[Illustration: TOM HAULED THE LOGS BY MEANS OF A BLOCK AND FALL. Tom Slade at Black Lake--Frontispiece (Page 96)]

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TOM SLADE AT BLACK LAKE

ByPERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author ofTHE TOM SLADE AND THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

Illustrated byHOWARD L. HASTINGS

Published with the approval ofTHE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA

GROSSET & DUNLAPPublishers--New York

Made in the United States of America

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Copyright, 1920, by GROSSET & DUNLAP

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PREFACE. 

Several persons have asked me when Tom Slade was ever going to grow upand cease to be a Scout. The answer is that he is already grown up andthat he is never going to cease to be a Scout. Once a Scout, always aScout. To hear some people talk one would think that scouting is likethe measles; that you get over it and never have it any more. 

Scouting is not a thing to play with, like a tin steam-engine, and thento throw aside. If you once get caught in the net of scouting, you willnever disentangle yourself. A fellow may grow up and put on longtrousers and go and call on a girl and all that sort of thing, but if hewas a Scout, he will continue to be a Scout, and it will stick out allover him. You'll find him back in the troop as assistant or scoutmasteror something or other. 

I think Tom Slade is a very good example. He left the troop to go andwork on a transport; he got into the motorcycle messenger service; hebecame one of the greatest daredevils of the air; he came home quite"grown up" as you would say, and knuckled down to be a big business man. 

Then, when it came to a show down, what did he do? He found out that hewas just a plain Scout, shouldered his axe, and went off and did a bigscout job all alone. So there you are. 

I am sorry for those who would have him too old for scouting, and whoseem to think that a fellow can lay aside all he has learned in thewoods and in the handbook, the same as he can lay aside his shorttrousers. It isn't as easy as all that. 

Did you suppose that Tom Slade was going to get acquainted with nature, with the woods and streams and trees, and make them his friends, andthen repudiate these friends?

Do you think that a Scout is a quitter?

Tom Slade was always a queer sort of duck, and goodness only knows whathe will do next. He may go to the North Pole for all I know. But onething you may be sure of; he is still a Scout of the Scouts, and if youthink he is too old to be a Scout, then how about Buffalo Bill?

The fact is that Tom is just beginning to reap the real harvest ofscouting. The best is yet to come, as Pee-wee Harris usually observes, just before dessert is served at dinner. If it is any satisfaction toyou to know it, Tom is more of a Scout than at any time in his career, and there is a better chance of his being struck by lightening than hisdrifting away from the troop whose adventures you have followed withhis. 

It is true that Tom has grown faster than his companions and found itnecessary to go to work while they are still at school. And this verycircumstance will enable us to see what scouting has done for him. 

Indeed if I could not show you that, then all of those eight stores ofhis adventures would have been told to little purpose. The chief matterof interest about a trail is where it leads to. It may be an easy trailor a hard trail, but the question is, where does it go to?

It would be a fine piece of business, I think, to leave Tom sitting on arock near the end of the trail without giving you so much as a glimpseof what is at the end of it. 

So you may tell your parents and your teachers and your uncles and youraunts not to worry about Tom Slade never growing up. He is just a trifleover eighteen years old and very strong and husky. Confidentially, Ilook upon him as nothing but a kid. I keep tabs on his age and when hehas to go on crutches and is of no more interest to you, I shall be thefirst to know it. He is likely to have no end of adventures betweeneighteen and twenty. 

Meanwhile, don't worry about him. He's just a big overgrown kid and thebest Scout this side of Mars. 

P. K. F. 

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 CONTENTS

 CHAPTER PAGE

 I. Tom Looks at the Map 1 II. He Sends a Letter 5 III. The New Struggle 10 IV. "Lucky Luke" 16 V. About Seeing a Thing Through 24 VI. "The Woods Property" 29 VII. Just Nonsense 35 VIII. Five, Six, and Seven 45 IX. Roy's Nature 52 X. Tom Receives a Surprise 55 XI. Tom and Roy 59 XII. The Long Trail 66 XIII. Roy's Trail 73 XIV. The Really Hard Part 76 XV. A Letter From Barnard 80 XVI. The Episode in France 86 XVII. On the Long Trail 94XVIII. Tom Lets the Cat Out of the Bag 101 XIX. The Spectre of Defeat 106 XX. The Friend in Need 110 XXI. Tom's Guest 117 XXII. An Accident 122 XXIII. Friends 132 XXIV. Tom Goes on an Errand 138 XXV. Two Letters 147 XXVI. Lucky Luke's Friend 152 XXVII. Thornton's Story 158XXVIII. Red Thornton Learns Something About Scouts 170 XXIX. Tom Starts for Home 176 XXX. The Troop Arrives 182 XXXI. Archer 193 XXXII. Tom Loses 197

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TOM SLADE AT BLACK LAKE

CHAPTER I

TOM LOOKS AT THE MAP

Tom Slade, bending over the office table, scrutinized the big map ofTemple Camp. It was the first time he had really looked at it since hisreturn from France, and it made him homesick to see, even in its coldoutlines, the familiar things and scenes which he had so loved as ascout. The hill trail was nothing but a dotted line, but Tom knew it formore than that, for it was along its winding way into the dark recessesof the mountains that he had qualified for the pathfinder's badge. BlackLake was just an irregular circle, but in his mind's eye he saw therethe moonlight glinting up the water, and canoes gliding silently, andheard the merry voices of scouts diving from the springboard at itsedge. 

He liked this map better than maps of billets and trenches, and to himthe hill trail was more suggestive of adventure than the HindenburgLine. He had been very close to the Hindenburg Line and it had meant nomore to him than the equator. He had found the war to be like athree-ringed circus--it was too big. Temple Camp was about the rightsize. 

Tom reached for a slip of paper and laying it upon the map just wherethe trail went over the hilltop and off the camp territory altogether, jotted down the numbers of three cabins which were indicated by littlesquares. 

"They're the only three together and kind of separate, " he said tohimself. 

Then he went over to the window and gazed out upon the busy scene, whichthe city office of Temple Camp overlooked. He did this, not becausethere was anything there which he wished particularly to see, butbecause he contemplated doing something and was in some perplexityabout it. He was going to dictate a letter to Miss Margaret Ellison, thestenographer. 

Tom had seen cannons and machine guns and hand grenades and depth bombs, but the thing in all this world that he was most afraid of was the longsharply pointed pencil which Miss Margaret Ellison always held poisedabove her open note book, waiting to record his words. Tom had alwaysfallen down at the last minute and told her what he wanted to say;suggesting that she say it in her own sweet way. He did not say _sweet_way, though he may have thought it. 

So now he stood at the open window looking down upon Bridgeboro'ssurging thoroughfare, while the breath of Spring permeated the TempleCamp office. If he had been less susceptible of this gentle influence inthe very air, he would still have known it was Spring by the things inthe store windows across the way--straw hats and hammocks and tennisrackets. There were moving vans, too, with furniture bulging out behindthem, which are just as certain signs of merry May as the flowers thatbloom in the Spring. There was something too, in the way that the sunmoved down which bespoke Spring. 

But the surest sign of all was the flood of applications for cabinaccommodations at Temple Camp; that was just as sure and reliable as thefirst croaking of the frogs or the softening of the rich, thick mud inBarrel Alley, where Tom had spent his childhood. 

He moved over to where Miss Margaret Ellison sat at her machine. Mr. Burton, manager of the Temple Camp office, had told Tom that the onlyway to acquire confidence and readiness of speech was to formulate whathe wished to say and to say it, without depending on any one else, andto this good advice, Peewee Harris, mascot of Tom's Scout Troop had madethe additional suggestion, that it was good to say it whether you hadanything to say or not, on the theory, I suppose, that if you cannotshoot bullets, it is better to shoot blank cartridges than nothing atall. 

CHAPTER II

HE SENDS A LETTER

"Help him, but encourage him to be self-confident; let him takeresponsibilities. He understands everything well enough; all he needs isto get a grip on himself. " That is what Mr. Burton had told MargaretEllison, and Margaret Ellison, being a girl, understood better than allthe army surgeons in the country. 

You see how it was; they had made a wreck of Tom Slade's nerves as atrifling incidental to making the world safe for democracy. He startedat every little noise, he broke down in the middle of his talk, hehesitated to cross the street alone, he shuddered at the report of abursting tire on some unlucky auto. He had never been at ease in thepresence of girls, and he was now less at ease than before he had goneaway. 

He had fought for nearly two years and Uncle Sam liked him so much thathe could not bring himself to part company with him, until by hook orcrook, Mr. Burton and Mr. Temple managed to get him discharged and puthim in the way of finding himself at his old job in Temple Camp office. It was a great relief to him not to have to salute lieutenants any more. The shot and shell he did not mind, but his arm was weary with salutinglieutenants. It was the dream of Tom Slade's life never to see anotherlieutenant as long as he lived. 

He leaned against the table near Miss Margaret Ellison and said, "I--Iwant--I have to send a letter to a troop that's in Ohio--in a placecalled--called Dansburg. Shall I dic--shall I say what I want to tellthem?"

"Surely, " she said cheerily. 

"Maybe if it isn't just right you can fix it up, " he said. 

"You say it just the way you want to, " she encouraged him. 

"It's to the Second Dansburg Troop and the name of the scoutmaster isWilliam Barnard, " Tom said, "and this is what I want to say. . . . "

"Yes, say it in your own words, " she reminded him. 

"We got--I mean received, " he dictated hesitatingly, "your letter and wecan give you--can give you--three cabins--three cabins together and kindof separate like you say--numbers five, six, and seven. They are on thehill and separate, and we hope to hear from you--soon--because there arelots of troops asking for cabins, because now the season is beginning. Yours truly. "

"Is that all right?" he asked rather doubtfully. 

"Surely it is, " she said; "and don't forget what Mr. Burton told youabout going home early and resting. Remember, Mr. Burton is yoursuperior officer now. "

"Are you going home soon?" he asked her. 

"Not till half-past five, " she said. 

He hesitated as if he would like to say something more, then retreatingrather clumsily, he got his hat and said good-night, and left theoffice. 

The letter which he had dictated was not laid upon Mr. Burton's desk forsignature in exactly the phraseology which Tom had used, but Tom neverknew that. This is the way the letter read:

 MR. WILLIAM BARNARD, Scoutmaster, Second Dansburg Troop, Dansburg, Ohio. 

 DEAR SIR:

 Replying to your letter asking for accommodations for your three patrols for month of August, we can assign you three cabins (Numbers, 5, 6 and 7) covering that time. These are in an isolated spot, as you requested, being somewhat removed from the body of the camp. 

 Circular of rates and particulars is enclosed. Kindly answer promptly, as applications are numerous. 

 Yours truly, The letter went out that night, and as it happened, a very considerableseries of adventures resulted. 

Perhaps if Margaret Ellison had looked at the map or even stopped tothink, she would have consulted with Tom before typing that letter, which was the cause of such momentous consequences. As for Mr. Burton, he knew that Tom knew the camp like A. B. C. And he simply signed hisname to the letter and let it go at that. 

CHAPTER III

THE NEW STRUGGLE

Tom did as he had promised Mr. Burton he would do; he went home and laydown and rested. It was not much of a home, but it was better than adugout. That is, it was cleaner though not very much larger. But therewere no lieutenants. 

It was a tiny hall-room in a boarding house, and the single windowafforded a beautiful view of back fences. It was all the home that TomSlade knew. He had no family, no relations, nothing. 

He had been born in a tenement in Barrel Alley, where his mother haddied and from which his good-for-nothing father had disappeared. For awhile he had been a waif and a hoodlum, and by strict attention to thecode of Barrel Alley's gang, he had risen to be king of the hoodlums. No one, not even Blokey Mattenburg himself, could throw a rock into atrolley car with the precision of Tom Slade. 

Then, on an evil day, he was tempted to watch the scouts and it provedfatal. He was drawn head over ears into scouting, and became leader ofthe new Elk Patrol in the First Bridgeboro Troop. For three seasons hewas a familiar, if rather odd figure, at Temple Camp, which Mr. JohnTemple of Bridgeboro had founded in the Catskills, and when he was oldenough to work it seemed natural that these kindly gentlemen who had hiswelfare at heart, should put him into the city office of the camp, whichhe left to go to war, and to which he had but lately returned, sufferingfrom shell-shock. 

He was now eighteen years old, and though no longer a scout in theordinary sense, he retained his connection with the troop in capacity ofassistant to Mr. Ellsworth, the troop's scoutmaster. 

He had been rather older than the members of this troop when he made hisspectacular leap from hoodlumism to scouting, and hence while they werestill kicking their heels in the arena he had, as one might say, passedoutside it. 

But his love for the boys and their splendid scoutmaster who had givenhim a lift, was founded upon a rock. The camp and the troop room hadbeen his home, the scouts had been his brothers, and all the simpleassociations of his new life were bound up with these three patrols. 

Perhaps it was for this reason that among these boys, all younger thanhimself, and with whom he had always mingled on such familiar terms, heshowed but few, and those not often, of the distressing symptoms whichbespoke his shattered nerves. Among them he found refuge and was atpeace with himself. 

And the boys, intent upon their own pursuits, knew nothing of the bravestruggle he was making at the office where his days were spent, and inthe poor little shabbily furnished room where he would lie down on hisiron bed and try to rest and forget the war and not hear the noisesoutside. 

How he longed for Friday nights when the troop met, and when he couldforget himself in those diverting games!

Since the first few days of his return from France, he had seen butlittle of the troop, except upon those gala nights. The boys were inschool and he at the office, and it seemed as if their two ways hadparted, after all his hopes that his return might find them reunited andmore intimate than ever before. But after the first joyous welcome, ithad not been so. It could not be so. 

Of course, if they had known how he loved to just sit and listen to themjolly the life out of Peewee Harris, they would doubtless have arrangedto do this every night for his amusement, for it made no difference tothem how much they jollied Peewee. If they had had the slightest inklingthat it helped him just to listen to Roy Blakeley's nonsense, they wouldprobably have arranged with Roy for a continuous performance, for so faras Roy was concerned, there was no danger of a shortage of nonsense. Butyou see they did not think of these things. 

They did much for wounded soldiers, but Tom Slade was not a woundedsoldier. And so it befell that the very thing which he most needed wasthe thing he did not have, and that was just the riot of banter andabsurdity which they called their meetings. At all this he would justsit and smile and forget to interlace his fingers and jerk his head. Andsometimes he would even laugh outright. 

I am afraid that everything was managed wrong from the first. It wouldhave been better if Mr. Burton or Mr. Ellsworth or somebody or other hadtold the troop the full truth about Tom's condition. I suppose theyrefrained for fear the boys would stare at him and treat him as onestricken, and thereby, perhaps make his struggle harder. 

At all events, it was hard enough. And little they knew of this new andfrightful war that he was struggling through with all the power of hisbrave, dogged nature. Little they knew how he lay awake night afternight, starting at every chime of the city's clock, of how he did thebest he could each day, waiting and longing for Friday night, hoping, _hoping_ that Peewee and Roy would surely be there. Poor, distracted, shell-shocked fighter that he was, he was fighting still, and they werehis only hope and they did not know it. No one knew it. He would not letthem know. 

For that was Tom Slade. 

CHAPTER IV

"LUCKY LUKE"

Next morning Tom had his breakfast in a dingy little restaurant and thenstarted along Terrace Avenue for the bank building, in which was theTemple Camp office. 

He still wore the shabby khaki uniform which had seen service at thefront. He was of that physique called thick-set and his face was of thesquare type, denoting doggedness and endurance, and a stolidtemperament. 

There had never been anything suggestive of the natty or agile about himwhen he had been a scout, and army life, contrary to its reputation, hadnot spruced and straightened him up at all. He was about as awkwardlooking as a piece of field artillery, and he was just about as reliableand effective. He was not built on the lines of a rifle, but rather onthe lines of a cannon, or perhaps of a tank. His mouth was long and hislips set tight, but it twitched nervously at one end, especially when hewaited at the street crossing just before he reached the bank building, watching the traffic with a kind of fearful, bewildered look. 

Twice, thrice, he made the effort to cross and returned to his place onthe curb, interlacing his fingers distractedly. And yet this youngfellow had pushed through barbed wire entanglements and gone across NoMan's Land, without so much as a shudder in the very face of hostilefire. 

He always dreaded this street corner in the mornings and was thankfulwhen he was safe up in his beloved Temple Camp office. If he had been oncrutches some grateful citizen would have helped him across, andpatriotic young ladies would have paused to watch the returned hero andsome one might even have removed his hat in the soldier's presence; forthey did those things--for a while. 

But such honors were only for those who were fortunate enough to havehad a leg or an arm shot off or to have been paralyzed. For the hero whohad had his nerves all shot to pieces there were no such spontaneoustributes. 

And that was the way it had always been with Tom Slade. He had alwaysmade good, but somehow, the applause and the grateful tributes had goneto others. Nature had not made him prepossessing and he did not know howto talk; he was just slow and dogged and stolid, like a British tank, asI said, and just about as homely. You could hardly expect a girl to makemuch fuss over a young fellow who is like a British tank, when there areyoung fellows like shining machine guns, and soaring airplanes--to saynothing of poison gas. 

And after two years of service in the thick of danger, with bombs andbullets flying all about him; after four months' detention in an enemyprison camp and six weeks of trench fever, to say nothing of frightfulrisks, stolidly ignored, in perilous secret missions, this young chunkof the old rock of Gibraltar had come home with his life, just becauseit had pleased God not to accept the proffer of it, and because Fritzieshot wild where Tom was concerned. He couldn't help coming back with hislife--it wasn't his fault. It was just because he was the same old LuckyLuke, that's all. 

That had been Roy Blakeley's name for him--Lucky Luke; and he had beenknown as Lucky Luke to all of his scout comrades. 

You see it was this way: if Tom was going to win a scout award byfinding a certain bird's nest in a certain tree, when he got to theplace he would find that the tree had been chopped down. Once he wasgoing to win the pathfinder's badge by trailing a burglar, and hetrailed him seven miles through the woods and found that the burglar washis own good-for-nothing father. So he did not go back and claim theaward. You see? Lucky Luke. 

Once (oh, this happened several years before) he helped a boy in hispatrol to become an Eagle Scout. It was the talk of Temple Camp how, one more merit badge (astronomy) and Will O'Connor would be an EagleScout and Tom Slade, leader of the Elks, would have the only Eagle Scoutat Camp in his patrol. He didn't care so much about being an Eagle Scouthimself, but he wanted Will O'Connor to be an Eagle Scout; he wanted tohave an Eagle Scout in his patrol. 

Then, just before Will O'Connor qualified for the Astronomy Badge, hewent to live with his uncle in Cincinnati and the Buffalo Patrol of theThird Cincinnati Troop pretty soon had an Eagle Scout among theirnumber, and the Cincinnati troop got its name into _Scouting_ and _Boy'sLife_. Lucky Luke!

It was characteristic of Tom Slade that he did not show anydisappointment at this sequel of all his striving. Much less had he anyjealousy, for he did not know there was such a word in the dictionary. He just started in again to make Bert McAlpin an Eagle Scout and when hehad jammed Bert through all the stunts but two, Uncle Sam deliberatelywent into the war and Tom started off to work on a transport. So you seehow it worked out; Connie Bennett, new leader of the Elks presently hadan Eagle Scout in his patrol and Tom got himself torpedoed. Mind, Idon't say that Uncle Sam went into the war just to spite Tom Slade. Thepoint is that Tom Slade didn't get anything, except that he gottorpedoed. 

One thing he did win for himself as a scout and that was the Gold Crossfor life saving, but he didn't know how to wear it, and it was MargaretEillson who pinned it on for him properly. I think she had a sneakingliking for Tom. 

Poor Tom, sometime or other in his stumbling career he had probablygotten out of the wrong side of his bed, or perhaps he was born on aFriday. That was what Roy and the scouts always said. 

And so you see, here he was back from the big scrap with nothing to showfor it but a case of shell-shock, and you don't have bandages orcrutches for shell-shock. There was young Lieut. Rossie Bent who workeddownstairs in the bank, who had come home with two fingers missing andall of the girls had fallen at his feet and Tom had had to salute him. But there was nothing missing about Tom--except his wits and his grip onhimself, sometimes. 

But no one noticed this particularly, unless it was Mr. Burton andMargaret Ellison, and certainly no one made a fuss over him on accountof it. Why should anybody make a hero of a young fellow just because heis not quite sure of himself in crossing the street, and because hismouth twitches? Boy scouts are both observant and patriotic, but theycould not see that there was anything _missing_ about Tom. All they hadnoticed was that in resuming his duties at the office he had seemed tobe drifting away from them--from the troop. And when he came on Fridaynights, just to sit and hear Roy jolly Peewee and to enjoy their simplenonsense, they thought he was "different since he had come back fromFrance"--perhaps just a little, you know, _uppish_. 

