cut out for us. 

"You know, Slade, we have a kind of an institution--troop good turn. Ever hear of anything like that? So we brought him along. He's a kind ofa scout in the chrysalis stage. He doesn't even know what happened tohim. A good part of his life has been spent in hospitals; he'll pick upthough. I think the newspaper reporters did more harm than the autoist. Do you know, Slade, I think the man may have just got panicky, like someof the soldiers in the war. "

"I've seen a fellow shrink like a whipped cur at the sound of a cannonand then I've seen him flying after the enemy like a fiend, " said Tom. 

"Yes, human nature's a funny thing, " said Mr. Carroll. 

Tom's mind was divided between admiration of this kind, tolerant, generous scoutmaster and astonishment at what he had learned. 

"Well, that's news to me, " he said. 

"Yes, the main thing is to build the little codger up now, " Mr. Carrollmused aloud. 

"Mr. Carroll, " said Tom, "Gilbert didn't say anything about going up themountain with me last night?"

"N-no, I don't know that he did. "

"The trustees didn't want anything said about the matter here in camp, or the whole outfit would be going up the mountain. But I suppose thepapers will have the whole business by to-morrow, and you might as wellhave it now. The fellow who ran down the kid was found crushed to deathon the mountain last night. His name was Aaron Harlowe. "

Tom told the whole harrowing episode to Mr. Carroll, who listened withinterest, commenting now and again upon the tragic sequel of the autoaccident. It was plain, throughout, however, that his chief interest wasin his little charge, Goliath. 

"That's a very strange thing, " he said; "it has a smack of Divinejustice about it, if one cares to look at it that way. Have you anytheory of just how it happened?"

"I haven't got any time for theories, Mr. Carroll; not with four newtroops coming to-morrow. It's a closed book now, I suppose. There aresome funny things about the whole business. But one thing sure, theman's dead. I have a hunch he got crazed and rattled and hid here andthere and was afraid they'd catch him and finally went up the mountain. He thought he had killed the kid, you see. I'd like to know what went oninside his head, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I would. "

Several of Mr. Carroll's troop, seeing him talking with Tom, approachedand hung about as this chat ended. Wherever Tom Slade was, scouts wereattracted to that spot as flies are attracted to sugar. They stoodabout, listening, and staring at the young camp assistant. 

"Well, how do you think you like us up here?" Tom asked, turningabruptly from his talk with their scoutmaster. "Think you're going tohave a good time?"

"You said something, " one piped up. 

"Where's Gilbert?" another asked. 

"Oh, he'll be back in a little while, " Tom said. "I sent him on anerrand and I suppose he got lost. "

"He did _not_!" several vociferated. 

"No?" Tom smiled. 

"You bet he didn't!"

"Well, " said Tom, laughing, "if you fellows want to get into the mix-up, keep your eyes on the bulletin board. Everything is posted there, hikesand things. You'll like most of the things you see there. "

"I'm crazy about tomatoes, " one of the scouts ventured. 

Tom smiled at Mr. Carroll and Mr. Carroll smiled at Tom. 

There seemed to be a sort of unspoken agreement among them all thatHervey Willetts should be thought of ruefully, and in a way ofdisapproval. But, oddly enough, none of them seemed quite able toconceal a sneaking liking for him, shown rather than expressed. 

And there you have an illustration of Hervey's status in camp. . . . 

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE BLACK SHEEP

The scouts were all around the camp-fire when Gilbert Tyson returnedwith his captives. As they crossed the road and came upon the campgrounds, the stranger seemed apprehensive and ill at ease, but Herveywith an air of sweeping authority informed him that everything was allright, that he would fix it for him. 

"Don't you worry, " he said; "I know all the high mucks here. You leaveit to me. " He was singularly confident for one in disgrace. "I'll getyou a job, all right. When you see Slady or Uncle Jeb you just tell themyou're a friend of mine. " Robin Hood seemed somewhat reassured by thewords of one so influential. By way of giving him a cheery reminder ofcertain undesirable facts and reconciling him to a life of toil, Herveysang as they made their way to the office. 

 "You gotta go to work, You gotta go to work, You gotta go to work-- That's true. And the reason why you gotta go to work _IS_ The work won't come to you _SEE?_

 "I gotta go to bed, I gotta go to bed, Like a good little scout-- You see. And the reason why I gotta go to bed _IS_ The bed won't come to me. D'you see? The bed won't come to me. "

This ballad of toil and duty (which were Hervey's favorite themes) wasaccompanied by raps on Gilbert's head with a stick, which became moreand more vigorous as they approached the office. Here the atmosphere ofofficialdom did somewhat subdue the returning prodigal son and heremoved his precious hat as they entered. 

This matter was in Tom Slade's hands and he was going to see it throughalone. From camp-fire his watchful eye had seen the trio passingthrough the grove and he was in the office before they reached it. 

The office was a dreadful place, where the mighty John Temple himselfheld sway on his occasional visits, where councilmen and scoutmastersconferred, and where there was a bronze statue of Daniel Boone. Herveyhad many times longed to decorate the sturdy face of the old pioneerwith a mustache and whiskers, using a piece of trail-sign chalk. 

At present he was seized by a feeling of respectful diffidence, andstood hat in hand, a trifle uncomfortable. Robin Hood was uncomfortabletoo, but he was in for it now. He was relieved to see that the officialwho confronted him was an easy-going offhand young fellow of about hisown age, dressed in extreme negligée, sleeves rolled up, shirt open, face and throat brown like the brown of autumn. It seemed to make thingseasier for the trio that Tom vaulted up onto the bookkeeper's high desk, as if he were vaulting a fence, and sat there swinging his legs, thevery embodiment of genial companionship. 

