Don Strong, Patrol Leader Part 33

"All here?" the Scoutmaster asked. "Care to start now?"

The patrol leaders jumped to line up their patrols.

The treasure-hunting teams were treated as something precious on the way out. Scouts took turns carrying their packs so as to have them fresh when they entered the woods. Just as on their first trip, Tim wanted to leap and run. But he knew that would be folly. Besides, Mr. Wall held them down to a steady, even pace that ate up distance but did not tire.

In the general excitement the miles slipped away unnoticed. All at once the woods were ahead. Mr. Wall halted the column and called the teams.

"I want you to compare your watches with mine." The Scoutmaster's timepiece said ten minutes of three. Don and the others set their watches.

"At 3:30," Mr. Wall continued, "each team will enter the woods. Some place near where it enters it will find the first blaze. At 3:30. Is that clear?"

They said it was. He led them to a point a quarter of a mile on.

"Here's where the Wolves go in. Foxes and Eagles, follow me."

The other patrols went on, nervous, high-strung. The Wolves were left alone.

Tim tried to stretch off on the ground and lie there quietly. With his head pillowed on his arm he could see the group that followed Mr. Wall.

On they went, on, on--and then a turn hid them. Everything from now on would be mysterious, unknown.

Lying there quietly became impossible. He jumped to his feet and walked up and down. Every few minutes he looked at his watch. Ten after, fifteen, twenty.

"Better get on our haversacks," said Don.

They waited. Twenty-five after. Tim felt the throb of his pulse.

"Another minute," said Ritter.

Don stood with his watch in his hand. All at once he put it away.

"Three-thirty, Tim." They walked toward the woods.

The patrol followed them to the edge and stopped. There were cries of good luck. They waved their hands and stepped among the trees. Twice they looked back; the first time the scouts were visible, the second time they were gone. The cries of good luck grew fainter and ceased. They were alone.

"There's one of two things to do," said Don, in a voice that trembled with excitement. "We do not know whether our trail crosses the others. We must either go cautiously, or go fast in the hope that they don't cross.

If we go fast we may get to the treasure first."

"All right," said Tim; "fast. Let's find that blaze. If you get it, give a low whistle."

They separated and worked among the trees. A long time later, it seemed, Tim found the blaze. It pointed north. He whistled softly, cautiously. A whistle answered him. Don's footsteps sounded frightfully loud in the stillness.

They started north as fast as they could go. Three hundred feet on they found the second blaze. They lost the third and had to retrace their steps before finding it. The fourth was easy, but on the way after that they encountered a patch of dense undergrowth and a section of fallen trees. Here they had to separate and search once more. This time it was Don who found the mark. Their watches said ten minutes of five.

"Let's go on until almost dark," Tim whispered. There was a sound off on their right. He clutched Don's arm, and they stood like statues and listened, scarcely daring to breathe. By and by they relaxed.

"Must have been a squirrel or something," said Tim. They advanced cautiously.

The fright had thrown them out of their reckoning. They did not remember in which specific direction they had been heading. After a while they had the uncomfortable feeling that they had gone on farther than the ordinary distance between blazes.

"Have to search," said Don.

So they began again. They worked at a tension, running when they could.

It did not take long to get out of sight of each other.

This time it was Tim who finally found the blaze. He whistled--no answer.

He whistled again--still no answer. He'd have to make a louder sound. It was growing dusky, and he did not want to become separated from Don for the night. He put his fingers between his lips.

He did not mean to whistle loudly but, in the quiet woods, his summons echoed shrilly. His heart gave a frightened leap. Gee! Suppose anybody was near?

Don came cras.h.i.+ng through the woods. "For the love of Mike, Tim, why did you do that?" he asked sharply.

Tim bristled. It was one thing for him to blame himself; it was another for Don to find fault. "I wanted you to hear me," he answered shortly.

"I did hear you!"

"Well, why didn't you answer?"

"I thought I heard something else. You'll have every Eagle and Fox around us."

"_I'll_ have every Eagle and Fox around us," Tim thought. "See! _I'm_ the one who's spoiling things."

They started again. Don was sorry he had spoken so hastily. So far Tim had been a real partner. He made up his mind that he'd think twice before he spoke sharply again. You had to handle a fellow like Tim with gloves.

As for Tim, the hot, angry blood was still in his cheeks. What did Don mean by jumping on him? He wouldn't stand for it. He was to blame! How about Don being to blame for not answering the signal?

"Tim!" Don called from the rear. "How about making camp? It's getting late."

"Nothing doing," said Tim. "We're between blazes. In the morning we wouldn't know which way to start."

"We have compa.s.ses," said Don.

Tim was just stubborn enough to refuse to listen to reason. Besides, he felt that his judgment was questioned.

"We'll camp at the next blaze," he said. "Then we'll know where we are."

After a moment of hesitation Don followed. The easiest way was best.

They soon reached the blaze. Tim began to gather leaves and young twigs for his bed. Before long he knew that he had blundered again. It took time to make a camp bed properly, and the failing light would not give him the time. He had made camp too late.

The knowledge of his second mistake increased his ill humor. He spread his poncho and sat on the bed. Don still gathered leaves.

"Trying to rub it in," Tim reflected. "Just like telling me, 'See, why didn't you camp when I said so?'"

Don turned from his bed, dived into his pack and brought out a can.

"How about eats, Tim?"

Tim was disgusted with the whole adventure. In this black mood he did not relish the thought of cold food in the dark. He wanted light, and a hot drink--something to chase away the gloom.