It would have been a lucky thing for Tom, and for everybody concerned, if Mr. Ellsworth, scoutmaster, had been at home instead of away on abusiness trip; for he would have understood. 

But of course, things couldn't have gone that way--not with Lucky Luke. 

CHAPTER V

ABOUT SEEING A THING THROUGH

But there was one lucky thing that Tom had done, once upon a time. Hehad hit Pete Connegan plunk on the head with a rotten tomato. 

That was before the war; oh, long, long before. It was a young war allby itself. It happened when Tom was a hoodlum and lived with his drunkenfather in Barrel Alley. And in that little affair Tom Slade made astand. Filthy little hoodlum that he was, instead of running when PeteConnegan got down out of his truck and started after him, he turned andcompressed his big mouth and stood there upon his two bare feet, waiting. It was Tom Slade all over--Barrel Alley or No Man's Land--_hedidn't run_. 

The slime of the tomato has long since been washed off Pete Connegan'sface and the tomato is forgotten. But the way that Tom Slade stood therewaiting--that meant something. It was worth all the rotten tomatoes inSchmitt's Grocery, where Tom had "acquired" that particular one. 

"Phwat are ye standin' there for?" Pete had roared in righteous fury. Probably he thought that at least Tom might have paid him that tributeof respect of fleeing from his wrath. 

"'Cause I ain't a goin' ter run, that's why, " Tom had said. 

Strange to relate, Pete Connegan did not kill him. For a moment he stoodstaring at his ragged assailant and then he said, "Be gorry, ye got somenerve, annyhow. "

"If I done a thing I'd see it through, I would; I ain't scared, " Tom hadanswered. 

"If ye'll dance ye'll pay the fiddler, hey?" his victim had asked inundisguised admiration. . . . 

Oh well, it was all a long time ago and the only points worthremembering about it are that Tom Slade didn't run, that he was readyto see the thing through no matter if it left him sprawling in thegutter, and that he and the burly truck driver had thereafter been goodfriends. Now Tom was an ex-scout and a returned soldier and Pete wasjanitor of the big bank building. 

He was sweeping off the walk in front of the bank as Tom passed in. 

"Hello, Tommy boy, " he said cheerily. "How are ye these days?"

"I'm pretty well, " Tom said, in the dull matter-of-fact way that he had, "only I get mixed up sometimes and sometimes I forget. "

"Phwill ye evver fergit how you soaked me with the tomater?" Pete asked, leaning on his broom. 

"It wasn't hard, because I was standing so near, " Tom said, alwaysanxious to belittle his own skill. 

"Yer got a mimory twinty miles long, " Pete said, by way of discountingTom's doubts of himself. "I'm thinkin' ye don't go round with the scoutboys enough. "

"I go Friday nights, " Tom said. 

"Fer why don't ye go up ter Blakeley's?"

"I don't know, " Tom said. 

"That kid is enough ter make annybody well, " Pete said. 

"His folks are rich, " Tom said. 

That was just it. He was an odd number among these boys and he knew it. Fond of them as he had always been, and proud to be among them, he hadalways been different, and he knew it. It was the difference betweenBarrel Alley and Terrace Hill. He knew it. It had not counted for somuch when he had been a boy scout with them; good scouts that they were, they had taken care of that end of it. But, you see, he had gone away ascout and come back not only a soldier, but a young man, and he couldnot (even in his present great need) go to Roy's house, or GroveBronson's house, or up to the big Bennett place on just the samefamiliar terms as before. They thought he didn't want to when in fact hedidn't know how to. 

"Phwen I hurd ye wuz in the war, " Pete said, "I says ter meself, Isays, 'that there lad'll make a stand. ' I says it ter me ould woman. Isays, says I, 'phwat he starts he'll finish if he has ter clane up thewhole uv France. ' That's phwat I said. I says if he makes a bull he'llturrn the whole wurrld upside down to straighten things out. I got yernumber all roight, Tommy. Get along witcher upstairs and take the adviceof Doctor Pete Connegan--get out amongst them kids more. "

I dare say it was good advice, but the trouble was that Lucky Luke wasprobably born on a Friday, and there was no straightening _that_ out. 

As to whether he would turn the world upside down to straighten out somelittle error, perhaps Pete was right there, too. Roy Blakeley had oncesaid that if Tom dropped his scout badge out of a ten-story window, he'djump out after it. Indeed that _would_ have been something like Tom. 

Anyway the saying was very much like Roy. 

CHAPTER VI

"THE WOODS PROPERTY"

When Tom reached the office he took a few matters in to Mr. Burton. 

"Well, how are things coming on?" his superior asked him cheerily. "Getting back in line, all right? This early spring weather ought to bea tonic to an old scout like you. Here--here's a reminder of spring andcamping for you. Here's the deed for the woods property at last--ahundred and ninety acres more for Temple Camp. We'll be as big as NewYork pretty soon, when we get some of that timber down, and some newcabins up. 

"I'm glad we got it, " Tom said. 

"Well, I should hope, " Mr. Burton came back at him. "That's off theArcher farm, you know. Gift from Mr. Temple. Runs right up to the peakof the hill--see?"

Tom looked at the map of the new Temple Camp property, which almostdoubled the size of the camp and at the deed which showed the latestgenerous act of the camp's benevolent founder. 

"Next summer, if we have the price, we'll put up a couple of dozen newcabins on that hill and make a bid for troops from South Africa andChina; what do you say? This should be put in the safe and, let's see, here are some new applications--Michigan, Virginia--Temple Camp isgetting some reputation in the land. "

"I had an application from Ohio yesterday, " Tom said; "a three-patroltroop. I gave them the cabins on the hill. They're a season troop. "

Mr. Burton glanced suddenly at Tom, then began whistling and drumminghis fingers on the desk. He seemed on the point of saying something inthis connection, but all he did say was, "You find pleasure andrelaxation in the work, Tom?"

"It's next to camping to be here, " Tom said. 

"Well, that's what I thought, " Mr. Burton said encouragingly. "You mustgo slow and take it easy and pretty soon you'll be fit and trim. "

"I got to thank you, " Tom said with his characteristic blunt simplicity. 

"I don't know what we should do in the spring rush without your familiarknowledge of the camp, Tom, " Mr. Burton said. 

"I think he thinks more of the office than he does of the scouts, "Margaret ventured to observe. She was sitting alongside Mr. Burton'sdesk awaiting his leisure, and Tom was standing awkwardly close by. 

"I suppose it's because they don't grow fast enough, " Mr. Burtonlaughed; "they can't keep up with him. To my certain knowledge youngPeewee, as they call him, hasn't grown a half an inch in two years. Itisn't because he doesn't eat, either, because I observed him personallywhen I visited camp. "

"Oh, he eats _terrifically_, " Margaret said. 

"I like the troop better than anything else, " Tom said. 

"Well, I guess that's right, Tom, " Mr. Burton observed; "old friends arethe best. "

He gathered up an armful of papers and handed them to Tom who went abouthis duties. 

The day was long and the routine work tedious. The typewriter machinerattled drowsily and continuously on, telling troops here and there thatthey could have camp accommodations on this or that date. Tom pored overthe big map, jotting down assignments and stumblingly dictated briefletters which Miss Ellison's readier skill turned out in improved form. 

He was sorry that it was not Friday so that he might go to troop meetingthat night. It was only Tuesday and so there were three long, barrennights ahead of him, and to him they seemed like twenty nights. All thenext day he worked, making a duplicate of the big map for use at thecamp, but his fingers were not steady and the strain was hard upon hiseyes. He went home (if a hall-room in a boarding house may be calledhome) with a splitting headache. 

On Wednesday he worked on the map and made the last assignment of tentaccommodations. Temple Camp was booked up for the season. It was goingto be a lively summer up there, evidently. One troop was coming all theway from Idaho--to see Peewee Harris eat pie, perhaps. I can't think forwhat other reason they would have made such a journey. 

"And _you_ will live in the pavilion in all your glory, won't you?"Margaret teased him. "I suppose you'll be very proud to be assistant toUncle Jeb. I don't suppose you'll notice poor _me_ if I come up there. "

"I'll take you for a row on the lake, " Tom said. That was saying a gooddeal, for _him_. 

On Thursday he sent an order for fifteen thousand wooden plates, whichwill give you an idea of how they eat at Temple Camp. He attended togetting the licenses for the two launches and sent a letter up to oldUncle Jeb telling him to have a new springboard put up and notifying himthat the woods property now belonged to the camp. It was a long slow dayand a longer, slower night. 

Once, and only once, since his return, he had tried the movies. Thepicture showed soldiers in the trenches and the jerky scenes and figuresmade his eyes ache and set his poor sick nerves on edge. Once he had_almost_ asked Margaret if he might go over to East Bridgeboro and seeher. He was glad when Friday morning came, and the day passed quicklyand gayly, because of the troop meeting that night. He counted the hoursuntil eight o'clock. 

When at last he set out for the troop room he found that he hadforgotten his scout badge and went back after it. He was particularalways to wear this at meetings, because he wished to emphasize there, that he was still a scout. He was always forgetting something thesedays. It was one of the features of shell-shock. It was like a wound, only you could not _see_ it. . . . 

CHAPTER VII

JUST NONSENSE

How should those scouts know that Tom Slade had been counting the daysand hours, waiting for that Friday night? They were not mind readers. They knew that Tom Slade, big business man that he was, had much tooccupy him. 

And they too, had much to occupy them. For with the coming of Springcame preparations for the sojourn up to camp where they were wont tospent the month of August. At Temple Camp troops were ever coming andgoing and there were new faces each summer, but the Bridgeboro Troop wasan institution there. It was because of his interest in this troop, andparticularly in Tom's reformation, that Mr. John Temple of Bridgeboro, had founded the big camp in the Catskills. There was no such thing asfavoritism there, of course, but it was natural enough that these boys, hailing from Mr. Temple's own town, where the business office of thecamp was maintained, should enjoy a kind of prestige there. Their twochief exhibits (A and B) that is, Roy Blakeley and Peewee Harrisstrengthened this prestige somewhat, and their nonsense and banter wereamong the chief features of camp entertainment. 

Temple Camp without P. Harris, some one had once said, would be likemince pie without any mince. And surely Peewee had no use for mince piewithout any mince. 

"Oh, look who's here!" Roy Blakeley shouted, as Tom quietly took a seaton the long bench, which always stood against the wall. "Tomasso, as Ilive! I thought you'd be down at the Opera House to-night. "

"I don't care thirty cents about the movies, " Tom said, soberly. 

"You should say thirty-three cents, Tomasso, " Roy shot back at him:"don't forget the three cents war tax. "

"Are you going to play that geography game?" Tom asked hopefully. 

"Posilutely, " said Roy; "we'll start with me. Who discovered America?Ohio. Correct. "

"What?" yelled Peewee. 

"Columbus is in Ohio; it's the same thing--only different, " said Roy;"you should worry. How about it, Tomasso?"

Tom was laughing already. It would have done Mr. Burton and Mr. Ellsworth good to see him. 

"We were having a hot argument about the army, before you came in, "Connie Bennett said. "Peewee claims the infantry is composed ofinfants. . . . "

"Sure, " Roy vociferated, "just the same as the quartermaster is the manwho has charge of all the twenty-five cent pieces. Am I right, LuckyLuke? Hear what Lucky Luke says? I'm right. Correct. "

"Who's going to boss the meeting to-night?" Doc Carson asked. 

"How about you, Tom?" Grove Bronson inquired. 

Tom smiled and shook his head. "I just like to watch you, " said he. 

"It's your job, " Doc persisted, "as long as Mr. Ellsworth is away. "

There was just the suggestion of an uncomfortable pause, while thescouts, or most of them, waited. For just a second even Roy becamesober, looking inquiringly at Tom. 

"I'd rather just watch you, " Tom said, uneasily. 

"He doesn't care anything about the scouts any more, " Dorry Benton pipedup. 

"Since he's a magnet, " Peewee shouted. 

"You mean a magnate, " Doc said. 

"What difference does it make what I mean?" the irrepressible Peeweeyelled. 

"As long as you don't mean anything, " Roy shouted. "Away dull care;let's get down to business. To-morrow is Saturday, there's no school. "

"There's a school, only we don't go to it, " Peewee shouted. 

"For that take a slap on the wrist and repeat the scout law nineteentimes backward, " Roy said. "Who's going to boss this meeting?

"I won't let anybody boss me, " Peewee yelled. 

Roy vaulted upon the table, while the others crowded about, Tom all thewhile laughing silently. This was just what he liked. 

"Owing to the absence of our beloved scoutmaster, " Roy shouted, "and thesudden rise in the world of Tomasso Slade, alias Lucky Luke, aliasSherlock Nobody Holmes, and his unwillingness to run this show, becausehe saw General Pershing and is too chesty, I nominate for boss andvice-boss of this meeting, Blakeley and Harris, with a platform. . . . "

"We don't need any platform, " Peewee shouted; "haven't we got thetable?"

"It's better to stand on the table than to stand on ceremonies, " DorryBenton vociferated. 

"Sure, or to stand on our dignity like Tomasso Slade, " Westy Martinshouted. 

"Put away your hammer, stop knocking, " Doc said. "Are we going to hiketo-morrow or are we going to the city?"

"Answered in the affirmative, " Roy said. 

"Which are we going to do?" Peewee yelled. 

"We are!" shouted Roy. 

"Do we go to the city?" Doc asked seriously. 

"Posilutely, " said Roy; "that's why I'm asking who's boss of thismeeting; so we can take up a collection. "

"All right, go ahead and be boss as long as you're up there, " ConnieBennett said, "only don't stand on the cake. "

"Don't slip on the icing, " Westy shouted. 

"I'll slip on your neck if you don't shut up, " Roy called. "If I'm boss, I'd like to have some silence. "

"Don't look at me, _I_ haven't got any, " Peewee piped up. 

"Thou never spak'st a truer word, " Westy observed. 

"I would like to have a large chunk of silence, " said Roy; "enough tolast for at least thirty seconds. "

"You'd better ask General Slade, " said Doc; "he's the only one thatcarries that article around with him. "

"How about that, Tommy?" Wig Weigand asked pleasantly. 

Tom smiled appreciatively, and seemed on the point of saying something, but he didn't. 

There was one other scout, too, who made a specialty of silence in thathilarious Bedlam, and that was a gaunt, thin, little fellow with streakyhair and a pale face, who sat huddled up, apparently enjoying thebanter, laughing with a bashful, silent laugh. He made no noisewhatever, except when occasionally he coughed, and the others seemedcontent to let him enjoy himself in his own way. His eyes had a singularbrightness, and when he laughed his white teeth and rather drawn mouthgave him almost a ghastly appearance. He seemed as much of an odd numberas Tom himself, but not in the same way, for Tom was matter-of-fact andstolid, and this little gnome of a scout seemed all nerves and repressedexcitement. 

"Let's have a chunk of silence, Alf, " Roy called to him. 

"Go ahead, " Doc shouted. 

"If there's going to be a collection, let's get it over with, " Westy putin. 

Roy, standing on the table, continued:

"SCOUTS AND SCOUTLETS:

"Owing to the high cost of silence, which is as scarce as sugar at thesemeetings, I will only detain you a couple of minutes. . . . "

"Don't step on the cake, " Doc yelled. 

"The object of this meeting is, to vote on whether we'll go into thecity to-morrow and get some stuff we'll need up at camp. 

"Artie has got a list of the things we need, and they add up to fourdollars and twenty-two cents. If each fellow chips in a quarter, we'llhave enough. Each fellow that wants to go has to pay his own railroadfare--Alf is going with me, so he should worry. 

"I don't suppose that Marshall Slade will condescend and we shouldworry. If we're going up to camp on the first of August, we'll have tobegin getting our stuff together--the sooner the quicker--keep still, I'm not through. We were all saying how numbers look funny on scoutcabins--five, six, seven. It reminds you too much of school. Uncle Jebsaid it would be a good idea for us to paint the pictures of our patrolanimals on the doors and scratch off the numbers, because the way it isnow, the cabins all look as if they had automobile licenses, and he saidDaniel Boone would drop dead if he saw anything like that--Cabin B 26. _Good night!_"

"Daniel Boone is already dead!" shouted Peewee. 

"Take a demerit and stay after school, " Roy continued. "So I vote thatwe buy some paint and see if we can't paint the heads of our threepatrol animals on the three cabins. Then we'll feel more like scouts andnot so much like convicts. If we do that, it will be thirty cents eachinstead of twenty-five. "

Before Roy was through speaking, a scout hat was going around and thegoodly jingle of coins within it, testified to the troops' enthusiasmfor what he had been saying. Tom dropped in three quarters, but no onenoticed that. He seemed abstracted and unusually nervous. The hat wasnot passed to little Alfred McCord. Perhaps that was because he wasmascot. . . . 

[Illustration: TOM'S HAND CLUNG TO THE BACK OF THE BENCH. Tom Slade atBlack Lake--Page 44]

CHAPTER VIII

FIVE, SIX, AND SEVEN

Then Tom Slade stood up. Any one observing him carefully would havenoticed that his hand which clung to the back of the bench movednervously, but otherwise he seemed stolid and dull as usual. For just asecond he breathed almost audibly and bit his lip, then he spoke. Theylistened, a kind of balm of soothing silence pervaded the room, becausehe spoke so seldom these days. They seemed ready enough to pay him thetribute of their attention when he really seemed to take an interest. 

"I got to tell you something, " he said, "and maybe you won't like it. Those three cabins are already taken by a troop in Ohio. "

"Which three?" Westy Martin asked, apparently dumbfounded. 

"Oh boy, suppose that was true!" Roy said, amused at the very thought ofsuch a possibility. 

"Which three?" Westy repeated, still apparently in some suspense. 

"Tomasso has Westy's goat, " Roy laughed. 

"Look at the straight face he's keeping, " Doc laughed, referring to Tom. 

"I might as well tell you the truth, " Tom said. "I forget thingssometimes; maybe you don't understand. Maybe it was because I wasn'there last year--maybe. But I didn't stop to think about those numbersbeing your--our--numbers. Now I can remember. I assigned those cabins toa troop in Ohio. They wanted three that were kind of separate from theothers and--and--I--I didn't remember. "

He seemed a pathetic spectacle as he stood there facing them, jerkinghis head nervously in the interval of silence and staring amazement thatfollowed. There was no joking about it and they knew it. It was not inTom's nature to "jolly. "

"What do you mean, assigned them?" Connie asked, utterly nonplussed. "You don't mean you gave our three cabins on the hill to another troop?"

"Yes, I did, " Tom said weakly; "I remember now. I'm sorry. "

For a moment no one spoke, then Dorry Benton said, "Do you mean that?"

"I got to admit I did, " Tom said in his simple, blunt way. 

"Well I'll be----" Roy began. Then suddenly, "You sober old gravedigger, " said he laughing; "you're kidding the life out of us and wedon't know it. Let's see you laugh. "

But Tom did not laugh. "I'm sorry, because they were the last threecabins, " he said. "I don't know how I happened to do it. But you've gotno right to misjudge me, you haven't; only yesterday I told Mr. Burton Iliked the troop, you fellows, best----"

Roy Blakeley did not wait for him to finish; he threw the troop book onthe table and stared at Tom in angry amazement. "All right, " he said, "let it go at that. Now we know where you stand. Thanks, we're glad toknow it, " he added in a kind of contemptuous disgust. "Ever since yougot back from France I knew you were sick and tired of us--I could seeit. I knew you only came around to please Mr. Ellsworth. I knew youforgot all about the troop. But I didn't think you'd put one like thatover on us, I'll be hanged if I did! You mean to tell me you didn't knowthose three cabins were ours, after we've had them every summer sincethe camp started? Mr. Burton will fix it----"

"He can't fix it, " Tom said; "not now. "

"And I suppose we'll have to take tent space, " Connie put in. "Geewilliger, that's one raw deal. "

"But _you_ won't have to take tent space, will you?" Roy asked. "Youshould worry about _us_--we're nothing but scouts--kids. We didn't goover to France and fight. We only stayed here and walked our legs offselling Liberty Bonds to keep you going. Gee whiz, I knew you were sickand tired of us, but I didn't think you'd hand us one like that. "

"Don't get excited, Roy, " Doc Carson urged. 

"Who's excited?" Roy shouted. "A lot _he_ has to worry about. He'll besleeping on his nice metal bed in the pavilion--assistant campmanager--while we're bunking in tents if we're lucky enough to get anyspace. Don't talk to _me_! I could see this coming. I suppose thescoutmaster of that troop out in Ohio was a friend of his in France. Weshould worry. We can go on a hike in August. It's little Alf I'mthinking of mostly. "

It was noticeable that Tom Slade said not a word. With him actionsalways spoke louder than words and he had no words to explain hisactions. 

"All I've got to say to _you_" said Roy turning suddenly upon him, "isthat as long as you care so much more about scouts out west than you doabout your own troop, you'd better stay away from here--that's all I'vegot to say. "

"That's what I say, too, " said Westy. 