"Well, Gilbert, you got away with it, huh?"

"Here he is, " said Gilbert proudly. "I found him in a kind of cave inthe woods----"

"Gilbert deserves all the credit for finding me, " Hervey interrupted. "You've got to hand it to him, I'll say that much. "

"It isn't everybody who can find you, is it?" said Tom. 

"Believe me, you said something, " Hervey ejaculated. 

"Well, I'm going to say some more, " Tom laughed. 

"This is my friend, " said Hervey; "Robin Hood, but I don't know his realname. He's a good friend of mine, and he can play the banjo only hehasn't got one with him, and I want to get him a job. "

"Any friend of yours----" Tom began and winked at Gilbert. 

"What did I tell you?" said Hervey. "Didn't I tell you I'd fix it?"

"I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Hood, " said Tom. "We're expecting to bepretty busy here, I can say that much, " he added cautiously. 

"I was just roaming the woods, " said the stranger. "I haven't got anyhome; out of luck. The boys insisted on my coming. "

"Strangers always welcome, " said Tom cheerily. 

It was, indeed, true that strangers were always welcome. Temple Camp wasdown on the hobo's blue book as a hospitable refuge. Stranded showpeople had known its sheltering kindness. Moreover, Tom was not likelyto make particular inquiry about Hervey's chance acquaintances. Thewandering minstrel had brought in laid-off farm hands, a strolling organgrinder with a monkey, not to mention two gypsies, a peddler of rugs andother strays. 

"Well, Tyson, " said Tom, clasping his hands behind his head and swinginghis legs in a way of utmost good humor, "suppose you take Mr. Hood overto camp-fire and see if he can stand for some of those yarns. Tell UncleJeb he's going to hang around till morning. You stay here, Hervey. I'dlike to hear about your adventures. Let's see, how many lives have yougot left now?"

"Believe me, I did _some stunt_, " said Hervey. 

CHAPTER XXIX

STUNTS AND STUNTS

For a minute or two, Tom sat swinging his legs, contemplating Hervey. 

"When it comes to stunts, " said he, "you're down and out. You belong tothe '_also rans_. '"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. "

"I can----"

"Oh, yes, you can do a lot. You ought to join the Camp-fire Girls. Youwere asked to stay at camp--I'm not talking about yesterday. I'm talkingabout all summer. There's an easy stunt. But you fell down on it. Don'ttalk to me about stunts. "

"Do you think it's easy to hang around camp all the time? It's hard, youcan bet. "

"Sure, it's a _stunt_. And you can't do it. Little Pee-wee Harris cando it, but you can't. Don't talk stunts to me. I know what a stunt is. "

"What's a stunt?" Hervey asked, trying to conceal the weakness of hisattitude with a fine air of defiance. 

"Why, a stunt is something that is hard to do, that's all. "

"You tell me----"

"I'll tell you something I want you to do and you're afraid to doit--you're _afraid_. "

"I won't take a dare from anybody, " Hervey shouted. 

"Well, you'll take one from me. "

"You dare me to do something and see. "

"All righto. I _dare_ you to go up to your troop's cabin after camp-fireand tell Mr. Denny that you've been a blamed nuisance and that you'reout to do the biggest stunt you ever did. And that is to do what you'retold. Tell him I dared you to do it, and tell him what you said aboutnot taking a dare from anybody. Tell him you never knew about its beinga stunt. 

"Of course I know you won't do it, because it's hard, and I know you'renot game. I just want to show you that you're a punk stunt-puller. I_dare_ you to do it! I _DARE_ you to do it!"

"I won't take a dare from anybody!" said Hervey, excitedly. 

"Oh, yes, you will. You'll take one from _me_. You're a four-flusher, that's what you are. Go ahead. I _dare_ you to do it. You won't take adare, hey? I _double_ dare you to! There. Now let's see. Go up there andtell Mr. Denny you're going to get away with the biggest thing you evertried--the biggest stunt. And to-morrow morning before the Court meetsyou come in here and see Mr. Fuller and Uncle Jeb and me. Now don't askany questions. You came in here all swelled up, regular fellow and allthat sort of thing, and I'm calling your bluff. "

"You call me a bluffer?" Hervey shouted. 

"The biggest bluffer outside of Pine Bluff. "

"Me?"

"Yes, you. "

"I wouldn't take a dare from you or anybody like you!"

"Actions speak louder than words. "

"I never saw the stunt yet----"

"Well, here it is right now. I dare you. I _dare_ you, " said Tom, jumping down and looking right in Hervey's face, "I DOUBLE DARE YOU!"

Hervey grabbed his hat from the bench. 

 "A kid that gives a double dare For shame and grins he must prepare. "

he shouted. 

"That's me, " said Tom. 

Before he realized what had happened, he heard the door slam and hefound himself alone, laughing. Hervey had departed, in wrath anddesperation, bent upon his next stunt. 

CHAPTER XXX

THE DOUBLE DARE

Mr. Denny's troop had turned in with the warmth of the roaring camp-firestill lingering in their cheeks when the black sheep went up the hill. The scoutmaster, sitting in his tepee, was writing up the troop's diaryin the light of a railroad lantern. He showed no great surprise at hiswandering scout's arrival. 

"Well, Hervey, " said he. "Back again? I told you it would be better towait till morning. Missed the train, eh? You see my advice is sometimesbest after all. " He did not look up but continued writing. If Hervey hadexpected to create a sensation he was disappointed. "Better go to bedand catch the nine fifty-two in the morning, " said Mr. Denny kindly. 

"I came back because Tom Slade sent for me. I've got to get a medal, but I don't care anything about that. "

"So? What's that for?"

"I always said that fellow Slade was a friend of mine, but I wouldn'tlet him put one over on me, I wouldn't. "

"You mean he was just fooling you about the medal?"

