The Boy Scouts of the Signal Corps

“Ye-es, I want the skin,” he replied slowly. “It will remind me of—of—not to do it again.”

“Take it and welcome, old man. When you have skinned the critter, you will go back to camp. I’ve caught you, see? You’re my prisoner.”

The young leader of the Wolf patrol, self-accused of needless slaughter, glanced at his superior with a look of unconcern.

“Oh?” said Hugh. “I forgot! Are we still playing that game?”

CHAPTER IV.
A FIRE IN CAMP.

The game was over by the time that Hugh, after a fruitless search for the bobcat’s kittens, returned to camp, and Division “C,” the attackers, had won the day.

Owing to the fact that each division had been made up of scouts from the four patrols, no single patrol could claim the honor of victory, although individuals in each patrol who had done good work in signaling were complimented by their fellow scouts, as they all were gathered around the camp-fire that evening.

“Alec Sands will surely make the corps,” declared young Osborne. “The Chief said that he——”

“I know, I know,” interrupted Billy, whose loyalty to Hugh made him loath to hear Alec’s praises sung. “You have a good chance, too, Walt.”

“Don’t feel sure at all, myself,” Walter replied, yawning. “Say, Billy, what’s the matter with Hugh this evening? Look at him sitting over there, talking to the Lieutenant! He’s as solemn as a great horned owl. Do you know what he did all afternoon, after we got back?”

“He went to see the Lieutenant first, and showed him the pelt of a big bobcat he’d killed. Gee! it’s a stunner, Walt! Then he spent two hours out on the field, practicing wig-wags with Bud Morgan. You see, to-morrow we are going to change divisions, so everyone will get a fair trial.”

“Bully! We all need a lot of practice. Even Alec is a little rusty.”

“And the same way with the Myer code and the American Morse,” continued Billy. “Each one, in turns.”

“For the next two weeks?” queried a boy who sat beside them.

Billy nodded.

“It’s not a bit too long,” Walter affirmed. “We want to make a good showing as a corps.”

“Hope it will be a nice day to-morrow,” said the boy, looking up at the sky with its glittering host of stars. “I want to take some photos.”

“Guess you’ll be able to, all right,” was Billy’s confident rejoinder. Billy was a born optimist, ever ready to see the doughnut before he beheld the hole; he had the happy faculty of expecting and looking for the best always, in conditions as well as in people.

“Feel the grass,” he suggested a moment later, passing his hand lightly over the sward. “It’s as dry as chips. You know what that means?”

“Dangerous to light fires,” said the other promptly.

“Pretty good, for a tenderfoot!” quoth Billy, with a grin. “But I was thinking of a little rhyme which I’ll repeat for your benefit, if sufficiently urged.”

“Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“Thanks for the information!” laughed the tenderfoot. “You can see the moon’s rim clearly now. Plenty of sunshine to-morrow? I doubt it!”

“Oh, well, we can’t do anything but wait and see,” commented Billy.

With which sage remark he rose, stretched himself sleepily, and crossed over to where the Scout Master and Hugh were seated upon a fallen log.

As he approached Hugh, who was gazing into the fire with his hands clasped over his knees, Billy noticed a group of boys of the Otter patrol gathered around Alec Sands, and heard Alec say to them:

“We’re going to have stalking games to-morrow afternoon, after signal practice in the morning. Don’t let those Wolves give us all the go-by in stalking, fellows! If we do, it will give every one of them a chance to score a lot of points. I hope it will rain; then we’ll have to do something else, or perhaps everyone can do just what he likes best.”

There were murmurs of approval, indistinguishable to Billy, who passed on and took a place by Hugh’s side. Presently the whole troop was listening attentively to Lieutenant Denmead’s clear and concise explanation of wireless telegraphy. It was his custom to give informal talks on various subjects during these meetings at the evening council-fire, and to outline a program for the ensuing day.

When the council was adjourned, at a quarter of nine, the scouts retired to their cabins. Alec and two other boys, being still on police duty, extinguished the fire, scattered and trod upon the few remaining embers, and then sought their bunks. Half an hour later, the profound silence of the forest was broken only by the eerie hoot of an owl and the nocturnal chorus of frogs in a distant marsh.

Soon after midnight, Hugh, whose bunk was near the open window of the cabin, was awakened by a faint smell of smoke. A light breeze had sprung up during the night, wafting that pungent, unmistakable odor to his sensitive nostrils. Instantly he sat up and threw aside his blankets.

“Billy,” he whispered hoarsely, “wake up, son!”

There was no response save his assistant’s deep, quiet, peaceful breathing.

Knowing that Billy had a chronic objection to being awakened suddenly, if at all, Hugh was thoughtful enough to respect his friend’s amiable weakness even at this crisis. Leaning over the sleeper, he took Billy’s hand, held it a moment, then pressed it firmly. The result was that Billy stirred comfortably and opened his eyes, without a start or a protest.

“What—what’s the matter?” he drawled sleepily, blinking at Hugh through the darkness.

“I smell smoke,” was the whispered reply. “Billy, do you think a fire has broken out in camp?”

“What! Fire?” Billy sniffed the air. “Say, Hugh, it can’t——”

“S-sh! Not so loud! We don’t want to wake up the whole cabin. Come outside. If anything’s happened, we must act at once, or at least give warning.”