"Same here, " Connie said; "Jiminies, after all we did for you, to putone over on us like that; I don't see what you want to come here foranyway. "

"I--I haven't got any other place to go, " said Tom with touchinghonesty; "it's kind of like a home----"

"Well, there's one other place and that's the street, " said Roy. "Wehaven't got any place to go either, thanks to you. You're a nice one tobe shouting home sweet home--you are. "

With a trembling hand, Tom Slade reached for his hat and fingering itnervously, paused for just a moment, irresolute. 

"I wouldn't stay if I'm not wanted, " he said; "I'll say good night. "

No one answered him, and he went forth into the night. 

He had been put out of the tenement where he had once lived with hispoor mother, he had been put out of school as a young boy, and he hadbeen put out of the Public Library once; so he was not unaccustomed tobeing put out. Down near the station he climbed the steps of Wop Harry'slunch wagon and had a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Then he wenthome--if one might call it home. . . . 

CHAPTER IX

ROY'S NATURE

Roy Blakeley was a scout of the scouts, and no sooner had he got awayfrom the atmosphere of resentment and disappointment which pervaded thetroop room, then he began to feel sorry for what he had said. Thepicture of Tom picking up his hat and going forth into the night and tohis poor home, lingered in Roy's mind and he lay awake half the nightthinking of it. 

He had no explanation of Tom's singular act, except the very plausibleone that Tom had lost his former lively interest in the troop, even somuch as to have forgotten about those three cabins to which they hadalways seemed to have a prior right; which had been like home to them inthe summertime. 

When you look through green glass everything is green, and now Roythought he could remember many little instances of Tom's waning interestin the troop. Naturally enough, Roy thought, these scout games andpreparations for camping seemed tame enough to one who had gone toFrance and fought in the trenches. Tom was older now, not only in yearsbut in experience, and was it any wonder that his interest in "the kids"should be less keen?

And Roy was not going to let that break up the friendship. Loyal andgenerous as he was, he would not ask himself why Tom had done thatthing; he would not let himself think about it. He and the other scoutswould get ready and go to camp, live in tents there, and have just asmuch fun. 

So no longer blaming Tom, he now blamed himself, and the thing he blamedhimself for most of all was his angry declaration that Tom was probablyacquainted with the scoutmaster of that fortunate troop in Ohio. He knewthat must have cut Tom, for in his heart he knew Tom's blunt sense offairness. Whatever was the cause or reason of Tom's singular act it wasnot favoritism, Roy felt sure of that. He would have given anything notto have said those words. Lukewarm, thoughtless, Tom might be, but hewas not disloyal. It was no new friendship, displacing these oldfriendships, which had caused Tom to do what he had done, Roy knew thatwell enough. 

In the morning, unknown to any of the troop he went early to the bankbuilding to wait for Tom there, and to tell him that he was sorry forthe way he had spoken. 

But everything went wrong that morning, the trails did not cross at theright places. Probably it was because Lucky Luke was concerned in thematter. The fact is that it being Saturday, a short and busy day, Tomhad gone very early to the Temple Camp office and was already upstairswhen Roy was waiting patiently down at the main door. 

CHAPTER X

TOM RECEIVES A SURPRISE

When Tom reached the office, he found among the Temple Camp letters, oneaddressed to him personally. It was postmarked Dansburg, Ohio, and heopened it with some curiosity, for the former letters in thiscorrespondence had been addressed to Mr. Burton, as manager. Hiscuriosity turned to surprise as he read, DEAR MR. SLADE:

 In one of the little circulars of Temple Camp which you sent us, your name appears as assistant to Mr. Burton in the Temple Camp office. 

 I am wondering whether you can be the same Tom Slade who was in the Motorcycle Corps in France? If so, perhaps you will remember the soldier who spent the night with you in a shell-hole near Epernay. Do you remember showing me the Gold Cross and saying that you had won it while a scout in America? I think you said you had been in some Jersey Troop. 

 If you are the same Tom Slade, then congratulations to you for getting home safely, and I will promise my scouts that they will have the chance this summer of meeting the gamest boy on the west front. I suppose you will be up at the camp yourself. 

 Send me a line and let me know if you're the young fellow whose arm I bandaged up. I'm thinking the world isn't so big after all. 

 Best wishes to you, WILLIAM BARNARD, Scoutmaster 1st Dansburg Troop, B. S. A. , Dansburg, Ohio. 

Tom could hardly believe his eyes as he read the letter. WilliamBarnard! He had never known that fellow's name, but he knew that thesoldier who had bandaged his arm (whatever his name was) had saved hislife. Would he ever forget the long night spent in that dank, darkshell-hole? Would he ever forget that chance companion in peril, who hadnursed him and cheered him all through that endless night? He couldsmell the damp earth again and the pungent atmosphere of gunpowder whichpermeated the place and almost suffocated him. Directly over theshell-hole a great British tank had stopped and been deserted, lockingthem in as in a dungeon. And when he had recovered from the fumes, hehad heard a voice speaking to him and asking him if he was much hurt. 

William Barnard!

And he had given the three cabins on the hill to Scoutmaster Barnard'stroop in Dansburg, Ohio. 

No one but Tom had arrived at the office and for just a few moments, standing there near Miss Ellison's typewriter and with the prosy letterfiles about, he was again in France. He could hear the booming of thegreat guns again, see the flashes of fire. . . . 

He sat down and wrote, DEAR MR. BARNARD:

 I got your letter and I am the same Tom Slade. I was going to ask you where you lived in America so I could know you some more when we got back, but when the doctors came to take me away, I didn't see you anywhere. I had to stay in the hospital three weeks, but it wasn't on account of my arm, because that wasn't so bad. It was the shell-shock that was bad--it makes you forget things even after you get better. 

 I was sorry early this morning that I gave you those cabins, because they're the same ones that my own troop always used to have, and it was a crazy thing for me to forget about that. But now I'm glad, because I have thought of another scheme. I thought of it while I was lying in bed last night and couldn't sleep. So now I'm glad you have those cabins. And you bet I'm glad you wrote to me. It's funny how things happen. 

 Maybe you'll remember how I thought I was going to die in that hole, and you said how we could dig our way out with your helmet, because if a fellow _has_ to do something he can do it. I'm glad you said that, because I thought about it last night. And thinking of that made me decide I would do something. 

 I would like it if you will write to me again before summer, and you can send your letters care of Temple Camp, Black Lake. 

 When you come, you bet I'll be glad to see you. 

 Your friend, TOM SLADE. 

When Tom had sealed and stamped this letter, he laid the other one onMiss Margaret Ellison's desk, thinking that she might be interested toread it. 

CHAPTER XI

TOM AND ROY

Anxious that his letter should go as soon as possible, Tom went down inthe elevator and was about to cross the street and post it when he ranplunk into Roy, who was waiting on the steps. 

"Good night, look who's here, " Roy said, in his usual friendly tone; "Imight have known that you were upstairs. You've got the early birdturning green with envy. "

"I always come early Saturdays, " Tom said. 

"I want to tell you that I'm sorry about the way I spoke to you lastnight, Tom, " Roy spoke up. "I see now that it wasn't so bad. I guess youhave a whole lot to do up in the office, and maybe you just forgot abouthow we always had the hill cabins. You can't do _everything_ you wantto do, gee I realize that. "

"I can do anything I want to do, " Tom said. 

Roy looked at him as if he did not quite understand. 

"Going back on people isn't the way to square things, " Tom said. "Yougot to make things right without anybody losing anything. There's alwaystwo ways, only you've got to find the other one. "

Roy did not quite understand the drift of his friend's talk, it was notalways easy to follow Tom, and indeed he did not care much what Tommeant; he just wanted him to know that their friendship had not beenwrecked--could not be wrecked by any freakish act of Tom's. 

"I don't care thirty cents what anybody says, " Tom said; "I got to befair. "

"I'm not mad, you old grouch, " Roy said, "and you should say sixtycents, because the price of everything is double. We should worry. I waswaiting here to meet you so as to tell you that I don't know why youdid that and I don't care. People have done crazier things than that, Ishould hope. We can bunk in tents, all right. So don't be sore, Tomasso. I'm sorry I said what I did and I know perfectly well that you justdidn't think. You don't suppose I really meant that I thought you knewanybody in that troop out in Ohio, do you? I just said it because I wasmad. Gee whiz, I know you wouldn't give anybody the choice before_us_--before your own fellows. I was mad because I was disappointed. Butnow I know how maybe you were all kind of--you know--rattled on accountof being so busy. 

"I ain't mad, " said Tom, in his dull, stolid way; "I got to go acrossthe street and mail this letter. "

"And you'll come to meeting next Friday night?" Roy asked, anxiously. 

"I don't know, " Tom said. 

"And I'm going to tell the fellows that you assigned five, six, andseven, to that Ohio troop just because you were thinking aboutsomething else when you did it, and that you didn't know anything moreabout those fellows than if they were the man in the moon, " Roy paused amoment. "Did you?" he said conclusively. 

"You can tell them whatever you want to, " Tom said. "You can tell themthat I didn't know anything about them if you want to. I don't care whatyou tell them. "

Roy paused, hardly knowing what to say. In talking with Tom one had toget him right just as a wrestler must get his victim right and Roy knewthat he must watch his step, so to speak. 

"You can tell them they won't lose anything, " Tom said. 

"They'll lose something all right if they lose _you_, Tomasso, " Roysaid, with a note of deep feeling in his voice. "But we're not going tolose you, I can tell you that. They think you have no use for the scoutsany more, because you met so many people in France, and know a lot ofgrown-up people. "

"Is that what they think?" Tom asked. 

They both stepped aside for Margaret Ellison, the Temple Campstenographer, to pass in, and spoke pleasantly with her until she hadentered the elevator. 

"I don't care what they think, " Roy said; "a scout is observant. Can't Isee plain enough that you have your pioneer scout badge on? That showsyou're thinking about the scouts. "

"I put it on for a reason, " said Tom. 

"You bet your life you did, " Roy said, "and it shows you're a scout. Once a scout, always a scout; you can't get away from that, Tomasso. "

"Maybe you'll find that out, " Tom said, his meaning, as usual, a littlecloudy. 

"I don't have to find it out, Tom, " Roy said. "Don't you suppose I knowwhere you stand? Do you think I'll ever forget how you and I hikedtogether, and how we camped up on my lawn together, when you first gotto be a scout--do you think I will? I always liked you better than anyfellow, gee whiz, that's sure. And I know you think more of us than youdo of any one else, too. Don't you?"

"I got to go and mail this letter, " Tom said. 

"First you've got to say that you're for the scouts first, last andalways, " said Roy gayly, and standing in his friend's path. 

Tom looked straight at him, his eyes glistening. 

"Do you have to ask me that?" he said. 

And then was when the trails went wrong, and didn't cross right and comeout right. Roy went up in the elevator to get some circulars from TempleCamp office, and Tom, on his way back from across the street went intothe bank to speak with Mr. Temple's secretary. And the girl spoiledeverything, as Peewee Harris always said that girls are forever doing. 

She was in a great hurry to get the cover off her machine and othermatters straightened out, before Mr. Burton came in, so she did nottrouble herself to talk much with Roy. She did, however, think to callafter him just as he was leaving and he heard her words, with a kind ofcold chill, as he stepped into the elevator. 

She called to him in her sweetest tone, "Isn't it too funny! Ascoutmaster, named Barnard, from out in Ohio who is going to be up atcamp knew Tom in France. Won't they have a perfectly _scrumptious_vacation together, talking about old times?"

CHAPTER XII

THE LONG TRAIL

"You can tell them whatever you want to. You _can tell them that Ididn't know anything about them_ if you want to. I don't care what youtell them. " These were the words that rang in Roy Blakeley's mind as hewent down in the elevator, and they made him sick at heart. That Tom hadso much forgotten about the troop, _his_ troop, as to assign their threecabins to strangers--that Roy could overlook. He could not understandit, but in his fondness for Tom, he could overlook it, as his talk withTom had proved. 

But that Tom should lie to him and make him a party to that lie byauthorizing him to repeat it, that he could not forget or forgive. "_Youcan tell them that I did not know anything about them if you want to_. "And all the while he, Tom, had known this Barnard, or whatever his namewas, and had fixed things so that he and Barnard might be together atTemple Camp. Barnard was a grown-up fellow, Roy told himself, and asoldier, and he didn't exactly blame Tom, but. . . . 

And then their trails crossed again, right there at the foot of theelevator shaft, where Tom was waiting to go up. 

Roy's first impulse was to brush past his friend saying nothing, butwhen he had all but reached the door he wheeled about and said, "If youwant to hand out any lies to the troop, you'd better do it yourself; I'mnot going to do it for you. "

"What?" said Tom, a little startled out of his usual stolid manner. 

"Oh, you know what, all right, " Roy answered sneeringly. "You thoughtI'd never find out, didn't you? You didn't think I'd go up to theoffice. You thought you'd get away with it and have me lying to thetroop--the fellows that used to be your friends before you met Barnyardor whatever you call him. I know who he is, all right. If you wanted togive him our cabins, him and his troop, why didn't you come and say so?Gee whiz, we would have been willing to do them a good turn. We'vecamped in tents before, if it comes to that. "

Tom stood perfectly motionless, with no more expression, either of angeror sorrow or surprise, than he usually showed. His big, tight set, resolute mouth was very conspicuous, but Roy did not notice that. Theelevator came down, and the metallic sound of its door opening wasemphasized in the tense silence which followed Roy's tirade. 

"Going up, " the colored boy said. 

The door rolled shut and still Tom Slade stood there, stolid and withoutany show of emotion, looking straight at Roy. "I didn't ever tell alie--not since I got in with the scouts, " he said simply. 

"Well, that makes two, " said Roy mercilessly; "do you mean to tell meyou don't know what's-his-name--Barnard? Will you stand there and sayyou don't know him?"

"I do know him, " Tom said; "he saved my life in France. "

"And didn't you tell me only ten minutes ago that I could tell thefellows that you didn't know anything about--about that troop--about himand his troop? Didn't you? Do you deny that you did? You told me I couldgo back and lie to the fellows--you did! If you think I'll do thatyou've got another guess, I can tell you that much!"

"I never told you you should lie, " said Tom with straightforwardsimplicity, "and I admit I forgot about the cabins. I was away twosummers. I had a lot of different things to think about. I gotshell-shocked the very same night I met that fellow, and that's gotsomething to do with it, maybe. But I wouldn't stand here, I wouldn't, and try to prove that I didn't tell a lie. If you want to think I did, go ahead and think so. And if the rest of the troop want to think so, let them do it. If anybody says I forgot about the scouts, he lies. Andyou can tell them they won't lose anything, either; you can tell them Isaid so. I ain't changed. Didn't I--didn't I ride my motorcycle all theway from Paris to the coast--through the floods--didn't I? Do you thinkit's going to be hard to make everything right? I--I can do anything--Ican. And I didn't lie, either. You go up to Temple Camp on the first ofAugust like you--like we--always did; that's all _I_ say. "

He was excited now, and his hand trembled, and Roy looked at him a bitpuzzled, but he was neither softened nor convinced. "Didn't you as muchas say you didn't know anything about who made that application--didn'tyou?" Roy demanded. 

"I said it good and plain and you can go and tell them so, too, " Tomsaid. 

"And you do know this fellow named Barnard, don't you?"

"I know him and he saved my life, " Tom said, "and if you----"

"Going up, " the colored boy called again. 

And the young fellow, scout and soldier, who would not bother to provehis truthfulness to his old companion and friend, was gone. He had hithis own trail in his own way, as he usually did; a long devious, difficult, lonesome trail. The clearly defined trail of the sidewalkleading to the troop room, where a few words of explanation might havestraightened everything out, was not the trail for Tom Slade, scout. Hewould straighten things out another way. He would face this thing, notrun away from it, just as he had set his big resolute mouth and facedPete Connigan. They would lose nothing, these boys. Let them think whatthey might, they would lose nothing. To be falsely accused, what wasthat, provided these boys lost nothing? That was all that counted. Whatdifference did it make if they thought he had lied and deceived them, solong as _he_ knew that he had not?

And what a lot of fuss about three cabins! Had he not the power tostraighten out his own mistake in the best possible way--the scout way?And how was that? By going to Mr. Burton and taking the matter up andperhaps causing disappointment to those boys out in Ohio, for the sakeof these boys in Bridgeboro? Robbing Peter to pay Paul?

Perhaps Mr. Burton would have done that, under all the circumstances. Perhaps Mr. John Temple, head of the whole shebang, would have approvedthis--under the circumstances. Perhaps the average clerk would haveproposed this; would have suggested hitting this convenient littletrail, about as short and prosy as a back alley. All you need on thattrail is a typewriter machine. Perhaps Tom Slade was not a good clerk. His way out of the difficulty was a longer and more circuitous way. Butit was the scout way. He was a scout and he hit the long trail. 

CHAPTER XIII

ROY'S TRAIL

As for Roy, he went home feeling heavy of heart, but he was not sorryfor what he had said. He had known that Tom had been slipping away fromthe troop and that his interest in the old associations had waned eversince his return from France. But that Tom should have lied to him andthat he should use Temple Camp and that old beloved spot up on the hillfor new friends, deliberately giving them precedence over thesecompanions of his real scouting days--_that_ Roy could not stand. And hetold himself that he was through with Tom, even as Tom was through withthe troop. 

The trail of Roy and his friends is short and easy to follow, and it isnot the main trail of this story. It took them into the city where theybought a tent, (not a very large one, for they could not get togethermuch money), but big enough to bunk in and enable them to spend theirvacation at the beloved, familiar spot. He said that "he should worryabout that fellow Barnard, " and that he guessed Tom's fondness for thatindividual was like Peewee's fondness for mince pie--a case of love atfirst bite. But did he forget about Tom, and miss him at the meetings?

We shall have to guess as to that. Tom was seldom mentioned, at allevents. The first member of the Bridgeboro troop to outgrow hiscompanions and turn his thoughts to new friends and associates hadbroken away from the hallowed circle and deserted them, and repudiatedthem with a lie on his lips; that was what the scouts said, or at least, thought. They had seen it coming, but it had hurt just the same. 

And so the days went by, and the breath of Spring grew heavier in theair, and the dandelions sprang up in the field down by the river, andtree blossoms littered the sidewalks, and the frogs began croaking inthe marshes. When the frogs begin croaking it is time to think of camp. 

But Tom Slade, late of the scouts, was ahead of the dandelions and theblossoms and the frogs, for on that very day of his talk with Roy, andwhile the three patrols were off on their shopping bee in the city, hewent into Mr. Burton's private office and asked if he might talk to himabout an idea he had. 

"Surest thing you know, Tommy, " said his superior cheerily. "You want togo to the North Pole now?"

For Mr. Burton knew Tom of old. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE REALLY HARD PART

"Maybe you'll remember how you said this would just be a kind of anexperiment, my starting to work again in the office, and maybe it wouldturn out to be better for me to go away in the country, " said Tom. 

"Yes sir, " said Mr. Burton, with prompt good nature intended to put Tomat his ease. 

"I was wondering if maybe you could keep a secret, " Tom said. 

"Well, I could make a stab at it, " Mr. Burton said, laughing. 

"Do you think Margaret could?" Tom asked. 

"Oh, I dare say, but you know how girls are. What's the trouble?"

"I want to go away, " Tom said; "I can't do things right and I want to goaway. I'm all the time forgetting. "

"I think you're doing fine, " said Mr. Burton. 

"I want to go up to Temple Camp until I feel better, " Tom said. 

Mr. Burton scrutinized him shrewdly and pursed up his lips and said, "Don't feel first rate, eh?"

"I get rattled awful easy and I don't remember things, " Tom said. "Iwant to go up to camp and stay all alone with Uncle Jeb, like you said Icould if I wanted to. "

Again Mr. Burton studied him thoughtfully, a little fearfully perhaps, and then he said, "Well, I think perhaps that would be a very goodthing, Tom. You remember that's what I thought in the first place. Youmade your own choice. How about the secret?"

"It isn't anything much, only I thought of something to do while I'm upthere. I got to square myself. I gave the troop cabins to a troop outwest----"

"Well, I was wondering about that, my boy; but I didn't want to sayanything. You'll have Roy and Peewee and those other gladiators sittingon your neck, aren't you afraid?"

"They got no use for me now, " Tom said. 

"Oh, nonsense. We'll straighten that out. You send a letter----"

"The scoutmaster of that troop out west is a friend of mine, " said Tom, "but I never knew it until this morning, when I got a letter from him. They think I did it because I knew it was him all the time and liked himbetter, but I don't care what they think as long as nobody losesanything; that's all I care about. So if you'd be willing, " he continuedin his dull, matter-of-fact way, as if he were asking permission to goacross the street, "I'd like to go up and stay at Temple Camp before theseason opens and fell some of those trees on the new woods property andput up three cabins on the hill for Roy and the troop to use when theyget there. I wouldn't want anybody to know I'm doing it. "

"What?" said Mr. Burton. 