"Maybe you can tell, " said Hervey. "Because anyway I didn't do anythingto win a--the Gold Cross. "

Mr. Denny raised his eyebrows in frank surprise. "The Gold Cross?"

"I don't care anything about that, anyway, " said Hervey; "but I wouldn'ttake a dare from anybody; I never did yet. "

"No?"

"He said--that fellow said--he said I wouldn't dare to come up here andtell you that I can--do anything I want to do. "

"That's just what you've been doing, Hervey. "

"But you know I'm good on stunts? And he said--this is just what hesaid--he said I couldn't do that kind of a stunt--staying here when I'mtold to. He dared me to. Would you take a double dare if you were me?They're worse than single ones. "

"N-no, I don't know that I would, " said Mr. Denny, thoughtfully. 

"He said I wouldn't dare--do you know what a four flusher is?"

"Why--y-es. "

"He said I wouldn't _dare_ to come up here and tell you that I know I'mwrong to make so much trouble and he said I couldn't do a stunt likestaying in camp. Would you let any fellow call you a Camp-fireGirl--would you? Gee Williger, _that_ stunt's a cinch!"

Mr. Denny closed his book, leaving his pen in it as a book-mark, andclasping his hands, listened attentively. It was the first slight signof surrender. He looked inquiringly and not unkindly at the figure thatstood before him in the dim lantern light. He noted the torn clothing, the wrinkled stocking, the outlandish hat with its holes and trinkets. He could see, just see, those clear gray eyes, honest, reckless, brave. . . . 

"Yes, Hervey?"

"Of course you don't have to keep me here, I don't mean that. Becausethat's another thing, anyway. Only I want you to tell Slade that I_did_ dare, because I wouldn't take a double dare not even from--fromMr. Temple, I wouldn't. So then he'll know I'm not afraid of you. Because even you wouldn't say I'm a coward. "

"No. "

"I can do any stunt going, I'll let him know, and I won't take a doubledare from anybody. Because I made a resolution when I was in the thirdprimary grade. "

"And you've always kept it?"

"You think I'd bust a resolution? You have bad luck for eight years ifyou do that. "

"I see. "

"No, siree!"

"And so you think you could do this stunt?"

"I can do any stunt going. Do you know what I did----"

"Just a second, Hervey. I'd like to see you get away with that stunt. "

"But I'm not asking you to keep me here, " Hervey said, giving hisstocking a hitch, "because I'm a good loser, I am. But I want you totell that fellow Slade--I used to think he was a friend of mine--I wantyou to tell him that I bobbed that dare. "

"Bobbed it?"

"Yes, that means put it back on him. "

Mr. Denny paused. 

"Why don't you tell him yourself, Hervey?"

"Because he doesn't have to believe me. "

"Has any one ever accused you of lying, Hervey?"

"Do you think I'd let anybody?"

"Hmm, well, I think you'd better bob that dare yourself. But of courseyou ought to follow it up with the stunt. "

"Oh, sure--only----"

"I'll give you the chance to do that. My sporting blood is up now----"

"That's just the way with me, " said Hervey; "that's where you and I arealike. "

"Yes. I think we'll have to put this fellow Slade where he belongs. "

"You leave that to me, " said Hervey. 

There was a pause of a few moments. The whole camp had turned in by nowand distant voices had ceased. A cricket chirped somewhere close by. Anacorn fell from a tree overhead and rolled down the roof of the troopcabin a few yards distant, the sound of its falling emphasized by thestillness. Hervey hitched up his stocking again. Mr. Denny watched him. Perhaps he was studying this wandering minstrel of his more closely thanever before. It may have been that the silence and isolation were onHervey's side. . . . 

"Anyway, you don't have to keep me here, because--and I didn't come backfor that. "

"Hervey, you spoke about a medal--the Gold Cross. You don't mean thesupreme heroism award, of course. Slade didn't try to lure you back withhints about such a thing?"

"Hanged if I know what he meant. "

"He sent a note after you? Have you it with you?"

"I made paper bullets out of it to shoot at lightning bugs on the wayhome. "

"Did he actually mention the Gold Cross?"

"I think he did--sure I never did anything to win that, you can bet. "

"No. And I think Slade adopted very questionable tactics to get youback. Doubtless his intentions were good----"

"I wouldn't let that fellow ruin _my_ young life--don't worry. "

"Well, you'd better turn in now, Hervey, and don't stay awake thinkingabout dares and stunts and awards. "

And indeed Hervey did not stay awake thinking of any such things, especially awards. In more than one tent and cabin on that Friday nightwere sleepless heads, tossing and visioning the morrow which would bringthem merit badges, and perhaps awards of higher honor--silver, bronze. . . . 

But the head of Hervey Willetts rested quietly and his sleep was sound. He took things as they came, as he had taken the letter out of Gilbert'shands. There was a mistake somewhere, or else Tom Slade had caught himand brought him back by a mean trick and a false promise. But he did nothold that against Tom. What he held against Tom was that Tom had madehim take a double dare. He knew he had done nothing to win so high anhonor as that golden treasure, so rare, so coveted. . . . What he had donewas already ancient history and forgotten. And it had no relation to theGold Cross. And so he slept peacefully. 

The thing that he most treasured was his decorated hat, and so that thismight not get away from him again, he kept it under his pillow. . . . 

CHAPTER XXXI

THE COURT IN SESSION

From his conversation with Tom, Mr. Denny knew (if indeed he had notknown it before) that the young assistant had a strong liking for thisbah, bah black sheep. He knew that Tom had been responsible for Hervey'slatest truancy and he believed that Tom, knowing that a little trick wasthe only way to bring Hervey back, might have played such a littletrick, then sent him up the hill to square himself. 