"I want to go up there and stay and put up three cabins, " said Tomdully. 

"Humph, " said Mr. Burton, sitting back and surveying him with amused andfrank surprise. "How about the difficulties?"

"That's the only thing, " Tom said; "I was thinking it all over, and theonly difficulty I can think about is, would Margaret keep it a secretuntil the work is done, and you too. They think I'm not a scout anymore, and I'm going to show them. If you think I can't do it, you askPete, the janitor. And if I straighten things out that way nobody'll getleft, see? The hard part is really _your_ part--keeping still and makingher keep still. "

"I see, " said Mr. Burton, contemplating the stolid, almostexpressionless face of Tom, and trying not to laugh outright. 

"My part is easy, " said Tom. 

CHAPTER XV

A LETTER FROM BARNARD

When Tom reached Temple Camp he found a letter awaiting him there. Itwas stuck up among the antlers of Uncle Jeb's moose head which hung inthe old camp manager's cabin. He found Uncle Jeb alone in his glory, andmighty glad to see him. 

It was characteristic of the old western scout and trapper whom Mr. Temple had brought from Arizona, that he was never surprised atanything. If a grizzly bear had wandered into camp it would not haveruffled him in the least. He would have surveyed it with calm, shrewddeliberation, taken his corncob pipe out of his mouth, knocked the ashesout of it, and proceeded to business. If the grizzly bear had been oneof the large fraternity who believe in "safety first" he would havewithdrawn immediately upon the ominous sound of old Uncle Jeb's pipeknocking against the nearest hard substance. Uncle Jeb, like Uncle Sam, moved slowly but very surely. 

It was not altogether uncommon for some nature loving pilgrim to drop inat camp out of season, and such a one was always sure of that easy-goingwestern welcome. But if all the kings and emperors in the world (or suchfew of them as are left) had dropped in at camp, Uncle Jeb Rushmorewould have eyed them keenly, puffed some awful smoke at them, and said, "Haow doo. " He liked people, but he did not depend on them. The lake andthe trees and the wild life talked to him, and as for human beings, hewas always glad of their company. 

It was also characteristic of Uncle Jeb that no adventurous enterprise, no foolhardy, daredevil scheme, ever caused him any astonishment. Mr. Burton, engrossed in a hundred and one matters of detail and routine hadsimply laughed at Tom's plan, and let him go to Temple Camp to discoverits absurdity, and then benefit by the quiet life and fresh air. Itwould have been better if Tom had been sent up there long before. He hadhumored him by promising not to tell, and he was glad that this crazynotion about the cabins had given Tom the incentive to go. He hadbelieved that Tom's unfortunate error could be made right by theromantic expedient of a postage stamp. Mr. Burton was not a scout. AndTom Slade was the queerest of all scouts. 

So now Uncle Jeb removed his pipe from his mouth, and said, "Reckonedyou'd make a trip up, hey?"

"I'm going to stay here alone with you until the season opens, " Tomsaid; "I got shell-shocked. I ain't any good down there. I assigned ourthree cabins to a troop in Ohio. So I got to build three more and have'em ready by August first. I'm going to build them on the hill. "

"Yer ain't cal'latin' on trimming yer timbers much are yer?" Uncle Jebasked, going straight to the practical aspects of Tom's plan. 

"I'm going to put them up just like the temporary cabins were when thecamp first opened, " Tom said. 

"Ye'll find some of them same logs under the pavilion, " Uncle Jeb said;"enough for two cabins, mebbe. Why doan't you put up four and let thatPeewee kid hev one all by hisself?"

"Do you think I can do it in six weeks?" Tom asked. 

"I've seed a Injun stockade throwed up in three days, " Uncle Jebanswered. "Me'n General Custer throwed up Fort Bendy in two nights; thatwuz in Montanny. Th' Injuns thought we wuz gods from heaven. But wewuzn't no gods, as I told the general; leastways _I_ was'n, n'never wuz. But I had a sharp axe. 

"I knew I could do it, " Tom said, "but I wanted it to be a stunt, as youmight say. "

"'Tain't no stunt, " Uncle Jeb said. "Who's writin' yer from out in Ohio?I see the postmark. 'Tain't them kids from out Dayton way, I hope?"

Tom opened the letter and read aloud:

 DEAR TOM:

 When I save a fellow's life I claim the right to call him by his first name, even if I've never seen him. If anybody ever tells me again that the world is a big place, I'll tell them it's about the size of a shell-hole, no bigger, and that's small enough, as you and I know. All I can say is, "Well, well!" And you're the same Thomas Slade!

 And the funny part of it is, we wouldn't know each other if we met in the street. That's because we met in a shell-hole. I tried to hunt you up along the line, made inquiries in the hospital at Rheims, and tried to get a line on you from the Red Cross and Y. M. C. A. Nothing doing. Somebody told me you were in the Flying Corps. I guess I must have fainted while they were taking you away. Anyway, when I woke up I was in a dressing station, trying to get my breath. I asked what became of you and nobody seemed to know. One said you were in the Messenger Service. When I left France I didn't even know you were alive. 

 And now you turn up in Temple Camp office and tell me to write you at Temple Camp. What are you doing up there before the season opens, anyway? I bet you're there for your health. 

 Do you know what I'm thinking of doing? I'm thinking of making a trip to camp and looking over our dug-outs and seeing what kind of a place you have, before I bring my scouts. How would that strike you? I've got three patrols and take it from me, they're a bigger job than winning the war. They're all crazy for August first to arrive. 

 Well, Tommy old boy, I'm glad I've met you at last. I have a hunch you're kind of tall, with gray eyes and curly hair. Am I right? I'm about medium height and very handsome. Hair red--to suggest the camp-fire. 

 I don't know whether my scouts will let me off for a week or two, but my boss wants me to take a good rest before I knuckle down to work. I'm off for August anyway. Don't expect me before that, but if I should show up on a surprise raid, don't drop dead. I may go over the top some fine day and drop in on you like a hand grenade. Are you there all alone?

 Write me again and let's get acquainted. I'd send you a photo, only I gave my girl the last one I had. 

 So long, BILLY BARNARD, Scoutmaster. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE EPISODE IN FRANCE

Uncle Jeb smoked his pipe leisurely, listening to this letter. "Kind ofa comic, hey?" he said. "I reckon ye'd like to hev 'em come. Hain'tnever seed each other, hey?"

Tom was silent. The letter meant more to him than Uncle Jeb imagined. Ittouched one of the springs of his simple, stolid nature, and his eyesglistened as he glanced over it again, drinking in its genial, friendly, familiar tone. So he had at least one friend after all. Cut of all thatturmoil of war, with its dangers and sufferings, had come at least onefriend. The bursting of that shell which had seemed to shake the earth, and which had shattered his nerves and lost him Roy and all thosetreasured friends and comrades of his boyhood, had at least brought himone true friend. He had never felt the need of a friend more than atthat very moment. The cheery letter seemed for the moment, to wipe outthe memory of Roy's last words to him, that he was a liar. And itaroused his memories of France. 

"Maybe you might like to hear about it, " he said to Uncle Jeb, in hissimple way. "Kind of, now it makes me think about France. I wouldn'tblame the scouts for not having any use for me--I wouldn't blameRoy--but anyway, it was that shell that did it. If you say so I'll starta camp-fire. That's what always makes me think about thescouts--camp-fire. Maybe you'll say I was to blame. Anyway, they won'tlose anything. And when they come I'll go back home, if they want me to. That's only fair. Anyway, I like Temple Camp best of all. "

"Kinder like home, Tommy, " Uncle Jeb said. 

The sun was going down beyond the hills across the lake and flickeringup the water and casting a crimson glow upon the wooded summits. Theempty cabins, and the boarded-up cooking shack, shone clear and sharpin the gathering twilight. High above, a great bird soared through thedusk, hastening to its home in the mountains, where Silver Fox trailwound its way up through the fastness, and where Tom and Roy had oftengone. And the memory of all these fond associations gripped Tom now, andhe had to tighten his big ugly mouth to keep it from showing any tremorof weakness. 

"Maybe it won't be as easy as Uncle Jeb thinks, " he said to himself, "but anyway, I'll be here and I won't be interfering with them, and I'llget the cabins finished and I'll go away before they come. They'll haveto like Billy Barnard, that's sure; and maybe he'll tell them about mynot knowing who he was until after I gave them the cabins. They'll allbe on the hill together and they'll have to be friends. . . . "

Yes, they would all be on the hill together, save one, and they would befriends and there would be some great times. They would all hike up themountain trail, all save one, and see Devil's Pool up there. Tom hopedthat Roy would surely show Barnard and his troop that interestingdiscovery which he and Roy had made. The hard part was already attendedto--making Margaret and Mr. Burton keep still. And, as usual, LuckyLuke's part was the easiest part of all--just building three cabins andgoing away. It was a cinch. 

"Shall I build a camp-fire?" he asked of Uncle Jeb. 

And so, in the waning twilight, Tom Slade, liar and forgetter of hisfriends, built a camp-fire, on this first night of his lonely sojourn atTemple Camp. And he and Uncle Jeb sat by it as the night drew on apace, and it aroused fond memories in Tom, as only a camp-fire has the magicto do, and stilled his jangling nerves and made him happy. 

"In about a month there'll be a hundred fellows sitting around one likethis, " he said. 

"En that Peewee kid'll be trying to defend hisself agin Roay'snonsense, " Uncle Jeb remarked. 

"I ain't going to stay to be assistant camp manager this season, " Tomsaid; "I'm going back to work. I'm having my vacation now. I kind oflike being alone with you. "

"What is them shell-holes?" Uncle Jeb asked. "Yer got catched into one, huh?"

And then, for the first time since Tom had returned from France, he wasmoved to tell the episode which he had never told the scouts, and whichhe had always recalled with agitation and horror. Perhaps the camp-fireand Uncle Jeb's quiet friendliness lulled him to repose and made himreminiscent. Perhaps it was the letter from Barnard. 

"That's how I got shell-shocked, " he repeated. "When you getshell-shocked it doesn't show like a wound. There's a place namedVeronnes in France. A German airman fell near there. It was pretty neardark and it was raining, but anyhow I could just see him fall. I couldsee him falling down through the dark, like. I was on my way back to thebillets for relief. I had to go through a marsh to get to that placewhere he fell. I thought I'd sink, but I didn't. 

"When I got there I saw his machine was all crumbled up, and he was allmixed up with the wires and he was dead. I was going to give him firstaid if he wasn't. But anyway, he was dead. So then I searched him and hehad a lot of papers. Some of them were maps. I knew it wouldn't be anyuse to take them to billets, because the wires were all down on accountof the rain. So I started through the marshes to get into the road toRheims. Those marshes are worse than the ones we have here. Sometimes Ihad to swim. It took me two hours, I guess. Anyway, if you _have_ to doa thing you can do it. 

"When I got to the road it was easy. I knew that road went to Rheimsbecause when I was in the Motorcycle Service I knew all the roads. Pretty soon I got to a place where a road crossed it and there were somesoldiers coming along that road. I kept still and let them pass by andthey didn't see me. I knew there were more coming and I could hear thesound of tanks coming, too. Maybe they were coming back from an attack. 

"All of a sudden everything seemed bright and I saw a fellow right closeto me and then there was a noise that made my ears ring and dirt flew inmy face and I heard that fellow yell. As soon as I took a couple moresteps I stumbled and fell into a place that was hot--the earth was hot, just like an oven. That was a new shell-hole I was in. 

"I just lay there and my arm hurt and my ears buzzed and there was afunny kind of a pain in the back of my neck. That's how shell-shockbegins. I heard that fellow say, 'Are you all right?' I couldn't speakbecause my throat was all trembling, like. But I could feel my sleevewas all wet and my arm throbbed. I heard him say, 'We must have had ourfingers crossed. ' Because you know how kids cross their fingers whenthey're playing tag, so no one can tag them? The way he says things inthis letter sounds just like the way he said. He's happy-go-lucky, thatfellow, I guess. 

"There was a piece of the shell in there and it was red hot and by thathe saw my arm was hurt, and he bandaged it with his shirt. He saw myscout badge that I wore and he asked me my name. That's all he knowsabout me. Pretty soon something that made a lot of noise moved rightover the hole and I guess it got stuck there. He said it must be a tankthat got kind of caught there. Pretty soon I could hardly breathe, but Icould hear him hollering and banging with a stone or something upagainst that thing. I heard him say we could dig our way out with hishelmet. Pretty soon I didn't know anything. 

"The next thing I knew there was fresh air and people were carryingme on a stretcher. When I tried to call for that fellow it made mesob--that's the way it is when you're shell-shocked. You wring yourhands, too. Even--even--now--if I hear a noise----"

Tom Slade broke down, and began wringing his hands, and his face whichshone in the firelight was one of abject terror. And in another momenthe was crying like a baby. 

CHAPTER XVII

ON THE LONG TRAIL

That night he bunked in Uncle Jeb's cabin, and slept as he had not sleptin many a night. In the morning his stolid, stoical nature reasserteditself, and he set about his task with dogged determination. Uncle Jebwatched him keenly and a little puzzled, and helped him some, but Tomseemed to prefer to work alone. The old man knew nothing of thatfrightful malady of the great war; his own calm, keen eyes bespoke adisciplined and iron nerve. But his kindly instinct told him to make nofurther reference to the war, and so Tom found in him a helpful andsympathetic companion. Here at last, so it seemed, was the medicine thatpoor Tom needed, and he looked forward to their meals, and the quietchats beside their lonely camp-fire, with ever-growing pleasure andsolace. 

He hauled out from under the porch of the main pavilion the logs whichhad been saved from the fire that had all but devastated the camp duringits first season, and saved himself much labor thereby. These he wheeledup the hill one by one in a wheelbarrow. There were enough of these logsto make one cabin, all but the roof, and part of another one. 

When Tom had got out the scout pioneer badge which Roy had noticed onhim, it had been by way of defying time and hardship and proclaiming hisfaith in himself and his indomitable power of accomplishment. As thework progressed it became a sort of mania with him; he was engrossed init, he lived in it and for it. He would right his wrong to the troop byscout methods if he tore down the whole forest and killed himself. Thatwas Tom Slade. 

Up on the new woods property, which included the side of the hill awayfrom the camp, he felled such trees as he needed, hauling them up to thesummit by means of a block and falls, where he trimmed them and notchedthem, and rolled or pried them up into place. At times whole days wouldbe spent on that further slope of the hillside and Uncle Jeb, busy withpreparations for the first arrivals, could not see him at all, only hearthe sound of his axe, and sometimes the pulleys creaking. He did not godown into camp for lunch as a rule, and spent but a few minutes eatingthe snack which he had brought with him. 

At last there came a day when five cabins stood upon that isolatedhilltop which overlooked the main body of the camp, and Tom Slade, leaning upon his axe like Daniel Boone, could look down over the moreclosely built area, with its more or less straight rows of cabins andshacks, and its modern pavilion. Five cabins where there had been onlythree. They made a pleasant, secluded little community up there, farremoved from the hustle and bustle of camp life. "No wonder they like itup here, " he mused; "the camp is getting to be sort of like a village. They'll have a lot of fun up here, those two troops, and it's a kind ofa good turn how I bring them together. Nobody loses anything, this way. "

True--nobody but Tom Slade. His hands were covered with blisters so thathe must wind his handkerchief around one of them to ease the chafing ofthe axe handle. His hair was streaky and dishevelled and needed cutting, so that he looked not unlike one of those hardy pioneers of old. Andnow, with some of the rough material for the last cabin strewn about himand with but two weeks in which to finish the work, he was confrontedwith a new handicap. The old pain caused by the wound in his armreturned, and the crippled muscles rebelled against this excessiveusage. Well, that was just a little obstacle in the long trail; he wouldput the burden on the other arm. "I'm glad I got two, " he said. 

He tried to calculate the remainder of the work in relation to the timehe had to do it. For of one thing he was resolved, and that was to befinished and gone before those two troops arrived, the troop from thewest and his own troop from Bridgeboro. They were to find these sixcabins waiting for them. Everything would be all right. . . . 

He mopped his brow off, and rewound the handkerchief about his sorehand. The fingers smarted and tingled and he wriggled them to obtain alittle relief from their cramped condition. He buttoned up his flannelshirt which he always left wide open when he worked, and laid his axeaway in one of the old familiar cabins. It chanced to be one in which heand Roy had cut their initials, and he paused a moment and glancedwistfully at their boyish handiwork. Then he went down. 

As he passed through Temple Lane he saw that Uncle Jeb had been busytaking down the board shutters from the main pavilion--ominous reminderof the fast approaching season. Soon scouts would be tumbling all overeach other hereabouts. The springboard had been put in place at thelake's edge, too, and a couple of freshly painted rowboats were bobbingat the float, looking spick and glossy in the dying sunlight. TempleCamp was beginning to look natural and familiar. 

"I reckon it'll be a lively season, " Uncle Jeb said, glancing aboutafter his own strenuous day's work. "Last summer most of the scouts wasbusy with war gardens and war work and 'twas a kind of off season as youmight say. I cal'late they'll come in herds like buffaloes this summer. "

"Every cabin is booked until Columbus Day, " Tom said; "and all the tentspace is assigned. "

"Yer reckon to finish by August first?" Uncle Jeb asked. 

"I'd like to finish before anybody comes, " Tom said; "but I guess Ican't do that. I'll get away before August first, that's sure. You haveto be sure to see that 5, 6 and 7 go to my troop, and the new ones tothe troop from Ohio. You can tell them it's a kind of a surprise if youwant to. You don't need to tell 'em who did it. It's nice up there onthat hill. It's a kind of a camp all by itself. Do you remember thatwoodchuck skin you gave Roy? It's hanging up there in the Silver Fox'scabin now. "

"What's the matter with your hand?" Uncle Jeb inquired. 

"It's just blistered and it tingles, " Tom said. "It's from holding theaxe. "

CHAPTER XVIII

TOM LETS THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG

While they were having supper in Uncle Jeb's cabin, Tom hauled out ofhis trousers pocket a couple of very much folded and gather crumbledpieces of paper. 

"Will you keep them for me?" he asked. "They're Liberty Bonds. They getall sweaty and crumpled in my pocket. They're worth a hundred dollars. "

Mr. Burton had more than once suggested that Tom keep these preciousmementos of his patriotism in the safe, but there was no place in allthe world in which Tom had such abiding faith as his trouser sidepockets, and he had never been able to appreciate the inappropriatenessof the singular receptacle for such important documents. There, atleast, he could feel them, and the magic feel of these badges of hiswealth was better than lock and key. 

"Keep them for me until I go away, " he said. 

Uncle Jeb straightened them out and placed them in his tin strong box. 

"Yer ain't thinkin' uv stayin' on, then?" he queried. 

"Not after I'm finished, " Tom said. 

"Mayn't change yer mind, huh?"

"I never change my mind, " Tom said. 

"I wuz thinkin' haow yer'd be lendin' me a hand, " Uncle Jeb ventured. 

"I'm going back to work, " Tom said; "I had my vacation. "

"'Tain't exactly much of a vacation. "

"I feel better, " Tom said. 

Uncle Jeb understood Tom pretty well, and he did not try to argue withhim. 

"Be kinder lonesome back home in Bridgebory, huh? With all the boys uphere?" he ventured. 

"I'm going to buy a motor-boat, " Tom confided to him, "and go out on theriver a lot. A fellow I know will sell his for a hundred dollars. I'mgoing to buy it. "

"Goin' ter go out in it all alone?"

"Maybe. I spent a lot of time alone. There's a girl I know that works inthe office. Maybe she'll go out in it. Do you think she will?"

"Golly, it's hard sayin' what them critters'll do, " Uncle Jeb said. "Take a she bear; you never can tell if she'll run for you or away fromyou. "

Tom seemed to ponder on this shrewd observation. 

"Best thing is ter stay up here whar yer sure yer welcome, " the old mantook occasion to advise him. 

"One thing I'm sorry about, " Tom said, "and that is that Barnard didn'tcome. I guess I won't see him. "

"He might come yet, " Uncle Jeb said; "and he could give yer a hand. "

"I'd let him, " Tom said, "'cause I'm scared maybe I won't get finishednow. "

"I'm comin' up ter give yer a hand myself to-morrer, " Uncle Jeb said, "and we'll see some chips fly, I reckon. Let's get the fire started. "

Uncle Jeb was conscious of a little twinge of remorse that he had nothelped his lonely visitor more, but his own duties had taken much of histime lately. He realized now the difficulties that Tom had encounteredand surmounted, and he noticed with genuine sympathy that that doggedbulldog nature was beginning to be haunted with fears of not finishingthe work in time. 

Moreover, in that little talk, Tom had revealed, unwittingly, the twodominant thoughts that were in his mind. One was the hope, the anxiety, never expressed until now, that Barnard would come, and perhaps helphim. He had been thinking of this and silently counting on it. 