Mr. Denny was quite in sympathy with the stunt and double dare business, but he did not approve of trying to circumvent Hervey by dangling theGold Cross before his eyes. He was afraid that Hervey would not forgetthis and that the disappointment would be keen. As we know, Tom wasdead set against this kind of thing. Mr. Denny did not know that. But hedid know that Hervey was unfamiliar with the rigorous requirements forwinning the highest award, for most of the pages in Hervey's handbookhad been used to make torches and paper bullets. Mr. Denny was resolvedthat Tom Slade should not get away with such tactics unrebuked. He wasresolved to speak to the Honor Court about it in the morning. He wouldnot have one of his boys made the victim of vain hopes. . . . 

 * * * * *

Early in the morning, Tom took a little stroll with Robin Hood andimproved his acquaintance. Tom liked odd people as much as Hervey didand he found this unfortunate stranger rather interesting. One thing, inparticular, he learned from him which was of immediate interest to himand which Hervey, with characteristic heedlessness, had forgotten tomention. 

"I dare say we can dig you up something to do, " said Tom, "when the workon the dam gets started. That'll be in two or three days, I guess. Suppose you hang around. "

"I'd like to stay right here for the rest of the summer, " said theyoung fellow. "I'm out of luck and I'm all in. "

"France?" Tom queried. For soldiers out of luck were not uncommon incamp. 

"No, just hard luck; lost my grip, that's all. "

"Well, hang around and maybe you'll pull together. I've seen lots ofshell-shock; had it myself, in fact. "

"Oh, it's nothing like that. "

"Come in and see the Supreme Court in session, won't you? It's great. Wehave this twice during the summer. Reminds you of the League of Nationsin session. . . . H'lo, Shorty, what are you here for? More merit badges?"

Outside the main pavilion the choicest spirits of camp were loitering;Pee-wee Harris still working valiantly on the end of his breakfast, RoyBlakeley of the Silver Foxes, Bert Winton on from Ohio with the BengalTigers, and Brent Gaylong, leader of the Church Mice from Newburgh. Hewas a sort of scoutmaster and patrol leader rolled into one, was Brent, a lanky, slow moving fellow with a funny squint to his face, and a quietway of seeing the funny side of things. You had only to look at him tolaugh. 

"Tickets purchased from speculators not good, " he was saying. 

Inside, the place was half filled with scouts, with a sprinkling ofscoutmasters. The members of the resident Court of Honor were alreadyseated behind a table and business was going forward. Much had alreadybeen despatched. 

After a little while Mr. Denny came in and sat down. Other scoutmasterssauntered in, and scouts singly and in groups. One proud scout went outwith three new merit badges and was vociferously cheered outside. 

Another didn't quite make the pathfinder's badge; another the camp honorflag for good turns. Still another got the Life Scout badge, and so itwent. Honor jobs for the ensuing week were given out. There were manystrictly camp awards, not found in the handbook. The Temple Paddle wasawarded to a proud canoeist. Scouts came and went. Sometimes theinterest was keen and sometimes it lagged. 

Hervey Willetts came sauntering up from the boat landing, his hat at arakish angle, and trying to balance an oar-lock on his nose. He had anair of wandering aimlessly so that his arrival at the pavilion seemedquite a matter of chance. A morning song was on his lips:

 The life of a scout is sweet, is sweet, The rubbish he throws in the street, the street. He uses soft words, And he shoots all the birds; The life of a scout is sweet. 

Being a lone, blithe spirit, a kind of scout skylark as one might say, he had not many friends in camp. The rank and file laughed at him, wereamused at his naïve independence, and regarded him, not as a poor scout, but rather as not exactly a scout at all. They did not see enough ofhim; he flew too high. He was his own best companion. 

Consequently when he sauntered with a kind of whimsical assurance intothat exalted official conclave most of them thought that he had droppedin as he might have dropped into the lake. There was a little touch ofpathos, too, in the fact that the loiterers outside did not speak to himas he passed in. It was just that they did not know him well enough; hewas not one of them. He was the oddest of odd numbers, a stormy petrelindeed, and they did not know how to take him. 

So he was alone amid three hundred scouts. . . . 

CHAPTER XXXII

OVER THE TOP

Tom had waited patiently for Hervey to arrive. His propensity for _not_arriving had troubled Tom. But whether by chance or otherwise there hewas, and Tom lost no time in getting to his feet. 

"Before the court closes, " he said, "I want to ask to have a blankfilled out to be sent to the National Honor Court, on a claim for theGold Cross award. I would like to get it endorsed by the Local Councilto-day so it will get to National Headquarters Monday. "

You could have heard a pin drop in that room. The magic words Gold Crossbrought every whispering, dallying scout to attention. There was ageneral rustle of straightening up in seats. The continuous departingceased. Faces appeared at the open windows. 

_The Gold Cross. _

Mr. Denny looked at Tom. The young assistant, in his usual negligée, wasvery offhand and thoroughly at ease. He seemed to know what he wastalking about. All eyes were upon him. 

"If you want the detailed statements of the three witnesses written out, that can be done. But the National Court will take the recommendationwithout that if it's endorsed by the Local Council. That was done in thecase of Albert Nesbit, who won the Gold Cross here three years ago. I'drather do it that way. "

"What is the name, Mr. Slade?"

"Willetts--Hervey Willetts. You spell it with two T's. "

"This can be done without witnesses, on examination, Mr. Slade. "

"The winner isn't a good subject for examination, " said Tom; "I thinkthe witnesses would be better. "

"Just so. "

"I might say, " said Tom, "that this is the first chance I've had to tellabout this thing. On the night of the storm I sent Willetts from thecove and told him to catch the bus and stop it before it reached thebridge. I didn't think he could do it but I didn't say so. He had twomiles to go through the storm, running all the way. The wind was in hisface. Of course we all know what the storm was. His scoutmaster had toldhim not to leave camp. If this was an emergency then it comes underBy-law Twenty-seven. You'll have to decide that. It was on account ofthe flood I took him, not on account of the bus. The lake was runningout. "

"Did he reach the bus?" Mr. Fuller asked. 

"He reached the bus, but he doesn't know how. The last he remembered isthat he fell because his foot was caught in a hole. I don't know, nobodyknows how he did that thing. Here's a man who was in the woods thatnight and saw him. He met him about half way and says he was soexhausted and excited he couldn't speak. He told this man that he had to_hurry on to save some people's lives_. He meant the people in the bus. How he got from the place where he fell to the bus is a mystery. When hedid get there he couldn't speak, so he grabbed one of the horses. Hisfoot was wrenched and he was unconscious. 

"When they got him in the bus he muttered something and they thought hewas talking about his foot. It was the bridge he was talking about. Butwhat he said prompted Mr. Carroll to send another scout forward, and_he_ stopped the bus. That's all there is to it. He got there and itnearly killed him. Darby Curren, who is here to tell you, thought he wasa spook. 

"Now these three people, Mr. Hood, Darby Curren and Mr. Carroll, cantell you what they know about it. It's one of those cases where the realfacts didn't come out. Hervey Willetts saved the lives of twenty-twopeople at _grave danger_ to his own. That satisfies the handbook. Hedoesn't care four cents about the Gold Cross, but right is right, andI'm here to see that he gets it. Stand up, Hervey. Stand out in theaisle. " Suddenly Tom was seated. 

So there stood the wandering minstrel, alone. Even his champion was notin evidence. Nor was his troop there to share the glory with him. Hisscoutmaster was there, but he seemed too dazed to speak. And so thestormy petrel stood alone, as he would always stand alone. Because therewas no one like him. 

"Willetts is the name? Hervey Willetts?"

"I got a middle name, but I don't bother with it. "

"What troop?"

And so the cut and dried business, so strange and unattractive toHervey, of filling in the blank, went on. He did not greatly care forindoor sports. There was a lull in the general interest. Scouts beganlounging and whispering again. 

In that interval of restlessness, an observant person might havenoticed, sitting in the back part of the room, the rather ungainlyfigure of the tall fellow, Brent Gaylong, organizer of the Church Miceof Newburgh. He seemed to be the center of a clamoring, interested, little group. 

Roy Blakeley's brown, crinkly hair could be seen through the gaps madeby other heads. Gaylong's knees were up against the back of the seat infront of him, thus forming a sort of slanting desk, on which he held awriting tablet. His head was cocked sideways as if in humorous but sterncriticism of his own work. On somebody's suggestion he wrote somethingthen crossed it out. There were evidently too many cooks at the broth, but he was ludicrously patient and considerate, being no doubt chiefcook himself. There was something very funny about his calm, preoccupied demeanor amid that clamoring throng. The proceedings in theroom interested him not. 

Nor did the business interest many others now. There was a continuousdrift toward the door and the crowd of loiterers outside increased andbecame noisy. The wandering minstrel stood alone. 

The voice of the chairman droned on, "Hill cabin twenty-two. Right. Wewill talk with these gentlemen afterwards. It may be a week or twobefore you get this, Willetts. It has to come from the National Court ofHonor. Meanwhile, the Camp thanks you, and is proud of you, for yourextraordinary feat of heroism. It's most unusual----"

"Trust him for that, " some one interrupted. 

"I could run faster than that if I had sneaks, " said Hervey. 

"I'm afraid no one would have seen you at all, then, " said Mr. Carlson. 

"All you've got to do is double your fists and look through them and youcan see a mile. It's like opera glasses. "

[Illustration: "STAND UP, HERVEY. STAND OUT IN THE AISLE. " Tom Slade'sDouble Dare. Page 190]

"So? Well, let us shake hands with you, my boy. "

The next thing Hervey knew, Mr. Denny's arm was over his shoulder, whilewith his other hand he was shaking the hand of the young camp assistant. 

"That's all right, Mr. Denny, " said Tom. 

"Slade, I want you to know how much I respect you----"

"It's all in the day's work, Mr. Denny. "

"I want you to know that Hervey appreciates your friendship. You believehe----"

"I believe he's a wild Indian, " Tom laughed. "Or maybe a squirrel, huh?Hey, Hervey? On account of climbing. . . . You know, Mr. Denny, those arethe two things that can't be tamed, an Indian and a squirrel. You cantame a lion, but you can't tame a squirrel. "

Mr. Denny listened, smiling, all the while patting Hervey's shoulder. 

"Well, after all, who wants to tame a squirrel?" said he. 

 * * * * *

So these two lingered a few minutes to chat about lions and Indians andsquirrels and things. And that was Hervey's chance to get away. 

No admiring throng followed him out. His own troop was not there andknew nothing of his triumph. Probably he never thought of these things. A scoutmaster grabbed his hand and said, "Wonderful, my boy!" Herveysmiled and seemed surprised. 

Outside they were sitting around on railings and steps and squatting onthe grass. There was a little ripple of murmuring as he passed throughthe sprawling throng, but no one spoke to him. That was not because theydid not appreciate, but because he was _different_ and a stranger. Perhaps it was because they did not know just how to take him. He didn'texactly fit in. . . . 

His ambling course had taken him perhaps a hundred feet, when he heardsome one shout, "Let'er go!"

Before he realized it, his own favorite tune filled the air, they werehurling it straight at him and the voices were loud and clear, thoughthe words were strange. 