The other was his plan for buying a motor-boat, with his hundred or someodd precious dollars, and spending his lonely spare time in it, for thebalance of the summer, back in Bridgeboro. He was going to ask a girl heknew, the _only_ girl he knew, to go out in it. And he was doubtfulwhether she would go. 

These, then, were his two big enterprises--finishing the third cabin andtaking "that girl" out in the motor-boat which he would buy with his twoLiberty Bonds. And away down deep in his heart he was haunted by doubtsas to both enterprises. Perhaps he would not succeed. He still had hisstrong left arm, so far as the last cabin was concerned, and he couldwork until he fell in his tracks. But the girl was a new kind of anenterprise for poor Tom. 

His plan went further than he had allowed any one to know. 

Uncle Jeb, shrewd and gentle as he was saw all this and resolved thatTom's plans, crazy or not, should not go awry. He would do a littlechopping and log hauling up on that hill next day. Old Uncle Jeb nevermissed his aim and when he fixed his eye on the target of August first, it meant business. 

Then, the next morning, he was summoned by telegram to meet Mr. JohnTemple in New York and discuss plans for the woods property. 

So there you are again--Lucky Luke. 

CHAPTER XIX

THE SPECTRE OF DEFEAT

So Tom worked on alone. He made his headquarters on the hill now, seldomgoing down into the main body of the camp, and worked each day fromsunrise until it was too dark to see. Then he would build himself acamp-fire and cook his simple meal of beans and coffee and toastedcrackers, and turn in early. 

Every log for this last cabin had to be felled and trimmed of itsbranches, and hauled singly up the hillside by means of the rope andpulleys. Then it had to be notched and rolled into place, which was noteasy after the structure was two or three tiers high. 

Building a log cabin is essentially a work for two. The logs whichflanked the doorway and the window had to be cut to special lengths. The rough casings he made at night, after the more strenuous work of theday was done, and this labor he performed by the light of a singlerailroad lantern. The work of building the first two cabins had beenlargely that of fitting together timbers already cut, and adjusting oldbroken casings, but he was now in the midst of such a task as confrontedthe indomitable woodsmen of old and he strove on with doggedperseverance. Often, after a day's work which left him utterly exhaustedand throbbing in every muscle, he saw only one more log in place, as theresult of his laborious striving. 

Thus a week passed, and almost two, and Jeb Rushmore did not return, andTom knew that the next Saturday would bring the first arrivals. Not thathe cared so much for that, but he did not see his way clear to finishinghis task by the first of August, and the consciousness of impendingdefeat weighed heavily upon him. He must not be caught there with hissaw and axe by the scouts who had repudiated him and who believed him adeserter and a liar. 

He now worked late into the night; the straining of the taut ropes andthe creaking of the pulleys might have been heard at the lake's edge ashe applied the multiple power of leverage against some stubborn log andhauled it up the slope. Then he would notch and trim it, and in themorning, when his lame and throbbing arm was rested and his shoulderless sore after its night's respite, he would lift one end of it andthen the other on his shoulder and so, with many unavailing trialsfinally get it lodged in place. He could not get comfortable when heslept at night, because of his sore shoulders. They tormented him with akind of smarting anguish. And still Uncle Jeb did not return. 

At last, one night, that indomitable spirit which had refused torecognize his ebbing strength, showed signs of giving way. He had beentrying to raise a log into place and its pressure on his bruisedshoulder caused him excruciating pain. He got his sleeping blanket outof the cabin which he occupied and laid it, folded, on his shoulder, buthis weary frame gave way under the burden and he staggered and fell. 

When he was able to pull himself together, he gathered a few shavingsand built a little pyramid of sticks over them, and piling some largerpieces close by, kindled a blaze, then spreading his blanket on theground, sat down and watched the mounting tongues of flame. Every bonein his body ached. He was too tired to eat, even to sleep; and he couldfind no comfort in the cabin bunk. Here, at least, were cheerfulness andwarmth. He drew as close to the fire as was safe, for he fancied thatthe heat soothed the pain in his arm and shoulders. And the cheerfulcrackling of the blaze made the fire seem like a companion. . . . 

And then a strange thing happened. 

CHAPTER XX

THE FRIEND IN NEED

Standing on the opposite side of the fire was a young fellow of abouthis own age, panting audibly, and smiling at him with an exceedinglycompanionable smile. In the light of the fire, Tom could see that hiscurly hair was so red that a brick would have seemed blue by comparison, and the freckles were as thick upon his pleasant face as stars in thequiet sky. Moreover, his eyes sparkled with a kind of dancingrecklessness, and there was a winning familiarity about him that tookeven stolid Tom quite by storm. 

The stranger wore a plaid cap and a mackinaw jacket, the fuzzy textureof which was liberally besprinkled with burrs, which he was plucking offone by one, and throwing into the fire in great good humor. 

"I'm a human bramble bush, " he said; "a few more of them and I'd be anutmeg grater. I'm not conceited but I'm stuck up. "

"I didn't see you until just this minute, " Tom said; "or hear youeither. I guess you didn't come by the road. I guess you must have comeby the woods trail to get all those burrs on you. "

For just a moment the stranger seemed a trifle taken aback, but hequickly regained his composure and said, "I came in through the stageentrance, I guess. I can see you're an A-1 scout, good at observing anddeducing and all that. I bet you can't guess who I am. "

"I bet I can, " said Tom, soberly accepting the challenge; "you'reWilliam Barnard. And I'm glad you're here, too. "

"Right the first time, " said the stranger. "And you're Thomas Slade. Atlast we have met, as the villain says in the movies. You all alone?Here, let's get a squint at your mug, " he added, sitting on the blanketand holding Tom's chin up so as to obtain a good view of his face. 

Tom's wonted soberness dissolved under this familiar, friendlytreatment, and he said with characteristic blunt frankness, "I'm gladyou came. You're just like I thought you were. I hoped all the time thatyou'd come. "

"_Get out!_" said Barnard, giving him a bantering push and laughingmerrily. "I bet you never gave me a thought. Well, here I am, as largeas life, larger in fact, and now that I'm here, what are you going to dowith me? What's that; a light?" he added, glancing suddenly down to themain body of the camp. 

"It's just the reflection of this fire in the lake, " Tom said; "thereisn't anybody but me in camp now. The season is late starting. I guesstroops will start coming Saturday. "

"Yes?" said his companion, rather interested, apparently. "Well, I don'tsuppose they'll bother us much if we stick up here. What are you doing, building a city? The last time we met was in a hole in the ground, hey?Buried alive; you remember that? Little old France!"

"I don't want to talk about that, " Tom said; "when I told Uncle Jebabout it, it made me have a headache afterwards. I don't want to thinkabout that any more. But I'm mighty glad to see you, and I hope you'llstay. It seems funny, kind of, doesn't it?"

Prompt to avail himself of Tom's apparent invitation to friendlyintercourse, his companion lay flat on his back, clasped his hands overhis head and said, "As funny as a circus. So here we are again, met oncemore like Stanley and Livingstone in South Africa. And do you know, youlook just like I thought you'd look. I said to myself that Tom Slade hasa big mouth--determined. "

"I never thought how you'd look, " Tom said soberly; "but I said you werehappy-go-lucky, and I guess you are. I bet your scouts like you. Can youstay until they come?"

"They're a pack of wild Indians, but they think I'm the only baby in thecradle. "

"I guess they're right, " Tom said. 

"So you're all alone in camp, hey? And making your headquarters up here?Nice and cosy, hey? Remote and secluded, eh? That's the stuff for me. Itell my scouts, 'Keep away from civilization. ' The further back you getthe better. Guess they won't bother you up here much, hey? Regularhermit's den. No, I'm just on a flying visit, that's all. Came to NewYork on biz, and thought I'd run up and give the place the once over. Imight loaf around a week or two if you'll let me. Suppose I _could_ stayuntil the kids get here, if it comes to that; _my_ kids, I mean. Afterall it would be just a case of beating it back to Ohio and then beatingit back here with them. "

"You might as well stay here now you're here; I hope you will, " Tomsaid. "As long as you're here I might as well tell you why _I'm_ here, all alone. "

"Health?"

"Kind of, but not exactly, " Tom said. "These three cabins, the oldones--that one, and that one, and that one, " he added, pointing, "arethe ones my troop always had. But I forgot all about it and gave them toyour troop. That got them sore at me. Maybe I could have fixed it forthem, but that would have left you fellows without any cabins, becauseall the cabins down below are taken for August. So I came up here tobuild three more; that way, nobody'll get left. They don't know I'mdoing it. I only got about two weeks now. I guess I can't finish becausemy arm is lame, on account of that wound--_you_ know. And my shoulder issore. I wanted to go away before they come--I got reasons. "

His companion raised himself to a sitting posture, clasped his handsover his knees, and glanced about at the disordered scene which shone inthe firelight. "So that's what you've been up to, hey?" he said. 

"When I told you in my letter to address your letters here, that's whatI was thinking about, " Tom said. "Your troop and my--that other--troopwill be good friends, I guess. I'm going home when I get through andI'm going to buy a motor-boat. "

"Well--I'll--be--jiggered!" his friend said. "Thomas Slade, you're anold hickory-nut. "

"It was just like two trails, " Tom said, "and I hit the long one. "

"And you're still in the bush, hey? Well, now you listen here. Can Ibunk up here with you? All right-o. Then I'm yours for a finished job. Here's my hand. Over the top we go. On July thirty-first, the flagfloats over this last cabin. I'm with you, strong as mustard. Buildingcabins is my favorite sport. You can sit and watch me. I'm here tofinish that job with you--what do you say? Comrades to the death?"

"You can help, " said Tom, smiling. 

"That's me, " said Billy Barnard. 

CHAPTER XXI

TOM'S GUEST

Tom liked his new acquaintance immensely, but he did not altogetherunderstand him. His apparently reckless and happy-go-lucky temperamentand his breezy manner, were very attractive to sober Tom, but theyseemed rather odd in a scoutmaster. However, he could think of no goodreason why a scoutmaster should not have a reckless nature and a breezymanner. Perhaps, he thought, it would be well if more scoutmasters werelike that. He thought that returned soldiers must make goodscoutmasters. He suspected that scoutmasters out west must be different. Of one thing he felt certain, and that was that the scouts in WilliamBarnard's troop must worship him. If he was different from somescoutmasters, perhaps this could be accounted for by the fact that hewas younger. Tom suspected that here was just the kind of scoutmasterthat the National Organization was after--one with pep. On the whole, hethought that William Barnard was a bully scoutmaster. 

At all events he seemed to be pretty skillful at woodcraft. The nextmorning he set to work in real earnest and Tom took fresh hope andcourage from his strenuous partner. 

"This is _your_ job, " his friend would say; "all I'm doing is helping;sort of a silent partner, as you might say. "

But for all that he worked like a slave, relieving Tom of the heavierwork, and at night he was dog tired, as he admitted himself. Thus thework went on, and with the help of his new friend, Tom began to seelight through the darkness. "We'll get her finished or bust a trace, "Barnard said. They bunked together in one of the old cabins and Tomenjoyed the isolation and the pioneer character of their task. Relievedof the tremendous strain of lifting the logs alone, his shoulderregained some of its former strength and toughness, and the confidenceof success in time cheered him no less than did the amusing andsprightly talk of his friend. 

Barnard had not been there two days when his thoughtfulness relieved Tomof one of the daily tasks which had taken much time from his work. Thiswas to follow the trail down the hillside and through the woods to whereit ran into the public road and wait there for the mail wagon to passand get the letters. "I'll take care of that, " he said, as soon as Tomanswered his inquiry as to how mail was received at camp, "don't youworry. I have to have my little hike every day. "

There was quite an accumulation of mail when Uncle Jeb, looking strangeand laughable in his civilized clothes, as Barnard called them, arrivedon Saturday morning. The bus, which brought him up from Catskill, brought also the advance guard of the scout army that would shortlyover-run the camp. 

These dozen or so boys and Uncle Jeb strolled up to visit the camp onthe hill, and Uncle Jeb, as usual, expressed no surprise at finding thatTom's visitor had come. "Glad ter see yer, " he said; "yer seem like acouple of Robinson Crusoes up here. Glad ter see yer givin' Tommy ahand. "

"I got a right to say he's my visitor, haven't I?" Tom asked, withoutany attempt at hinting. "'Cause I knew him, as you might say, over inFrance. We catch fish in the brook and we don't use the camp storesmuch. "

"Wall, naow, I wouldn' call this bein' in the camp at all; not yet, leastways, " Uncle Jeb said, including the stranger in his shrewd, friendly glance. "Tommy, here, is a privileged character, as the fellersays. En your troop's coming later, hain't they? I reckon we won't putyou down on the books. You jes stay here with Tommy till he gets hischore done. You're visitin' him ez I see it. Nobody's a goin' ter botheryer up here. "

So there was one troublesome matter settled to Tom's satisfaction. Hehad wanted to consider Barnard as his particular guest on theirhillside retreat and not as a pay guest at the camp. He was glad forwhat Uncle Jeb had said. But he was rather surprised that Barnard hadnot protested against this hospitality. What he was particularlysurprised at, however, was a certain uneasiness which this scoutmasterfrom the west had shown in Uncle Jeb's presence. But it was nothingworth thinking about, certainly, and Tom ceased to think about it. 

CHAPTER XXII

AN ACCIDENT

The time had now come when each day brought new arrivals to the camp, and August the first loomed large in the near future. It was less than aweek off. The three new cabins stood all but completed, and thanks tothe strenuous and unfailing help of his friend from the West, Tom knewthat his scout dream of atonement was fulfilled. 

"When they get here, " he said to Uncle Jeb, "just tell them that theyare to bunk in the cabins up on the hill. Barnard will be here to meethis own troop, and he'll take them up to the new cabins. Roy and thefellows will like Barnard, that's sure. It'll be like a kind of a littleseparate camp up on the hill; two troops--six patrols. "

"En yer ain't a goin' ter change yer mind en stay, Tommy?"

"Nope, " said Tom; "I don't want to see them. I'm going down Thursday. They'll all be here Saturday, I suppose. "

In those last days of the work, little groups of scouts would stroll upfrom the main body of the camp to watch the progress of the labor, butthe novelty of this form of entertainment soon passed, for the big camphad too many other attractions. In those days of hard work, Tom's likingfor his friend had ripened into a feeling of admiring affection, whichhis stolid but generous nature was not slow to reveal, and he made thesprightly visitor his confidant. 

One night--it might have been along about the middle of the week--theysprawled wearily near their camp-fire, chatting about the work and aboutTom's future plans. 

"One thing, I never could have finished it without you, " Tom said, "andI'm glad you're going to stay, because you can be a kind of scoutmasterto both troops. I bet you'll be glad to see your own fellows. I betyou'll like Roy, too, and the other fellows I told you about. PeeweeHarris--you'll laugh at him. He has everybody laughing. Their ownscoutmaster, Mr. Ellsworth, is away, so it'll be good, as you might say, for them to have you. One thing I like about you, and that is you're notalways talking about the law, and giving lectures and things like that. You're just like another fellow; you're different from a lot ofscoutmasters. You're not always talking about the handbook and goodturns and things. "

His companion seemed a bit uncomfortable but he only laughed and said, "Actions speak louder than words, don't they, Tommy? We've _lived_ it, and that's better, huh?"

"That's mostly the only thing that makes me wish I was going to stay, "Tom said; "so's I'd know you better. I bet you'll keep those fellows onthe jump; I bet you won't be all the time preaching to them. Mostly, theway my troop comes is across the lake. They hike up from Catskillthrough the woods. If your troop comes on the afternoon train, maybeboth troops will come up through the woods together, hey? I'd like tosee some of those scouts of yours. I bet they're crazy about you. Younever told me much about them. "

"We've been building cabins, Tommy, old boy. "

"Yes, but now the work is nearly finished, all we have to do is clearup, and I'd like to hear something about your troop. Have they got manymerit badges?"

"'Bout 'steen. Look here, Tommy boy; I think the best thing for you to dois to forget your grouch at Ray, or Roy, or whatever you call him, andjust make up your mind to stay right here. This job you've done----"

"You mean _we_, " Tom interrupted. 

"Well, _we_, then--it's going to wipe out all hard feeling andeverything is going to be all hunk. You'll make a better scoutmaster tothe whole bunch than I will. I'm better at work than I am at discipline, Tom. I can't pull that moral suasion bunk at all. I'm pretty nifty atswinging an axe, but I'm weak on the good turn and duty stuff. "

"You did _me_ a good turn, all right, " Tom said, with simple gratitudein his tone. 

"But I mean the big brother stuff, " his companion said; "I'm not so muchof a dabster at that. You're the one for that--you're a scoutologist. "

"A what?" Tom said. 

"A scout specialist. One who has studied scoutology. You're the one tomanage, what's-his-name, Peewee? And that other kid--Ray----"

"Roy, " Tom corrected him. 

"I was in hopes you'd weaken and decide to stay and we'd--they'd--electyou generalissimo of the allied troops, like old Foch. "

Tom only shook his head. "I don't want to be here, " he said; "I don'twant to be here when they come. After they see the cabins you can tellthem how I didn't know who you were until long after I--I made themistake. They'll admit that this was the only thing for me to do;they'll admit it when they know about it. The only thing is, that Ithought about it before they did, that's all. You got to admit it's thescout way, 'cause a scout wouldn't try to sneak out of anything the easyway. "

"I don't know if it's the scout way, " his companion said, "but it's theTom Slade way. "

"I got to be thankful I was a scout, " Tom observed. 

"I think the scouts have to be thankful, " his friend said, with a noteof admiration ringing in his voice. 

"They thought I forgot how to be a scout, " Tom said. "Now they'll see. "

Barnard raised himself to a sitting posture, clasped his hands over hisknees, in that attitude which had come to be characteristic of him abouttheir lonely camp-fire, and glanced about at the results of Tom's long, strenuous, lonesome labors. And he thought how monotonous it must havebeen there for Tom through those long days and nights that he had spentalone on that isolated hilltop. As he glanced about him, the completedwork loomed large and seemed like a monument to the indomitable will andprowess of this young fellow who seemed to him so simple andcredulous--almost childlike in some ways. He wondered how Tom could everhave raised those upper logs into their places. It seemed to him thatthe trifling instance of thoughtlessness which was the cause of all thisstriving, was nothing at all, and in no way justified those weeks ofwearisome labor. A queer fellow, he thought, was this Tom Slade. Therewas the work, all but finished, three new cabins standing alongside theother three, and all the disorder of choppings and bits of wood lyingabout. 

He glanced at Tom Slade where he sat near him by the fire, and noticedthe torn shirt, the hand wrapped in a bandage, the bruised spot on thatplain, dogged face, where a chunk of wood had flown up and all butblinded him. He noticed that big mouth. The whimsical thought occurredto him that this young fellow's face was, itself, something like a knotof wood; strong and stubborn, and very plain and homely. And yet he wasso easily imposed upon--not exactly that, perhaps, but he was simplewithal, and trusting and credulous. . . . 

"If I get back before Saturday I can see that fellow, " Tom said, "andbuy his boat. He comes home early Saturday afternoons. He said I couldhave it for a hundred dollars if I wanted it. I got twenty-five dollarsmore than I need. "

"You're rich. And the girl; don't forget _her_. She's worth more than ahundred and twenty-five. "

"I'm going to give her a ride in it Sunday, maybe, " Tom said. 

For a few minutes neither spoke, and there was no sound but thecrackling of the blaze and the distant voices of scouts down on thelake. "You can hear them plain up here, " Tom said; "are your scouts fondof boating?"

Still his companion did not speak. 

"Well, then, " he finally said; "if you're going Thursday that means yougo to-morrow. I was going to try to talk you into changing your mind, but just now, when I was piking around, and taking a squint at the workand at your face, I saw it wouldn't be any use. I guess people don'tinfluence you much, hey?"

"Roy Blakeley influenced me a lot. "

"Well then, " said Barnard, "let's put the finishing touch on this jobwhile both of us are here to do it. What do you say? Shall we haul upthe flagpole?"

The shortest way down the hill in the direction of the new property wasacross a little gully over which they had laid a log. This was aconvenient way of going when there was no burden to be borne. Thehauling and carrying were done at a point some hundred feet from thishollow. In the woods beyond, they had cut and hewn a flagstaff and sincetwo could easily carry it, Barnard's idea was that this should be donethen, so that he might have Tom's assistance. 

With Barnard, to think was to act, he was all impulse, and in twoseconds he was on his feet and headed for their makeshift bridge acrossthe gully. Tom followed him and was startled to see his friend gotumbling down into the hollow fully three feet from where the log lay. Before Tom reached the edge a scream, as of excruciating pain, arose, and he lost not a second in scrambling down into the chasm, where hiscompanion lay upon the rocks, holding his forehead and groaning. 