"_Everybody!_"

 "He's one little bully athlete, so fleet; At sprinting he's got us all beat, yes, beat. He can climb, he can stalk, He can win in a walk; He's a scout from his head to his feet-- THAT'S YOU. He's a scout from his head to his feet. "

He turned and stood stark still. Some of them, in the vehemence of theirsong, had risen and formed a little compact group. And again they sangthe verse, the words _THAT'S YOU_ pouring out of the throat of Pee-weeHarris like a thunderbolt. Hervey blinked. His eyes glistened. Throughtheir haze he could see the lanky figure of the tall fellow, BrentGaylong, sitting upon the fence, his feet propped up on the lower rail, a pair of shell spectacles half way down his nose, and waving a littlestick like the leader of an orchestra. He was very sober and lookedabsurdly funny. 

"Let him have the other one!" some one shouted. 

Gaylong rapped upon the fence with his little stick, and then gave it agraceful twirl which was an improvement on Sousa. 

The voices rose clear and strong:

 "We don't care a rap for the flings he springs; He doesn't mean half of the things he sings. We're all down and out When it comes to a scout That can run just as if he had wings and things. That can run just as if he had wings!"

If Hervey had waited as long on the log in the quicksand as he waitednow, there would have been no Gold Cross. But he could not move, hestood as one petrified, his eyes glistening. The wandering minstrel hadbeen caught by his own tune. 

"Over the top, " some one shouted. 

He was surrounded. 

 "That's you! That's you!"

they kept singing. He had never been caught in such a mix-up before. Hesaw them all crowding about him, saw Roy Blakeley's merry face and thesober face of Brent Gaylong, the spectacles still half way down his noseand the baton over his ear like a lead pencil. They took his hat, tossedit around, and handed it back to him. 

"No room on that for the Cross, " said Gaylong; "he'll have to pin it onhis stocking; combination Gold Cross and garter. Supremeheroism--keeping a stocking up----"

There was no getting out of this predicament. He could escape thequicksand but he couldn't escape this. He looked about as if to considerwhether he could make a leap over the throng. 

"Watch out or he'll pull a stunt, " one shouted. 

But there was really no hope for him. The wandering minstrel was caughtat last. And the funny part of the whole business was that he was caughtby one of his own favorite tunes. The tunes which had caught so manyothers. . . . 

CHAPTER XXXIII

QUESTIONS

Hervey had now no incentive to leave the vicinity of camp. Doubtless hecould have performed the great stunt without outside help (now that heknew it to be a stunt) but luck favored him as it usually did, and thenew work going forward in the cove was enough to occupy his undividedattention. 

He made his headquarters there and hobnobbed with civil engineers andlaborers in the true democratic spirit which was his. The consultingengineer they called him, which was odd, because Hervey never consultedanybody about anything. The men all liked him immensely. 

Another to benefit by the work on the new dam was Robin Hood, or Mr. Hood as he was respectfully called. He ran the flivver truck betweenthe camp and the cove, carrying stone, and also cement and supplieswhich came by the railroad. They had to cut a road from the main roadthrough to the cove. 

But one thing was not brought by the flivver, and that was the suctiondredge, a horrible monster, a kind of jumble of house and machinerywhich came on a big six-ton truck and was launched into the lake. Itswhole ramshackle bulk shook and shivered when it was in operationsucking the bottom of the lake up through a big pipe and shooting itthrough another long pipe which terminated on the land. Thus sand andgravel were secured and at the same time the lake was dredged by thismammoth vacuum cleaner. The pipeline which terminated on the shore wassupported on several floats a few yards apart, and the first scout toperform the stunt of walking on this pulsating thing was----

Guess. 

About a week after work on the dam had begun, Tom rode over to the coveon the truck with Robin Hood. He had struck up a friendship with thestranger and liked him, as every one did. The young man was quiet, industrious, intelligent. He did not encourage questions about himself, but Tom was the last one to criticise reticence. 

Moreover, labor was scarce and willing workers in demand. One thingwhich gave the young man favor in camp was his liking for the youngerboys, who frequently rode back and forth with him. 

"Well, it's beginning to look like a dam, isn't it?" Tom said, as theyrode along. "You won't be able to get much more stone up behind thepavilion. . . . The dam ought to raise the lake level about five or sixfeet, the engineers say. That'll mean moving a couple of the cabinsback. Storm was a good thing after all, huh?"

"I guess it will be remembered around these parts for a good manyyears, " Tom's companion said. 

"And you were out in the thick of it, " said Tom, in his usual cheeryway. "Up on the mountain it was terrible. "

"On the mountain? I was--I was just in the woods. It was bad enoughthere. "

He looked sideways at Tom, rather curiously. He liked Tom but he couldnever make up his mind about him. It always seemed to him, as indeed itseemed to others, that Tom's cheery, simple, offhand talk bespoke aknowledge of many things which he did not express. It was often hard todetermine what he was really thinking about. 

"I think I'll see that face whenever it storms, " Tom said. 

"What face?"

"Harlowe's; he was just staring up in the air. Ever see a person who hassuffered violent death, Hood?"

"Once. "

"Funny thing, did you ever hear how the eyes of a dead man reflect thelast thing he saw? I know over in France they often saw images in theeyes of dead soldiers. Near Toul, where I was stationed, they carried ina dead Frenchy and you could see an airplane in his eyes just as sure asday. "

"Did _you_--did you ever see anything like that?"

"Oh, sure. Ask any army surgeon or nurse. "

Hood did not seem altogether satisfied with the answer. He was clearlyperturbed. But he did not venture another question, and for a fewminutes neither spoke. 