CHAPTER XXIII

FRIENDS

"Take your hand off your forehead, " Tom said, trying gently to move itagainst the victim's will; "so I can tell if it's bad. Don't be scared, you're stunned that's all. It's cut, but it isn't bleeding much. "

"I'm all right, " Barnard said, trying to rise. 

"Maybe you are, " Tom said, "but safety first; lie still. Can you moveyour arms? Does your back hurt?"

"I don't want any doctor, " Barnard said. 

"See if you can--no, lie still; see if you can wiggle your fingers. Iguess you're just cut, that's all. Here, let me put my handkerchiefaround it. You got off lucky. "

"You don't call _that_ lucky, do you?" Barnard asked. "My head acheslike blazes. "

"Sure it does, " said Tom, feeling his friend's pulse, "but you're allright. "

[Illustration: TOM HELPED BARNARD TO THEIR CABIN. Tom Slade at BlackLake--Page 134]

"I got a good bang in the head, " said Barnard; "I'll be all right, " headded, sitting up and gazing about him. "Case of look before you leap, hey? Do you know what I did?"

"You stepped on the shadow instead of the log, " Tom said. "I was goingto call to you, but I thought that as long as you're a scout you'd knowabout that. It was on account of the fire--the way it was shining. That's what they call a false ford----"

"Well, the next time I hope there'll be a Maxwell or a Packard thereinstead, " Barnard said in his funny way. 

"A false ford is a shadow across a hollow place, " Tom said. "You seethem mostly in the moonlight. Don't you remember how lots of fellowswere fooled like that, trying to cross trenches. The Germans could makeit look like a bridge where there wasn't any bridge--don't youremember?"

"_Some_ engineers!" Barnard observed. "Ouch, but my head hurts! Goingdown, hey? I don't like those shadow bridges; it's all a matter oftaste, I suppose. Oh boy, how my head aches!"

"If it was broken it wouldn't ache, " said Tom consolingly, "or youwouldn't know it if it did. Can you get up?"

"I can't go up as quick as I came down, " Barnard said, sitting there andholding his head in a way that made even sober Tom smile, "but I guess Ican manage it. "

He arose and Tom helped him through the gully to where it petered out, and so to their cabin. Barnard's ankle was strained somewhat, and he hadan ugly cut on his forehead, which Tom cleansed and bandaged, and itbeing already late, the young man who had tried walking on a shadowdecided that he would turn in and try the remedy of sleep on histhrobbing head. 

"Look here, Slady, " he said, after he was settled for the night, "I'vegot your number, you old grouch. I know what it means when you get anidea in your old noddle, so please remember that I don't want any ofthat bunch from down below up here, and I don't want any doctor. See?You're not going to pull any of that stuff on me, are you? Just let meget a night's sleep and I'll be all right. I'm not on exhibition. Idon't want anybody up here piking around just because I took a doubleheader into space. And I don't want any doctors from Leeds or Catskillup here, either. Get me?"

"If you get to sleep all right and don't have any fever, you won't needany doctor, " Tom said; "and I won't go away till you're all right. "

"You're as white as a snowstorm, Slady, " his friend said. "I've had thetime of my life here with you alone. And I'm going to wind up with youalone. No outsiders. Two's a company, three's a mob. "

Something, he knew not what, impelled sober, impassive Tom to sit downfor a few moments on the edge of the bunk where his friend lay. 

"Red Cross nurse and wounded doughboy, hey?" his friend observed in thatflippant manner which sometimes amused and sometimes annoyed Tom. 

"I liked it, too, being here alone with you, " Tom said, "even if ithadn't been for you helping me a lot, I would have liked it. I like youa whole lot. I knew I'd like you. I used to camp with Roy Blakeley up onhis lawn and it reminded me of that, being up here alone with you. AfterI've gone, you'll mix up with the fellows down in the camp, but anyhow, you'll remember how we were up here alone together, I bet. You bet I'llremember that--I will. "

Barnard reached out his hand from under the coverings and grasped Tom'shand. "You're all there, Tommy, " he said. "And you won't remember how Igot on your nerves, and how I tried walking on a shadow, and----"

Tom did not release his friend's hand, or perhaps it was Barnard who didnot release Tom's. At all events, they remained in that attitude, handsclasped, for still a few moments more. "Only the _good_ things about me, hey, Tommy boy?" his friend asked. 

"I don't know any other kind of things, " Tom said, "and if I heard any Iwouldn't believe them. I always said your scouts must think a lot ofyou. I think you're different from other scoutmasters. You can _make_people like you, that's sure. "

"Sure, eh?"

"It's sure with _me_ anyway, " Tom said. 

"Resolution, determination, friendship--all _sure_ with _you_. Hey, Tommy boy? Because you're built out of _rocks_. Bridges, they may benothing but shadows, hey? According to you, you can't depend on half ofthem. I wonder if it's that way with friendships, huh?"

"It ain't with mine, " Tom said simply. 

And still Barnard clung to Tom's hand. "Maybe we'll test it some day, Slady old boy. "

"There's no use testing a thing that's sure, " Tom said. 

"Yes?"

And still Barnard did not release his hand. '

"It's funny you didn't know about false fords, " Tom said. 

CHAPTER XXIV

TOM GOES ON AN ERRAND

Tom had intended to go down into camp for a strip of bandage and to seeUncle Jeb, but since Barnard was so averse to having his mishap knownand to having visitors, he thought it better not to go down that night. He did not like the idea of not mentioning his friend's accident to theold camp manager. Tom had not been able to rid himself of a feeling thatUncle Jeb did not wholly approve of the sprightly Barnard. He had nogood reason for any such supposition, but the feeling persisted. It madehim uncomfortable when occasionally the keen-eyed old plainsman hadstrolled up to look things over, and he was always relieved when UncleJeb went away. Tom could not for the life of him, tell why he had thisfeeling, but he had it just the same. 

So now, in order not to rouse his friend, who seemed at last to havedozed off, he lingered by the dying embers of their fire. As the lastflickerings of the blaze subsided and the yellow fragments turned togray, then black, it seemed to Tom as if this fire symbolized thepetering out of that pleasant comradeship, now so close at hand. In hisheart, he longed to wait there and continue this friendship and be withRoy and the others, as he had so often been at the big camp. 

He had grown to admire and to like Barnard immensely. It was the likingborn of gratitude and close association, but it was the liking, also, which the steady, dull, stolid nature is apt to feel for one who islight and vivacious. Barnard's way of talking, particularly his ownbrand of slang, was very captivating to sober Tom, who could do bigthings but not little things. He had told himself many times thatBarnard's scouts "must be crazy about him. " And Barnard had laughed andsaid, "They _must_ be crazy if they like _me_. . . . "

"He says I'm queer, " Tom mused, "but he's queer, too, in a way. I guessa lot of people don't understand him. It's because he's happy-go-lucky. It's funny he didn't know about shadow bridges, because it's in thehandbook. " Then Tom couldn't remember whether it was in the handbook ornot. . . . "Anyway, he's got the right idea about good turns, " hereflected. "I met lots of scouts that never read the handbook; I metscoutmasters, too. . . . "

And indeed there were few scouts, or scoutmasters either, who hadfollowed the trail through the handbook with the dogged patience of TomSlade. He had mastered scouting the same as he had mastered this job. 

Barnard was pretty restive that night, tossed on his bunk, andcomplained much of his head aching. "It feels like an egg being beatenby an egg beater, " he said; "I'm off the shadow bridge stuff for goodand all. It throbs to the tune of _Over There_. "

Tom thought this must be pretty bad--to throb to the tune of _OverThere_. He had never had a headache like that. 

"If you could only fall asleep, " Tom said. 

"Well, I guess I will; I'm pretty good at falling, " his friend observed. "I fell for you, hey Slady? O-h-h! My head!"

"It's the same with me, " said Tom. 

"You got one too? _Good night!_"

"I mean about what you were saying--about falling for me. It's the samewith me. "

"Same here, Slady; go to bed and get some sleep yourself. "

It was two or three o'clock in the morning before the sufferer did getto sleep, and he slept correspondingly late. Tom knew that the headachemust have stolen off and he felt sure that his companion would awakenrefreshed. "I'll be glad because then I won't have to get the doctor, "he said to himself. He wished to respect Bernard's smallest whim. 

Tom did not sleep much himself, either, and he was up bright and earlyto anticipate his friend's waking. He tiptoed out of the cabin andquietly made himself a cup of coffee. It was one of those beautifulmornings, which are nowhere more beautiful than at Temple Camp. Thesoft breeze, wafting the pungent fragrance of pines, bore also up tothat lonely hilltop the distant clatter of dishes and the voices ofscouts from the camp below. The last patches of vapor were dissolvingover the wood embowered lake, and one or two early canoes were alreadymoving aimlessly upon its placid bosom. A shout and a laugh and a suddensplash, sounding faint in the distance, told him that some uninitiatednew arrivals were diving from the springboard before breakfast. Theywould soon be checked in that pastime, Tom knew. 

From the cooking shack where Chocolate Drop, the camp's famous cook, held autocratic sway and drove trespassing scouts away with a deadlyfrying pan, arose a graceful column of smoke which was carried away offover the wooded hills toward Leeds. Pretty soon Chocolate Drop wouldneed _two_ deadly frying pans, for Peewee Harris was coming. 

Tom knew that nothing had been heard from the Bridgeboro scouts sinceUncle Jeb had told him definitely that they were scheduled to arrive onthe first, as usual. He knew that no other letter had come, because allthe camp mail had passed through his hands. It had come to be theregular custom for Barnard to rise early and follow the secluded traildown to the state road where the mail wagon passed. He had early claimedit as his own job, and Tom, ever anxious to please him, had let him dothis while he himself was gathering wood and preparing breakfast. "Always hike to work out west and can't get out of the habit, " Barnardhad said. "Like to hobnob with the early birds and first worms, and allthat kind of stuff. Give me a lonesome trail and I'm happy--take oneevery morning before breakfast, and after retiring. How about that, oldDoctor Slade?"

Old Doctor Slade had thought it was a good idea. 

But this morning his friend was sleeping, and old Doctor Slade would notwaken him. He tiptoed to the cabin and looked cautiously within. Barnardwas sleeping the sleep of the righteous--to quote one of his ownfavorite terms. The bandage had slipped down from his forehead, andlooked not unlike a scout scarf about his neck. A ray of early sunlightslanted through the crack between the logs and hit him plunk in thehead, making his curly red hair shine like a red danger signal. He wassound asleep--dead to the wicked world--as he was himself fond ofsaying. 

 Early to bed and early to rise, And you won't meet any regular guys. 

As Tom paused, looking at him, he thought of that oft repeatedadmonition of his friend. He knew Barnard never meant that seriously. That was just the trouble--he was always saying things like that, andthat was why people would never understand him and give him credit. . . . But Tom understood him, all right; that was what he told himself. "I gotto laugh at him, that's sure, " he said. Then he bethought him, and outof his simple, generous nature, he thought, "Didn't he say actions speaklouder than words? That's what counts. "

He tiptoed over to where that ray of sunlight came in, and hung hiscoat over the place. The shiny brightness of Barnard's hair faded, andthe cabin was almost dark. Tom got his cap, and turning in the doorwayto make sure his friend's sleep was undisturbed, picked his waycarefully over the area of chips and twigs where most of the trimminghad been done, and started down through the wooded hillside toward thetrail which afforded a short-cut to the state road. 

Once, and once only he paused, and that was to glance at a ragged hollowin the woods where a tree had been uprooted in some winter storm. Itreminded him of the very day that Barnard had arrived, for it was aftera discouraging afternoon with that stubborn old trunk that he hadretraced his steps wearily to his lonesome camp and met the visitor whohad assisted him and beguiled the lonesome days and nights for him eversince. Barnard, willing and ready, had sawed through that trunk the nextmorning. "Say nothing, but saw wood; that's the battle cry, Slady, " hehad cheerfully observed, mopping the perspiration from his brow. 

And now, as Tom looked into that jagged hollow, his thoughts went evenfurther back, and he thought how it was in some such earthen dungeon asthis that he and Barnard had first seen each other--or rather, met. Barnard had thoughtfully refrained from talking of those things whichwere still so agitating and disturbing to poor Tom, but Tom thought ofit now, because his stolid nature was pierced at last, and his heart wasoverflowing with gratitude to this new friend, who twice had come to hisrescue--here on the isolated hillside on the edge of the beloved camp, and over there, in war torn France. 

"You bet _I_ understand him all right, " said Tom. "Even if he talks alot of crazy nonsense, he can't fool me. You bet _I_ know what he is, all right. He can make believe, sort of, that he doesn't care much aboutanything. But he can't fool me--he can't. "

CHAPTER XXV

TWO LETTERS

The trail wound its way through a pleasant stretch of woodland where thebirds sang cheerily, and occasionally a squirrel paused and cocked itshead in pert amazement at this rude intrusion into its domain. Itcrossed a little brook where Tom and Roy had fished many times, andgroped for pollywogs and crawfish when Tom was a tenderfoot at TempleCamp. Those were happy days. 

Where the trail came out into the state road there was a rough boardacross two little pedestals of logs, which the scouts of camp had putthere, as a seat on which to wait for the ever welcome mail stage. Theboard was thick with carved initials, the handiwork of scouts who hadcome and gone, and among these Tom picked out R. B. And W. H. (whichstood for Walter Harris for Peewee did not acknowledge officially hisfamous nickname). As Tom glanced at these crude reminders of his troopand former comrades, he noted wistfully how Peewee's initials werealways cut unusually large and imposing, standing out boldly amongothers, as if to inform the observer that a giant had been at work. Everything about Peewee was tremendous--except his size. 

Tom sat on this bench and waited. It reminded him of old times to bethere. But he was not unhappy. He had followed the long trail, the trailwhich to his simple nature had seemed the right one, he had done the jobwhich he had set out to do, they were going to have their three familiarcabins on the hill, and he was happy. He had renewed that strange, briefacquaintanceship in France, and found in his war-time friend, a newcomrade. He felt better, his nerves were steady. The time had been wellspent and he was happy. Perhaps it was only a stubborn whim, this goingaway now, but that was his nature and he could not change it. 

When the mail wagon came along, its driver greeted him cheerily, for heremembered him well. 

"Where's the other fellow?" he asked. 

"I came instead, to-day, " Tom said. 

"That chap is a sketch, ain't he?" the man commented. "He ain't gonehome, has he?"

"He's going to stay through August, " Tom said; "his troop's comingSaturday. "

"Purty lively young feller, " the man said. 

"He's happy-go-lucky, " said Tom. 

The man handed him a dozen or so letters and cards and a batch ofpapers, and drove on. Tom resumed his seat on the bench and looked themover. There was no doubt that Roy and the troop were coming; apparentlythey were coming in their usual manner, for there was a card from Roy toUncle Jeb which said, Coming Saturday on afternoon train. Hope you can give us a tent away from the crowd. Tell Chocolate Drop to have wheat cakes Sunday morning. Peewee's appetite being sent ahead by express. Pay charges. 

 So long, see you later. 

 P. S. Have hot biscuits, too. ROY. 

There were a couple of letters to Uncle Jeb from the camp office, andthe rest were to scouts in camp whom Tom did not know, for he had madeno acquaintances. There was one letter for Tom, bearing the postmark ofDansburg, Ohio, which he opened with curiosity and read with increasingconsternation. It ran:

 DEAR TOM SLADE:

 I didn't get there after all, but now we're coming, the whole outfit, bag and baggage. I suppose you think I'm among the missing, not hearing from me all this time. But on Saturday I'll show you the finest troop of scouts this side of Mars. So kill the fatted calf for we're coming. 

 Slade, as sure as I'm writing you this letter, I started east, sumpty-sump days ago and was going to drop in on you and have a little visit, just we two, before this noisy bunch got a chance to interfere. We'll just have to sneak away from them and get off in the woods alone and talk about old times in France. 

 Maybe you won't believe it, but I got as far as Columbus and there was a telegram from my boss, "Come in, come in, wherever you are. " Can you beat that? So back I went on the next train. You'll have to take the will for the deed, old man. 

 Don't you care; now I'm coming with my expeditionary forces, and you and I'll foil them yet. One of our office men was taken sick, that was the trouble. And I've been so busy doing his work and my own, and getting this crew of wild Indians ready to invade Temple Camp, that I haven't had time to write a letter, that's a fact. Even at this very minute, one young tenderfoot is shouting in my ear that he's crazy to see that fellow I bunked into in France. He says he thinks the troop you're mixed up with must think you're a great hero. 

 So bye bye, till I see you, W. BARNARD. 

Twice, three times, Tom read this letter through, in utter dismay. Whatdid it mean? He squinted his eyes and scrutinized the signature, as ifto make sure that he read it aright. There was the name, W. Barnard. Thehandwriting was Barnard's, too. And the envelope had been postmarked inDansburg, Ohio, two days prior to the day of its arrival. 

How could this be? What did it mean?

CHAPTER XXVI

LUCKY LUKE'S FRIEND

Tom returned through the woods in a kind of trance, pausing once toglance through the letter again and to scrutinize the signature. Hefound the patient up and about, with no reminder of his mishap save thecut on his forehead. He was plainly agitated and expectant as he lookedthrough the woods and saw Tom coming. It was clear that he was in somesuspense, but Tom, who would have noticed the smallest insect or mostindistinct footprint in the path, did not observe this. 

"H'lo, Slady, " he said with a fine show of unconcern; "out for the earlyworm?" He did not fail to give a sidelong glance at Tom's pocket. 

"Is your headache all gone?" Tom asked. 

"Sneaked off just like you, " he said; "I was wondering where you were. I see you were down for the mail. Anything doing?" he asked withill-concealed curiosity. 

"They're coming, " Tom said. 

"Who's coming?"

"Roy and the troop, " Tom answered. 

"Oh. Nothing important, huh?"

"I got some mail for camp; I'm going down to Uncle Jeb's cabin; I'll beright back, " Tom said. 

His friend looked at him curiously, anxiously, as Tom started down thehill. 

"I won't make any breaks, " Tom said simply, leaving his friend to makewhat he would of this remark. The other watched him for a moment andseemed satisfied. 

Having delivered the mail without the smallest sign of discomposure, hetramped up the hill again in his customary plodding manner. His friendwas sitting on the door sill of one of the new cabins, whittling astick. He looked as if he might have been reflecting, as one is apt todo when whittling a stick. 

"You got to tell me who you are?" Tom said, standing directly in frontof him. 

"You got a letter? I thought so, " his friend said, quietly. "Sit down, Slady. "

For just a moment Tom hesitated, then he sat down on the sill alongsidehis companion. 

"All right, old man, " said the other; "spring it--you're through with mefor good?"

"You got to tell me who you are, " Tom said doggedly; "first you got totell me who you are. "

For a few moments they sat there in silence, Tom's companion whittlingthe stick and pondering. 

"I ain't mad, anyway, " Tom finally said. 

"You're not?" the other asked. 

"It don't make any difference as long as you're my friend, and youhelped me. "

The other looked up at him in surprise, surveying Tom's stolid, almostexpressionless face which was fixed upon the distant camp. "You'resolid, fourteen karat gold, Slady, " he finally said. "I'm bad enough, goodness knows; but to put it over on a fellow like you, just becauseyou're easy, it's--it just makes me feel like--Oh, I don't know--like asneak. I'm ashamed to look you in the face, Slady. "

Still Tom said nothing, only looked off through the trees below, wherespecks of white could be seen here and there amid the foliage. "They'reputting up the overflow tents, " he said, irrelevantly; "there'll be alot coming Saturday. "

Then, again, there was silence for a few moments. 

"I'm used to having things turn out different from the way I expected, "Tom said, dully. 

"Slady----" his friend began, but paused. 

And for a few moments there was silence again, save for the distantsound of splashing down at the lake's edge, where scouts were swimming. 

"Slady----listen, Slady; as sure as I sit here . . . Are you listening, Slady? As sure as I sit here, I'm going to tell you the truth--every goldarned last word of it. "

"I never said you lied, " Tom said, never looking at him. 

"No? I tried not to tell many. But I've been _living_ one; that's worse. I'm so contemptible I--it's putting anything over on _you_--that's whatmakes me feel such a contemptible, low down sneak. That's what's got me. I don't care so much about the other part. It's _you_--Slady----"

He put his hand on Tom's shoulder and looked at him with a kind ofexpectancy. And still Tom's gaze was fixed upon the camp below them. 

"I don't mind having things go wrong, " Tom said, with a kind of patheticdullness that must have gone straight to the other's heart. "As long asI got a friend it doesn't make any difference what one--I mean who heis. Lots of times the wrong trail takes you to a better place. "

"Do you know where it's taking you _this_ time? It isn't a question of_who_ I am. It's a question of _what_ I am--Slady. Do you know what Iam?"

"You're a friend of mine, " Tom said. 

His companion slowly drew his hand from Tom's shoulder, and gazed, perplexed and dumfounded, into that square, homely, unimpassioned face. 

"I'm a thief, Slady, " he said. 

"I used to steal things, " Tom said. 

CHAPTER XXVII

THORNTON'S STORY

It was very much like Tom Slade that this altogether sensationaldisclosure and startling announcement did not greatly agitate him, noreven make him especially curious. The fact that this seductive strangerwas his friend seemed the one outstanding reality to him. If he had anyother feelings, of humiliation at being so completely deceived, or ofdisappointment, he did not show them. But he did reiterate in that dullway of his, "You got to tell me who you are. "

"I'm _going_ to tell, Slady, " his friend said, with a note of sinceritythere was no mistaking; "I'm going to tell you the whole business. Whatdid _you_ ever steal? An apple out of a grocery store, or something likethat? I thought so. You wouldn't know how to steal if you tried; you'dmake a bungle of it. "

"That's the way I do, sometimes, " Tom said. 

"Is it? Well, you didn't this time--old man. If I'm your friend, I'mgoing to be worth it. Do you get that?"

"I told you you was. "

"Slady, I never knew what I was going to get up against, or I wouldnever have tried to swing this thing. If you'd turned out to be adifferent kind of a fellow I wouldn't have felt so much like a sneak. It's _you_ that makes me feel like a criminal--not those sleuths andbloodhounds out there. Listen, Slady; it's a kind of a camp-fire story, as you would call it, that I'm going to tell you. "

He laid his hand on Tom's arm as he talked and so they sat there on therough sill of the cabin doorway, Tom silent, the other eager, anxious, as he related his story. The birds flitted about and chirped in thetrees overhead, busy with their morning games or tasks, and below thevoices of scouts could be heard, thin and spent by the distance, andoccasionally the faint sound of a diver with accompanying shouts andlaughter which Tom seemed to hear as in a dream. Far off, beyond themountains, could be heard the shrill whistle of a train, bringingscouts, perhaps, to crowd the already filled tent space. And amid allthese distant sounds which, subdued, formed a kind of outdoor harmony, the voice of Tom's companion sounded strangely in his ear. 

"My home is out in Broadvale, Ohio, Slady. Ever hear of it? It's west ofDansburg--about fifty miles. I worked in a lumber concern out there. Canyou guess the rest? Here's what did it, Slady, (and with admirabledexterity he went through the motions of shuffling cards and shootingcraps). I swiped a hundred, Slady. Don't ask me why I did it--I don'tknow--I was crazy, that's all. So _now_ what have you got to say?" heinquired with a kind of recklessness, releasing Tom's arm. 

"I ain't got anything to say, " said Tom. 

"They don't know it yet, Tommy, but they'll know it Monday. Theaccountants are on the job Monday. So I beat it, while the going wasgood. I started east, for little old New York. I intended to change myname and get a job there and lay low till I could make good. I thoughtthey'd never find me in New York. My right name is Thornton, Slady. RedThornton they call me out home, on account of this brick dome. Tommy, old boy, as sure as you sit there I don't know any more about the boyscouts than a pig knows about hygiene. So now you've got my number, Slady. What is it? Quits?"

"If you knew anything about scouts, " Tom said, with the faintest note ofhuskiness in his voice, "you'd know that they don't call quits. If I wasa quitter, do you suppose I'd have stuck up here?"

Thornton gazed about him at the three new cabins, which this queerfriend of his had built there to rectify a trifling act offorgetfulness; he looked at Tom's torn shirt, through which his bruisedshoulder could be seen, and at those tough scarred hands. 

"So now you know something about them, " Tom said. 

"I know something about _one_ of them, anyway, " Thornton repliedadmiringly. 

"If a fellow sticks in one way, he'll stick in another way, " Tom said. "If he makes up his mind to a thing----"

"You said it, Slady, " Thornton concurred, giving Tom a rap on theshoulder. "And now you know, you won't tell? You won't tell that I'vegone to New York?" he added with sudden anxiety. 

"Who would I tell?" Tom asked. "Nobody ever made me do anything yet thatI didn't want to do. " Which was only too true. 

Thornton crossed one knee over the other and talked with more ease andassurance. "I met Barnard on the train coming east, Slady. He has redhair like mine, so I thought I'd sit down beside him; we harmonized. "

Tom could not repress a smile. "He told me in a letter that he had redhair, " he observed. 

"Red as a Temple Camp sunset, Tommy old boy. You're going to like thatfellow; he's a hundred per cent, white--only for his hair. He's gotscouting on the brain--clean daft about it. He told me all about you andhow he and his crew of kids were going to spend August here and makethings lively. Your crowd----"

"Troop, " Tom said. 

"Right-o; your troop had better look out for that bunch--excuse me, _troop_. Right? I'm learning, hey? I'll be a good scout when I get outof jail, " he added soberly. "Never mind; listen. Barnard thinks you'rethe only scout outside of Dansburg, Ohio. He told me how he was cominghere to give you a little surprise call before the season opened and thekids--guys--scouts, right-o, began coming. Tom, " he added seriously, "bythe time we got to Columbus, I knew as much about Temple Camp and you, as _he_ did. He didn't know so much about _you_ either, if it comes tothat. But I found out that you were pretty nearly all alone here. 

"Then he got a wire, Tom; I think it was in Columbus. A brakeman camethrough the train with a message, calling his name. Oh, boy, but he waspiffed! 'Got to go home, ' he said. That's all there was to it, Tom. Business before pleasure, hey? Poor fellow, I felt sorry for him. Hefound out he could get a train back in about an hour. 

"Tommy, listen here. It wasn't until my train started and I looked backand waved to him out of the window, that this low down game I've putover on you occurred to me. All the time that we were chatting together, I was worried, thinking about what I'd do and where I'd go, and how itwould be on the first Monday in August when those pen and ink sleuthsgot the goods on me. I could just see them going over my ledger, Slady. 

"Well, I looked out of the car window and there stood Barnard, and thesun was just going down, Tommy, just like you and I have watched it donight after night up here, and that red hair of his was just shining inthe light. It came to me just like that, Slady, " Thornton said, clapping his hands, "and I said to myself, I'm like that chap in _one_way, anyhow, and he and this fellow Slade have _never seen each other_. Why can't _I_ go up to that lonely camp in the mountains and be BillyBarnard for a while? Why can't I lie low there till I can plan what todo next? That's what I said, Slady. Wouldn't a place like that be betterthan New York? Maybe you'll say I took a long chance--reckless. That'sthe way it is with red hair, Slady. I took a chance on you being easyand it worked out, that's all. Or rather, I mean it _didn't_, for I feellike a murderer, and it's all on account of you, Slady. 

"I didn't know what to do, I didn't know where to go; I just wanted toget away from home before the game was up and they nabbed me. It's nofun being pinched, Tom. I thought I might make the visit that thisfriend of yours was going to make, and hang around here where it's quietand lonesome, till it was time for him to come. I guess that's about asfar as my plans carried. It was a crazy idea, I see that well enoughnow. But I was rattled--I was just rattled, that's all. I thought thatwhen the time came that I'd have to leave here, maybe I could tramp upnorth further and change my name again and get a job on some farm orother, till I could earn a little and make good. What I didn't figure onwas the kind of a fellow I was going to meet. I--I----" he stammered, trying to control himself in a burst of feeling and clutching Tom'sknee, "I--I didn't put it over on you, Tom; maybe it seems that way toyou--but--but I didn't. It's you that win, old man--can't you see? It's_you_ that win. You've put it all over _me_ and rubbed it in, and--and--instead of getting away with anything--like I thought--I'lljust beat it away from here feeling like a bigger sneak than I everthought I was. I've--I've seen something here--I have. I thought some ofthese trees were made of pretty good stuff, but you've got them beat, Slady. I thought I was a wise guy to dig into this forsaken retreat andslip the bandage over your eyes, but--but the laugh is on me, Slady, don't--don't you see?" he smiled, his eyes glistening and his handtrembling on Tom's knee. "You've put it all over me, you oldhickory-nut, and I've told you the whole business, and you've got me inyour power, see?"

Tom Slade looked straight ahead of him and said never a word. 

"It's--it's a knockout, Slady, and you win. You can go down and tell oldUncle Jeb the whole business, " he fairly sobbed, "I won't stop you. I'msick and discouraged--I might as well take my medicine--I'm--I'm sick ofthe whole thing--you win--Slady. I'll wait here--I--I won't fool youagain--not once again, by thunder, I won't! Go on down and tell him athief has been bunking up here with you--go on--I'll wait. "

There was just a moment of silence, and in that moment, strangelyenough, a merry laugh arose in the camp below. 

"You needn't tell me what to do, " said Tom, "because I _know_ what todo. There's nobody in this world can tell me what to do. Mr. Burton, hewanted to write to those fellows and fix it. But I knew what to do. Doyou call me a quitter? You see these cabins, don't you? Do you think_you_ can tell me what to do?"

"Go and send a wire to Broadvale and tell 'em that you've got me, "Thornton said with a kind of bitter resignation; "I heard that scoutsare good at finding missing people--fugitives. You--you _have got_ me, Tommy, but in a different way than you think. You got me that firstnight. Go ahead. But--but listen here. I _can't_ let them take me to-day, my head is spinning like a buzz-saw, Tommy--I can't, I can't, I _can't_!It's the cut in my head. All this starts it aching again--it just----"

He lowered his head until his wounded forehead rested on Tom's lap. "I'm--I'm just--beaten, " he sobbed. "Let me stay here to-day, to-night--don't say anything yet--let me stay just this one day morewith you and to-morrow I'll be better and you can go down and tell. Iwon't run away--don't you believe me? I'll take what's coming to me. Only wait--my head is all buzzing again now--just wait till to-morrow. Let me stay here to-day, old man . . . "

Tom Slade lifted the head from his lap and arose. "You can't stay hereto-night, " he said; "you can't stay even to-day. You can't stay an hour. Nobody can tell me what I ought to do. You can't stay here ten minutes. If you tried to get away I'd trail you, I'd catch you. You stay whereyou are till I get back. "

CHAPTER XXVIII

RED THORNTON LEARNS SOMETHING ABOUT SCOUTS

And strange to say Red Thornton did stay just where he was. Perhaps, seeing that Tom limped as he went down the hill, the fugitiveentertained a momentary thought of flight. If so, he abandoned it, perhaps in fear, more likely in honor. Who shall say? His agitation hadcaused his head to begin aching furiously again, and he was a pitifulfigure as he sat there upon the doorsill, in a kind of desperateresignation, resting his forehead in his two hands, and occasionallylooking along the path down the hill at Tom as he limped in and outamong the trees, following the beaten trail. It had never occurred tohim before, how lame Tom was, as the result of his injuries andexcessive labors. And he marvelled at the simple confidence which wouldleave him thus free to escape, if he cared to. Perhaps Tom could havetracked and caught him, perhaps not. But at all events Tom had beatenhim with character and that was enough. He had him and Thornton knew andconfessed it. It _was_ curious how it worked out, when you come to thinkof it. 

Anyway, Thornton had given up all his fine plans and was ready to bearrested. He would tell the authorities that it was not on account ofthem that he gave himself up, but on account of Tom. Tom should have allthe credit, as he deserved. He could hardly realize now that he haddeliberately confessed to Tom. And having done so, he realized that Tom, being a good citizen, believing in the law and all that sort of thing, could not do otherwise than hand him over. What in the world else couldTom Slade do? Say to him, "You stole money; go ahead and escape; I'mwith you?" Hardly. 

There was a minute in Red Thornton's life when he came near makingmatters worse with a terrible blunder. After about fifteen or twentyminutes of waiting, he arose and stepped over to the gully andconsidered making a dash through the woods and striking into the road. Perhaps he would have done this; I cannot say. But happening just atthat moment to glance down the hill in the opposite direction, he wasastonished at seeing Tom plodding up the hill again quite alone. NeitherUncle Jeb nor any of those formidable scoutmasters or trustees wereanywhere near him. Not so much as an uproarious, aggressive tenderfootwas at his heels. No constables, no deputy sheriffs, no one. 

And then, just in that fleeting, perilous moment, Red Thornton knew TomSlade and he knew that this was their business and no one else's. Hecame near to making an awful botch of things. He was breathing heavilywhen Tom spoke to him. 

"What are those fellows you were speaking about? Pen and ink sleuths?"Tom asked. "They come to Temple Camp office, sometimes. "

"That's them, " Thornton said. 

"When did you say they come?"

"Next Monday, first Monday in August. What's the difference? The soonerthe better, " Thornton said. 

"Was it just an even hundred that you took, when you forgot about whatyou were doing, sort of?" Tom asked. 

"A hundred and three. "

"Then will twenty-three dollars be enough to get back to that placewhere you live?"

"Why?"

"I'm just asking you. "

"It's twenty-one forty. "

"That means you'll have a dollar sixty for meals, " Tom said, "unless youhave some of your own. Have you?"

Thornton seemed rather puzzled, but he jingled some coin in his pocketand pulled out a five dollar bill and some change. 

"Then it's all right, " Tom said, "'cause if I asked anybody for money Imight have to tell them why. Here's two Liberty Bonds, " he said, placinghis precious, and much creased documents in Thornton's hand. "You canget them cashed in New York. You have to start this morning so as tocatch the eleven twenty train. I guess you'll get home to-morrow nightmaybe, hey? You have to give them their money before those fellows getthere. You got to tell them how you made a mistake. Maybe if you don'thave quite enough you'll be able to get a little bit more. This isbecause you helped me and on account of our being friends. "

Thornton looked down into his hand and saw, through glistening eyes, thetwo dilapidated bonds, and a couple of crumpled ten-dollar bills andsome odds and ends of smaller bills and currency. They represented thesumptuous fortune of Lucky Luke, alias Tom Slade. 

"And I thought you were going to . . . " Thornton began; "Slady, I can't dothis; it's all you've got. "

"It's no good to me, " Tom said. "Anyway, you got to go back and getthere before those fellows do. Then you can fix it. "

Thornton hesitated, then shook his head. Then he went over and sat onthe sill where they had talked before. "I can't do it, Tom, " he saidfinally; "I just can't. Here, take it. This is my affair, not yours. "

"You said we were good friends up here, " Tom said; "it's nothing to leta friend help you. I can see you're smart, and some day you'll make alot of money and you'll pay me back. But anyway, I don't care aboutthat. I only bought them so as to help the government. If they'd let mehelp them, I don't see why _you_ shouldn't. "

Thornton, still holding the money in his hand looked up and smiled, halfwillingly, at his singular argument. 

"How about the motor-boat--and the girl?" he asked wistfully. 

"You needn't worry about that, " Tom said simply, "maybe she wouldn't goanyway. "

And perhaps she wouldn't have. It would have been just his luck. 

CHAPTER XXIX

TOM STARTS FOR HOME

There was nothing now to keep Tom at Temple Camp, yet there was nothingnow to take him home, either. Nothing, indeed, except his work. Thebottom seemed to have dropped out of all his plans, and he lingered onhis lonely hilltop for the remaining day or two before the unsuspectingtenants of this remote little community should arrive. 

Of course he might have stayed and enjoyed his triumph, but that wouldnot have been Tom Slade. He had not forgotten those stinging andaccusing words of Roy's that morning when they had last met. He did notremember them in malice, but he could not forget them, and he did notwish to see Roy. We have to take Tom Slade as we find him. 

In those last hours of his lonely stay he did not go down much intocamp, for he wished to be by himself, and not to have to answerquestions about his departed friend, toward whom, strange to say, hecherished a stronger feeling of attachment than before. He was evengrateful to Thornton for perhaps saving him the humiliation of MargaretEllison's refusing to go out with him in his boat. There was no tellingwhat a girl might say or do, and at least he was well out of thatperil. . . . 

He busied himself clearing up the litter about the new cabins andgetting them ready for occupancy. On Saturday morning he went down andtold Uncle Jeb that he was starting for home. He was greatly relievedthat the old man did not ask any questions about his companion. UncleJeb was much preoccupied now with the ever-growing multitude of scoutsand their multifarious needs, and gave slight thought to that littlesprig of a camp up on the hill. 

"En so yer ain't fer stayin', Tommy? I kinder cal'lated you'd weakenwhen the time come. Ain't goin' ter think better of it, huh?" The oldman, smiling through a cloud of tobacco smoke, contemplated Tom withshrewd, twinkling, expectant eyes. "Fun's jest about startin' naow, Tommy. 'Member what I told yer baot them critters. Daont yer go back onaccount of no gal. "

"I ain't going back on account of a girl, " said Tom. 

"What train yer thinkin' uv goin' daon on?" the old man asked. 

"I'm going to hike it, " Tom said. 

Uncle Jeb contemplated him for a moment as though puzzled, but afterall, seeing nothing so very remarkable in a hike of a hundred and fiftymiles or so, he simply observed. "Yer be'nt in no hurry ter get back, huh? Wall, yer better hev a good snack before yer start. You jest tellChocolate Drop to put yer up rations fer ter night, too, in case youcamp. "

 * * * * *

The guests at Temple Camp paid no particular attention to the youngfellow who was leaving. He had not associated with the visiting scouts, and save for an occasional visit to his isolated retreat, where theyfound little to interest them, he had been almost a stranger among them. Doubtless some of them had thought him a mere workman at the camp andhad left him undisturbed accordingly. 

It was almost pitiful, now that he was leaving, to note how slightly hewas known and how little his departure affected the general routine ofpleasure. A few scouts, who were diving from the spring board paused toglance at him as he rowed across the lake and observed that the "fellowfrom up on the hill" was going away. Others waved him a fraternalfarewell, but there was none of that customary gathering at the landing, which he had known in the happy days when he had been a scout amongscouts at his beloved camp. 

But there was one scout who took enough interest in him to offer to goacross in the rowboat with him, on the pretext of bringing it back, though both knew that it was customary to keep boats on both sides ofthe lake. This fellow was tall and of a quiet demeanor. His name wasArcher, and he had come with his troop from somewhere in the west, wherethey breed that particular type of scouts who believe that actions speaklouder than words. 

"Did that job all by yourself, didn't you?" he asked as they rowedacross. He looked a Tom curiously. 

"A friend of mine helped me, " Tom said; "he's gone home. "

"Why didn't you hit into the main road and go down through Catskill?You're likely to miss the train this way. "

"I'm going to hike home, " Tom said. 

"Far?"

"In Jersey, about twenty miles from the city. "

"Some jaunt, eh?" Archer inquired pleasantly. 

"I don't mind it, " Tom said. 

"What are you goin' home for?"

"Because I want to; because I'm finished, " Tom said. 

This ended the talk but it did not end Archer's rather curious study ofTom. He said little more, but as he rowed, he watched Tom with anintense and scrutinizing interest. And even after Tom had said good-byeto him and started up the trail through the woods, he rowed around, inthe vicinity of the shore, keeping the boat in such position that hecould follow Tom with his eyes as the latter followed the trail in andout among the trees. 

"Humph, " he said to himself; "funny. "

What he thought funny was this: being an observant scout he had noticedthat Tom carried more rations than a scout would be likely to take on along hike, through a country where food could easily be bought in ahundred towns and villages, and also that one who limped as Tom didshould choose to go on a hike of more than a hundred miles. 

A scout, as everybody knows, is observant. And this particular scout wasgood at arithmetic. At least he was able to put two and twotogether. . . . 

CHAPTER XXX

THE TROOP ARRIVES

The ten forty-seven train out of New York went thundering up the shoreof the lordly Hudson packed and jammed with its surging throng ofvacationists who had turned themselves into sardines in order to enjoy abreath of fresh air. The crowd was uncommonly large because Saturday andthe first of August came on the same day. They crowded three in a seatand ate sandwiches and drank cold coffee out of milk bottles and let thechildren fly paper-bag kites out of the windows, and crowded six deep atthe water cooler at the end of the car. 

In all that motley throng there was just one individual who had masteredthe art of carrying a brimful paper drinking-cup through the aislewithout spilling so much as a drop of water, and his cheerfulministrations were in great demand by thirsty passengers. Thisindividual was scout Harris, alias Peewee, alias Kid, alias Shorty, alias Speck, and he was so small that he might have saved his carfare bygoing parcel post if he had cared to do so. If he had, he should havebeen registered, for there was only one Peewee Harris in all the wideworld. 

"Are we going to carry the tent or send it up by the camp wagon?" RoyBlakeley asked, as he and the others crowded each other off the train atCatskill Landing. "Answer in the positive or negative. "

"You mean the infirmative, " Peewee shouted; "that shows how much youknow about rhetoric. "

"You mean logic, " Roy said. 

"I know I'm hungry anyway, " Peewee shouted as he threw a suitcase fromhis vantage point on the platform, with such precision of aim that itlanded plunk on Connie Bennett's head, to the infinite amusement of thepassengers. 

"Did it hurt you?" Peewee called. 