"Another thing, too, speaking of France, " said Tom. "We could alwayspick out a fellow that came over from England as soon as they set him todriving an ambulance. He'd always go plunk over to the left side of theroad. You know they have to keep to the left over there instead of tothe right----"

"Yes, I know----" Hood began, and stopped short. 

"Been over there, eh?"

"I'm not English, but I lived there several years, and drove a car. "

"Yes?" Tom laughed. "Well, now, I just noticed how _you_ kept edgingover to the left. I didn't think anything about your coming fromEngland, but I just happened to notice it. Takes a long time to get ahabit out of your nut, doesn't it? People might say you were recklessand all that when really it would just be that habit that you couldn'tget away from. I've got so as I can tell a Pittsburgh scout, or aCanadian scout just from little things--little habits. "

"You're a pretty keen observer, " said Hood; "that about the eyes of adead person interests me. When you made that discovery up on themountain, do you mean----"

"Your engine isn't hitting on all four, Hood, " Tom interrupted. 

They both listened for a minute. 

"Guess not, " said the driver. 

"Wire off, maybe, " Tom suggested. 

Hood stopped the machine and got out. It would have been more like Tomto jump out and investigate for himself, especially since he had run theold truck long before Hood had ever seen it. But he did not do it. Instead, he remained seated. Hood was right, there was nothing whateverthe matter with the engine. He wondered how Tom could have thought therewas. 

Tom seemed not greatly interested until his companion climbed in, thenhe craned his neck out and looked down where Hood had been standing. 

"All right, " he finally said; "I was wrong, as usual. "

"I think you're usually right, " laughed Hood. 

Whatever the cause, Tom seemed thoughtful and preoccupied for the restof the journey. He whistled some, and that was a sign that he wasthinking. Once he seemed on the point of saying something. 

"Hood, do you----" he began. Then fell to whistling again. 

And so in a little while they came to the cove. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE MESSAGE

The altogether thrilling and extraordinary occurrence which is all thatremains to be told in this narrative, was witnessed by a dozen or morescouts. It happened, as deeds of heroic impulse always happen, suddenly, so that afterwards accounts differed as to just how the thing hadoccurred. There are always several versions of dramatic happenings. Buton one point all were agreed. It was the most conspicuous instance ofoutright and supreme heroism that Temple Camp had ever witnessed orknown. And because there was no scout award permissible in the occasion, the boys of camp, with fine inspiration, named the new dam after thehero, who with soul possessed challenged the most horrible monster ofwhich the human mind can conceive, threw his life into the balance withan abandon nothing less than sublime, and found his reward in the veryjaws of horrible and ghastly death. 

And the dam was well named, too, for it represented strength supersedingweakness. If you should ever visit Temple Camp you should end yourinspection in time to row across the lake in the cool of the twilight, when the sun has gone down behind the mountain, and take a look at_Robin Hood's Dam_. 

The scene was the usual morning scene. The slanting sifter was droppingits rain of dirt through the grating and sending the stones rollingdown. The mixer was revolving. A hundred feet or so from the shore theclumsy old dredge was drawing up sand from the bottom of the lake, andthe big pipeline running to shore was pulsating so that the floatssupporting it rocked in the water. At the end of this pipeline was a bigpile of wet sand from the lake. Men were carrying this sand off inwheelbarrows. 

A few of the scouts were busy at their favorite pastime of walking alongthis shaking pipeline to the dredge from which they would dive, thenswim to the nearest point on shore and proceed again as before. HerveyWilletts had been the Christopher Columbus to discover this endlesschain of pleasure and he had punctuated it with many incidental stunts. 

It was not altogether easy to walk on the trembling wet piping, butthose who did it were of course in bathing attire, and with bare feet itwas not so hard, once one got the hang of it. 

The sight of this merry procession proceeding on its endless roundproved too much for one pair of eyes that watched wistfully from theshore. One after another the dripping scouts came scrambling up out ofthe water, proceeded to the shore end of the pipeline, walked cautiouslyalong it, feet sideways, crossed the dredge, dived and presentlyappeared again. "_Follow your leader_" they were singing and it wasfunny to hear how they picked up the tune and got into time uponemerging. 

This kind of thing was hard to resist. It is hard not to dance when themusic is playing. There was an alluring fascination about it. 

Suddenly, to the consternation of every one, there was Goliath in theprocession, moving along the pipeline, keeping his foothold by franticgesticulations with his arms. He was laughing all over his little face. He swayed, he bent, he almost fell, he got his balance, almost lost it, got along a few steps, and then down he went with a splash into thewater. 

This climax of his wild enterprise occurred in a gap of the procession. Some scouts had fallen out, others were clambering out the other side ofthe dredge. So it happened that the splash was the first thing toattract attention. 

Goliath did not reappear and before any one had a chance to dive or knewjust where to dive, something was apparent, which sent a shudder throughTom Slade, who was standing near the end of the pipeline. The pouringforth of the wet sand out of the pipe ceased, or rather lessened and thesubstance shot out in little jerks. Tom, ever quick to see thesignificance of a thing, knew this for what it was. It was an awfulmessage from the bottom of the lake. 

Something was clogging up the suction pipe there. 

CHAPTER XXXV

THE HERO

This thing, as I said, all happened in a flash. There was shouting, there was running about. . . . 

"Stop the machinery!" some one yelled. 

"Reverse your engine!"

Tom felt himself thrust aside, lost his balance and fell into thedeposit of wet sand. The pouring out of this had ceased. 

"_Don't let him do that! He's crazy!_" some one shrieked. 

"Reverse the engine; he'll come up. Don't dive--you! You'll be chewed topieces. "

"Who dived?" said Tom, scrambling to his feet. 