"He isn't injured--just slightly killed, " Roy shouted; "hurry up, let'sgo up in the wagon and get there in time for a light lunch. "

"You mean a heavy one, " Peewee yelled; "here, catch this suitcase. "

The suitcase landed on somebody's head, was promptly hurled at somebodyelse, and the usual pandemonium caused by Temple Camp arrivals prevaileduntil the entire crowd of scouts found themselves packed in the big campstage, and waving their hands and shouting uproariously at thepassengers in the departing train. 

"First season at camp?" Roy asked a scout who almost sat on his lap andwas jogged out of place at every turn in the road. 

"Yop, " was the answer, "we've never been east before; we came from Ohio. We haven't been around anywhere. "

"I've been around a lot, " the irrepressible Peewee piped up from hiswobbly seat on an up-ended suitcase. 

"Sure, he was conductor on a merry-go-round, " Roy said. "What part ofOhio do you fellows come from?"

"The Ohio River used to be in our geography, " Peewee said. 

"It's there yet, " Roy said; "we should worry, let it stay there. "

"Do you know where Columbus is?" Peewee shouted. 

"He's dead, " Roy said; "do you fellows come from anywhere near Dayton?"

"We come from Dansburg, " said their scoutmaster, a bright-looking youngfellow with red hair, who had been listening amusedly to this banteringtalk. 

A dead silence suddenly prevailed. 

"Oh, I know who you fellows are, " Roy finally said. "You're going tobunk in the three cabins on the hill, aren't you? Is your name Mr. Barnard?"

"Yes sir, " the young man answered pleasantly, "and we're the firstDansburg, Ohio, troop. "

"Do you like mince-pie?" Peewee shouted. 

"We eat it alive, " said scoutmaster Barnard. 

"Can you eat seven pieces?" Peewee demanded. 

"If we can get them, " young Mr. Barnard replied. 

"G--o--o--d night!" Peewee commented. 

"Our young hero has a fine voice for eating, " Roy observed. "Sometimeshe eats his own words, he's so hungry. "

"I don't think you can beat the Dansburg, Ohio, scouts eating, " Mr. Barnard observed. 

"Is Dansburg on the map?" Peewee wanted to know. 

"Well, it thinks it is, " Mr. Barnard smiled. 

"I know all about geography, " Peewee piped up, "and natural history, too. I got E plus in geometry. "

"Can you name five animals that come from the North Pole?" Peeweedemanded, regaining his seat after an inglorious tumble. 

"Four polar bears and a seal, " Roy answered; "no sooner said thanstung. Our young hero is the camp cut-up. You fellows ought to be gladhe won't be up on the hill with you. He's worse than the mosquitoes. "

"We used to bunk in those cabins on the hill, " Peewee said; "there aresnakes and things up there. Are you scared of girls?"

"Not so you'd notice it, " one of the Dansburg scouts said. 

"Gee, I'm not scared of girls, that's one thing, " Peewee informed them. "I'm not scared of any kind of wild animals. "

"And would you call a girl a wild animal?" young Mr. Barnard inquired, highly amused. 

"They scream when they get in a boat, " Peewee said; "most always theysmile at me. "

"Oh, that's nothing, the first time I ever saw you I laughed out loud, "Roy said. 

And at that everybody laughed out loud, and somebody gave Peewee anapple which kept him quiet for a while. 

"I'm very sorry we can't all be up on that hill together, " Mr. Barnardsaid, "I gather that it's a rather isolated spot. "

"What's an isolated spot?" Peewee yelled. 

"It's a spot where they cut ice, " said Roy; "shut up, will you?"

"Are there only three cabins up there?" one of the Dansville scoutswanted to know. 

"That's all, " Westy Martin, of Roy's troop answered. "We spent, let'ssee, three summers up there. We had the hill all to ourselves. We evendid our own cooking. "

"And eating, " Peewee shouted. 

"Oh sure, we never let anyone do that for us, " one of the Bridgeboroscouts laughed. 

"If you want a thing well done, do it yourself--especially eating, " Roysaid. "A scout is thorough. "

"Do you know Chocolate Drop? He's cook, " Peewee piped up. "He makesdoughnuts as big as automobile tires. "

"Not Cadillac tires, " Roy said, "but Ford tires. Peewee knows how topuncture them, all right. "

"He'll have a blow-out some day, " Connie Bennett observed. 

"So you boys used to be up on the hill, eh?" Mr. Barnard inquired, turning the conversation to a more serious vein. "And how is it you'renot to bunk up there _this_ year, since you like it so much?"

As if by common consent Roy's troop left it for him to answer, and evenPeewee was quiet. 

"Oh, I don't know, " Roy said; "first come, first served; that's therule. You fellows got in your application, that's all there was to it. Iguess you know Tom Slade, who works in the camp's city office, don'tyou, Mr. Barnard?"

"Indeed I do, " young Mr. Barnard said. "We met in a shell hole inFrance. We knew each other but have never seen each other. It's ratherodd when you come to think of it. "

"I suppose that's how he happened to assign you the cabins, " ConnieBennett observed; "old time's sake, hey?"

"Oh, dear no, " young Mr. Barnard laughed. "I should say that you boyscome first if it's a question of old time's sake. No indeed, we shouldfeel like intruders, usurpers, if there were any question of friendlypreference. No, it was really quite odd when you come to think of it. Inever dreamed who Tom Slade was when our accommodations were assignedus; indeed, his name did not appear in the correspondence. It was just acase of first come, first served, as you say. Later, we received somecircular matter of the camp and there was a little note with it, as Iremember, signed by Slade. Oh, no, the thing was all cut and driedbefore I knew who Slade was. Then we started a very pleasantcorrespondence. I expect to see him up here. He was one of the bravestyoung fellows on the west front; a sort of silent, taciturn, youngfellow. Oh, no, " young Mr. Barnard laughed in that pleasant way he had, "you boys can't accuse us of usurping your familiar home. You must comeup and see us there, and I hope we shall all be good friends. "

Roy Blakeley heard these words as in a dream, and even Peewee was silent. The others of Roy's troop looked at each other but said not a word. _Noindeed, we should feel like usurpers if there were any question offriendly preference_. These words rang in Roy's ears, and as he saidthem over to himself there appeared in his mind's eye the picture of TomSlade, stolid, unimpassioned, patient, unresentful--standing there nearthe doorway of the bank building and listening to the tirade of abusewhich he, Roy, hurled at him. "_If you want to think I'm a liar you canthink so. You can tell them that if you want to. I don't care what youtell them_. " These words, too, rang in Roy's ears, and burned into hisheart and conscience, and he knew that Tom Slade had not deigned toanswer these charges and recriminations; _would_ not answer them, anymore than the rock of Gibraltar would deign to answer the petulantthreats and menaces of the sea. Oh, if he could only unsay those wordswhich he had hurled at Tom, his friend and companion! What mattered itwho bunked in the cabins, so long as he knew what he knew now? Howsmall and trifling seemed Tom's act of carelessness or forgetfulness, ashe loomed up now in the strong, dogged pride which would not explain toone who had no right to doubt or disbelieve. How utterly contemptibleRoy Blakeley seemed to himself now!

He tried to speak in his customary light and bantering manner, but hewas too sick at heart to carry it off. 

"He's--he's sort of like a rock, " he said, by way of answering Barnard'scomments on Tom. "He doesn't say much. You don't--you can't understandhim very easy. Even--even _I_ didn't----. I don't know where he is now. We haven't seen him for a long time. But one thing you can bet, you'rewelcome to the cabins on the hill. He said we wouldn't lose anything. Anyway, we won't lose much. We've got a tent we're going to put up downon the tenting space. You bet we'll come up and see you often, and youbet we'll be good friends. Our both knowing Tom, as you might say, oughtto make us good friends. "

CHAPTER XXXI

ARCHER

When these two troops reached camp they found the tall scout Archerwaiting for them. How much he knew or suspected it would be difficult tosurmise. 

"Uncle Jeb told me I might show you up to the hill, " he said. "Some ofyou fellows came from Ohio, I understand. You're all to bunk up on thehill. "

"I guess that's a mistake, " Roy said. 

"No, I think Uncle Jeb has things down about pat, " Archer said in hiseasy off-hand manner. "The old man's pretty busy himself and so he toldme to be your guide, philosopher and friend, as old somebody-or-othersaid. "

The two troops followed as he led the way, the Bridgeboro boys glancingfondly at the familiar sights all about them. 

"There's where we'll put up our tent, " one of them said, pointing at thearea which was already crowded with the canvas domiciles. The place didnot look so attractive as Roy and his companions had tried to picture itin their mind's eyes. They had never envied the scouts who had beencompelled to make their camp homes there. It seemed so much like amilitary encampment, so close and stuffy and temporary, and unlike thefree and remote abode that they were used to. They all of them tried notto think of it in this way, and Roy was in no mood to cherish anyresentment against Tom now. 

"It's near the cooking shack anyway, that's one good thing, " Peeweeobserved. 

"Listen to the human famine, " Connie Bennett said. "Peewee ought to beashamed to look Hoover in the face. "

Roy said nothing. There was one he would be ashamed to look in the faceanyway. 

When they reached the hill, he was the first to pause in amazement. 

"What do you call this?" Connie asked in utter astonishment. 

There stood the six cabins, the new ones bright and fresh in theafternoon sun. 

"I--I don't understand it, " Roy said, almost speechless with surprise. 

Archer sat down upon a rock and beckoned Roy to him. "There isn't muchto tell you, " he said. "A fellow from your town has been up herebuilding these three cabins, that's all. We fellows down at camp calledhim Daniel Boone, but I believe his name is Slade. He's been a kind of amystery up here for some time. The cabins are for you and your troop, there's no mistake about that; Uncle Jeb knows all about it. You can seehim later if you want to; there's no use bothering him now. I just wantto say a word to you there isn't much time to spare. Uncle Jeb tried tomake that fellow stay, but he wouldn't. I don't know anything about hisbusiness, or yours. I'm just going to tell you one thing. That fellowstarted away a little while ago, lame and without any money to hikehome to the town where he lives. It's none of _my_ business; I'm justtelling you what I know. I've banged around this country a little sinceI came up--I'm a kind of a tramp--I have an idea he's hit into the roadfor Kingston. There's a short cut through the woods which comes out onthat road about six or seven miles down. You could save--let's see--oh, about three miles and--oh, yes, Uncle Jeb told me to say you can havelunch any time you want it. I suppose you're all hungry. "

Not another word did Archer say--just left abruptly and, amid theenthusiastic inspection and glowing comments of his companions of bothtroops, Roy saw, through glistening eyes, this new acquaintancestrolling down the hill, hitting the wildflowers to the right, and leftwith a stick which he carried. 

There was no telling how much he knew or what he suspected. He was aqueer, mysterious sort of fellow. . . . 

[Illustration: ROY BLAKELEY HELD OUT HIS ARMS SO THAT TOM COULD NOT PASS. Tom Slade at Black Lake--Page 199]

CHAPTER XXXII

TOM LOSES

"_Me for lunch! Me for lunch!_" Roy heard Peewee scream at the top ofhis voice. And for just a moment he stood there in a kind of daze, watching his companions and new friends tumbling pell mell over eachother down the hill. He was glad to be alone. 

Yet even still he paused and gazed at the task, which Tom Slade, traitorand liar, had completed. There it was, a herculanean task, the work ofmonths, as it seemed to Roy. He could hardly control his feelings as hegazed upon it. 

But he did not pause to torture himself with remorse. Down through thewoods he went, and into the trail which Archer had indicated. Scoutthough he was, he was never less hungry in his life. Over fields hewent, and through the brook, and up Hawk's Nest mountain, and into thedenser woods beyond. Suppose Archer should be mistaken. Suppose this dimtrail should take him nowhere. Panting, he ran on, trying to conquerthis haunting fear. Beyond Leeds Crossing the trail was hardlydistinguishable and he must pause and lose time to pick it up here andthere. Through woods, and around hills, and into dense, almostimpenetrable thickets he labored on, his side aching, and his heartthumping like a triphammer. 

At last he came out upon the Kingston road and was down on his knees, examining minutely every mark in the dusty road, trying to determinewhether Tom had passed. Then he sat down by the roadside and waited, panting like a dog. And so the minutes passed, and became an hourand----

Then he heard someone coming around the bend. 

Roy gulped in suspense as he waited. One second, two seconds, three, four--Would the pedestrian never appear?

And then they met, and Roy Blakeley stood out in the middle of the roadand held his arms out so the wayfarer could not pass. And yet he couldnot speak. 

"Tom, " he finally managed to say, "I--I came alone because--because Iwanted to come alone. I wanted to meet you all alone. I--I know allabout it, Tom--I do. None of the fellows will bunk in these cabins tillyou--till you--come back--they won't. Not even Barnard's troop. I'msorry, Tom; I see how I was all wrong. You--you can't get away with it, you can't Tom--because I won't let you--see? You have to comeback--we--we can't stay there without you----"

"I told you you wouldn't lose anything, " Tom said dully. 

"Yes, and it's a--it's a _lie_, " Roy almost sobbed. "We're losing _you_, aren't we? We're losing everything--and it's all _my_ fault. You--yousaid we wouldn't lose anything, but we _are_. Can't you see we are?You've got to come back, Tom--or I'm going home with you--you old--youold brick! Barnard wants you, we _all_ want you. We haven't got anyscoutmaster if you don't come back--we haven't. "

Tom Slade who had chopped down trees and dragged them up the hill, foundit hard to answer. 

"I'll go back, " he finally said, "as long as you ask me. "

 * * * * *

And so, in that pleasant afternoon, they followed the trail back to camptogether, just as they had hiked together so many times before. And theytalked of Peewee and the troop and joked about there not being anythingleft to eat when they got there, and Roy said what a fine fellow Barnardwas, and Tom Slade said how he always liked fellows with red hair. Hesaid he thought you could trust them. . . . 

Let us hope he was right. 

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

THE TOM SLADE BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of the ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. 

The Tom Slade books have the official endorsement and recommendation ofTHE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA. In vivid story form they tell of Boy Scoutways, and how they help a fellow grow into a manhood of which Americamay be proud. 

Tom Slade, Boy Scout

Tom Slade lived in Barrel Alley. The story of his thrilling Scoutexperiences, how he was gradually changed from the street gangster intoa First Class Scout, is told in almost as moving and stirring a way asthe same narrative related in motion pictures. 

Tom Slade at Temple Camp

The boys are at a summer camp in the Adirondack woods, and Tom entersheart and soul into the work of making possible to other boys theopportunities in woodcraft and adventure of which he himself has alreadyhad a taste. 

Tom Slade on the River

A carrier pigeon falls into the camp of the Bridgeboro Troop of BoyScoots. Attached to the bird's leg is a message which starts Tom and hisfriends on a search that culminates in a rescue and a surprisingdiscovery. The boys have great sport on the river, cruising in the"Honor Scout. "

Tom Slade With the Colors A WAR-TIME BOY SCOUT STORY

When Uncle Sam "pitches in" to help the Allies in the Great War, Tom'sBoy Scout training makes it possible for him to show his patriotism in away which is of real service to his country. Tom has many experiencesthat any loyal American boy would enjoy going through--or reading about, as the next best thing. 

Tom Slade on a Transport

While working as a mess boy on one of Uncle Sam's big ships, Tom'scleverness enables him to be of service in locating a disloyal member ofthe crew. On his homeward voyage the ship is torpedoed and Tom is takenaboard a submarine and thence to Germany. He finally escapes andresolves to reach the American forces in France. 

Tom Slade With the Boys Over There

We follow Tom and his friend, Archer, on their flight from Germany, through many thrilling adventures, until they reach and join theAmerican Army in France. 

Tom Slade, Motorcycle Dispatch Bearer

Tom is now a dispatch rider behind the lines and has some thrillingexperiences in delivering important messages to troop commanders inFrance. 

Tom Slade With the Flying Corps

At last Tom realizes his dream to scout and fight for Uncle Sam in theair, and has such experiences as only the world war could make possible. 

Tom Slade at Black Lake

Tom has returned home and visits Temple Camp before the season opens. Hebuilds three cabins and has many adventures. 

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

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

THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of the TOM SLADE BOOKS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. 

Roy Blakeley

In a book given by a kindly old gentleman. Pee-wee Harris discovers whathe believes to be a sinister looking memorandum, and he becomesconvinced that the old gentleman is a spy. But the laugh is on Pee-wee, as usual, for the donor of the book turns out to be an author, and thesuspicious memorandum is only a literary mark. The author, however, isso pleased with the boys' patriotism that he loans them his houseboat, in which they make the trip to their beloved Temple Camp, which everyboy who has read the TOM SLADE BOOKS will be glad to see once more. 

Roy Blakeley's Adventures in Camp

Roy Blakeley and his patrol are found in this book once more happilyestablished in camp. Roy and his friends incur the wrath of a landowner, but the doughty Pee-wee saves the situation and the wealthylandowner as well. The boys wake up one morning to find Black Lakeflooded far over its banks, and the solving of this mystery furnishessome exciting reading. 

Roy Blakeley, Pathfinder

Roy and his comrades, having come to Temple Camp by water, resolve tomake the journey home by foot. On the way they capture a leopard escapedfrom a circus, which brings about an acquaintance with the strangepeople who belong to the show. The boys are instrumental in solving adeep mystery, and finding one who has long been missing. 

Roy Blakeley's Camp on Wheels

This is the story of a wild and roaming career of a ramshackle oldrailroad car which has been given Roy and his companions for a troopmeeting place. The boys fall asleep in the car. In the night, and by asingular error of the railroad people, the car is "taken up" by afreight train and is carried westward, so that when the boys awake theyfind themselves in a country altogether strange and new. The story tellsof the many and exciting adventures in this car. 

Roy Blakeley's Silver Fox Patrol

In the car which Roy Blakeley and his friends have for a meeting placeis discovered an old faded letter, dating from the Klondike gold days, and it appears to intimate the location of certain bags of gold, buriedby a train robber. The quest for this treasure is made in an automobileand the strange adventures on this trip constitute the story. 

Roy Blakeley's Motor Caravan

Roy and his friends go West to bring back some motor cars. They havesome very amusing, also a few serious, adventures. 

Roy Blakeley, Lost, Strayed or Stolen

The troup headquarters car figures largely in this very interestingvolume. 

Roy Blakeley's Bee-Line Hike

The boys resolve to hike in a bee-line to a given point, some milesdistant, and have a lively time doing it. 

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

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THE PEE-WEE HARRIS BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of THE TOM SLADE and ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. 

All readers of the TOM SLADE and the ROY BLAKELEY books are acquaintedwith Pee-wee Harris and will surely enjoy reading every volume of thisseries. 

Pee-wee Harris

Pee-wee goes to visit his uncle whose farm is located on a by-road. Pee-wee conceives the idea of starting a little shack along the road inwhich to sell refreshments and automobile accessories. 

In accordance with his invariable good luck, --scarcely has he startedthis little shack than the bridge upon the highway burns down and theobscure country road becomes a thoroughway for automobiles. Pee-weereaps a large profit from his business during the balance of the summer. 

Pee-wee Harris on the Trail

Pee-wee gets into the wrong automobile by mistake and is carried to thecountry where he has a great time and many adventures. 

Pee-wee Harris in Camp

The scene is set in the beloved and familiar Temple Camp. Here Pee-weeresigns from the Raven Patrol, intending to start a patrol of his own. He finds this more difficult than he had expected, but overcame allobstacles--as usual. 

Pee-wee Harris in Luck

Pee-wee goes with his mother to spend the summer on a farm, where hemeets a girl who is bewailing her fate that there is no society at thisobscure retreat. Pee-wee assures her he will fix everything for her--andproceeds to do so--with his usual success. 

Pee-wee Harris Adrift

A little spot of land up the river breaks away and floats down stream, with a laden apple tree growing upon it. Pee-wee takes possession ofthis island and the resulting adventures are decidedly entertaining. 

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

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THE EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW SERIES

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list

BIRDS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Neltje Blanchan. Illustrated

EARTH AND SKY EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated

ESSAYS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Hamilton W. Mabie

FAIRY TALES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Hamilton W. Mabie

FAMOUS STORIES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Hamilton W. Mabie

FOLK TALES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Hamilton W. Mabie

HEROES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Hamilton W. Mabie

HEROINES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWCoedited by Hamilton W. Mabie and Kate Stephens

HYMNS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Dolores Bacon

LEGENDS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Hamilton W. Mabie

MYTHS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Hamilton W. Mabie

OPERAS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Dolores Bacon. Illustrated

PICTURES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Dolores Bacon. Illustrated

POEMS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Mary E. Burt

PROSE EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Mary E. Burt

SONGS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWEdited by Dolores Bacon

TREES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated

WATER WONDERS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Jean M. Thompson. Illustrated

WILD ANIMALS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated

WILD FLOWERS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOWBy Frederic William Stack. Illustrated

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

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Transcriber's note:

1. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards. 2. Inconsistent spelling of "Peewee" (57 times) and "Pee-wee" (18 times) retained as in original.