"The body will come up when the suction stops. "

"Both bodies, you mean; that crazy fool dived. "

"They won't come up if they're wedged in. Keep her going--reversed. "

Everybody crowded to the shore and to the deck of the dredge. Thepulsating of the big line had ceased. Men shouted to do this, to dothat. Others contradicted. All eyes were upon the water. They crowdedeach other, watching, waiting. . . . 

Then a red spot appeared on the surface. It spread and grew lighter incolor as it mingled with the water. The watchers held theirbreath--gasped. The tension was terrible. 

Then (as I said, it all happened in a flash) a hand covered with bloodreached up and tried to grasp the nearest float. It disappeared, but TomSlade had seen it and, jumping to the float, he reached down. 

"I've got him--keep back--you'll sink the float----"

"Don't let go. "

It was not in the nature of Tom Slade to let go. 

Presently a ghastly face with red stained hair streaming over it, appeared. 

"Let me take him, " said Tom. 

But the man with bleeding, mangled shoulder would not give up what heheld, as in a grip of iron, with his other arm. 

And so Tom Slade dragged the wounded creature up onto the float andthere he lay in a pool of blood, still clinging to his burden. 

The little boy was safe. He opened his eyes and looked about. His facewas smeared with mud, one of his shoes was gone, his foot seemed to betwisted. It was all too plain that he had been _within_ the suctionpipe, within the devouring jaws of that monster serpent, when hisfrantic rescuer had dragged him back. But he was safe. 

His rescuer was utterly crazed. Yet he seemed to know Tom. 

"Safe--alive----" he muttered. 

"Yes, he's safe; lie still. Get the doctor, some of you fellows--quick. "

"Send, send--them away--all. You know--do you--I'm square--yes?"

"Surely, " said Tom soothingly. "Lie still. "

"He's alive?"

"Yes. "

"Listen, come close. I'll tell _you_--now. I _murdered_ a kidonce--now--now I've--I've saved one----"

"Shh. It's the same one, Harlowe. "

"You--you know?"

"Yes, I know. We'll talk about it after. Hold your headstill--quiet--that's right. Don't think about it now. Shh--I think yourarm is broken; don't move it. "

"I--I--killed----"

"No, you never killed any one. Lie still--please. I know all about it. We can't talk about it now. _But you never killed any one_, rememberthat. "

"You know I'm Harlowe?"

"Yes. Don't talk. That was little Willie Corbett you saved. Now don'task me any more now; _please_. You don't think I'm a liar, do you? Well, I'm telling you you never killed _anybody_. See? You're not a murderer, you're a hero. I know all about it. . . . Lie still, that's right. . . . Don'tmove your arm. . . . "

CHAPTER XXXVI

Harlowe's Story

Aaron Harlowe was lying on his cot in the little rustic hospital atTemple Camp. It was worth being sick to lie in that hospital. It wasjust a log cabin. The birds sang outside of it, you could hear thebreeze blowing in the trees, you could hear the ripple of paddles on thelake. 

Tom Slade sat upon the side of the cot. 

"You see when I found the map, I knew you had gone up the mountain. AndI didn't think you'd go up there unless there was some one up there thatyou knew. The light was up there before you went up. Now that you tellme you went up there to hide with that friend of yours, everything fitstogether. I knew there must have been two of you up there, because I sawyour footprint. You have a patch on the sole of your shoe and the deadman didn't. See? When I asked you to get out of the auto it was justbecause I wanted to see your footprint. Your always getting over to theleft hand side of the road made me a little suspicious. Footprints don'tlie and that clinched it. "

"But did you see my image in the eyes of the dead man?" Harlowe askedweakly. 

"I saw an image of a man; I couldn't tell it was you. But I knew someone else had been there. Do you feel like telling me the rest now? Orwould you rather wait. "

"You seem to know it all, " Harlowe smiled. It was pleasant to see thatsmile upon his pale, thin face. 

"It isn't what you _know_, it's what you _do_ that counts, " said Tomsoftly. "And see what _you_ did. Talk about heroism!"

It was from the desultory talk which followed that Tom was able to pieceout the story, the mystery of which he had already penetrated. Harlowe, in fear of capture after his supposed killing of the child, had soughtrefuge in the hunting shack of his friend upon the mountain. There thetwo had lived till the night of the storm. When Harlowe's friend hadbeen crushed under the tree, Harlowe had bent over him to make sure thathe was dead. It was then, in the blinding storm, that his license cardshad fallen out of his pocket and, by the merest chance, on the open coatof the dead man. 

Harlowe said that after that he had intended to give himself up, butthat when he read that _Harlowe_ had been discovered, and no doubtburied, he had resolved to let his crime and all its consequences beburied with the dead man, who like himself was without relations. 

But Harlowe's conscience had not been buried, and it was in a kind ofmad attempt to square himself before Heaven, and still the voice of thatsilent, haunting accuser, that he had performed the most signal act ofheroism and willing sacrifice ever known at Temple Camp. 

As Tom Slade emerged after his daily call on the convalescent, a songgreeted his ear and he became aware of Hervey Willetts, hat, stockingand all, coming around the edge of the cooking shack. He was caroling averse of his favorite ballad:

 "The life of a scout is kind, is kind, His handbook he never can find, can find. He don't bother to look, In the little handbook. The life of a scout is kind. "

"Hunting for your handbook, Hervey?"

"I should fret out my young life about the handbook. "

"Walking my way?"

"Any way, I'm not particular. "

"Cross come yet?"

"I haven't seen it. Do you think it would look good on my hat?"

"Why, yes, " Tom laughed. "Only be sure to pin it on upside down. "

"Why?"

"Why, because then when you're standing on your head, it'll be rightside up. See?"

"Good idea. I guess I will, hey?"

"Sure, I--I _double dare_ you to, " said Tom. 

END