“Wonder where it is coming from? Hope it isn’t a fire in the woods! That would be more than——” Suddenly he remembered his conversation with the tenderfoot about the dryness of the grass, and coupled it with a warning which the Scout Master had given them that very day, concerning the danger of starting forest fires.

“It is criminal to leave a burning fire,” Denmead had said. “Always put out a fire with water or earth. A fire is never out until the last spark is extinguished. Often a log or snag will smoulder unnoticed after the flames have apparently been trodden down, only to break out afresh with a rising wind.”

Had this happened now? Billy wondered, as he followed Hugh to the door. Had the scouts on police duty been guilty of criminal carelessness?

Outside, the two lads instantly discovered the cause of their alarm.

Some of the sparks from the camp-fire must have lodged between the logs of the mess-cabin, and, lying undisturbed and unnoticed there, have slowly eaten their way through the resinous wood until it was ignited. Little tongues of flame were licking one wall, but as the soft breeze was blowing away from Cabin 2 and the Lieutenant’s cabin, no one could have detected the smoke, unless by mere accident. Even Joe, the half-breed guide who, with the cook, occupied a tent not far removed from the mess-cabin, was apparently oblivious of the threatened danger.

Yet even while Hugh and Billy, each snatching a bucket of water that stood outside their cabin (left there for morning ablutions) ran over to the scene of peril, they caught sight of a shadowy form in the moonlight, rushing from Cabin 2, and heard a voice hoarse with anxiety call out:

“What is it? Who’s there?”

Without answering, they dashed the two pailfuls of water upon the flames, and were gratified to hear an immediate sizzling that told them the fire had not bitten deep into the log walls; indeed, it had only grazed the bark and outer rings of wood.

The third fire-fighter had now come up to them, but he hung back a little, as if nervously anxious to avoid recognition.

“Run, Billy! Get another pailful!” directed Hugh, in a low voice, and his comrade sprang away to carry out instructions. “I’ll club it out with this roll of old canvas. It’ll be out in a—oh, is that you, Alec?”

“Yes, yes! Hugh!—Billy! Please don’t make any noise!”

“Why, what are you afraid of, Alec?”

“Of—of—oh, nothing; only I think we can put this little fire out, and—and perhaps no one will be any the wiser, except ourselves. Here, let me help you!” He seized the small roll of canvas with hands that actually trembled, and began to assist Hugh in beating out the flames. “Oh, Hugh, if this is my fault, I——”

“What do you mean? You won’t say anything about it?”

“No!” whispered Alec.

“But it will be seen by daylight to-morrow. The charred logs——”

“I can smooth them off with my knife. Here! Slam it against this one! That’s the way. Again! Softly, no noise! Thank goodness, here comes Billy with the pails!”

Alec ran forward to meet Billy and to relieve him of his burden, leaving Hugh to wonder why he had spoken so strangely. Why this shrinking on Alec’s part? Had he been in any way responsible for the mishap? In spite of his proficiency in woodcraft, Alec was sometimes thoughtless, impulsive, not thorough in his methods. Carelessness was his besetting sin. But lack of courage to own up to a mistake? Surely he was no coward! If he had done wrong, he would admit it, make a clean breast of it, and “face the music.”

These thoughts passed swiftly through Hugh’s mind while he stood watching Billy and Alec pour a stream of water from the pails upon the fire.

In a few moments the flames were extinguished, but Hugh’s curiosity in regard to Alec’s desire for secrecy was not quenched. He resolved, however, to say nothing more on the subject; it was no concern of his, anyway.

“All out!” announced Billy cheerfully.

“Do you—do you think there’s been much damage?” Alec questioned, still speaking in a low and guarded tone.

“Can’t say. Wait till to-morrow.”

“I guess it is very slight,” said Hugh.

“But it will show, I suppose?”

“Of course it will.”

“I don’t want it to show. I might be blamed for it.”

“You!” said Billy, astonished. “Why, how could you be blamed?”

“Fellows, I’ll tell you,” Alec replied soberly. “It’s this way: When Dick Bellamy and I put out the council-fire this evening, after the Lieutenant had left us, we were so darned tired we didn’t take any extra great pains in doing it. All we did was to sprinkle a little water over the embers, throw dirt on them, and tread them down. Oh, yes, I,—I mean Dick,—did pile a few stones around them, but that was all. I heard Rawson say he thought it was going to rain to-night. Now if anyone can prove that this little blaze started from sparks from the camp-fire,—which will be pretty hard to prove, after all,—there’ll be the dickens to pay, and I’ll lose——” He cut his explanation short with a glance in the direction of the guide’s tent.

“Didn’t you hear footsteps?” he asked nervously.

Mechanically, the three listened. There was, indeed, a muffled tread upon rustling leaves.

“Cook’s asleep, anyway,” remarked Billy, as a stertorious rumbling greeted their ears. “Perhaps Joe’s sneaking out on the war-path!”

His good-natured levity jarred upon Alec.

“Shut up, Billy!” he exclaimed irritably. “I’m going to get my knife and scrape away this charred wood. Will you fellows help me fix it nicely? Just for appearance’s sake, you know.”

“Never mind it. How fussy you are, Alec!” remarked the unsuspecting Billy. “Let it go. I’m too sleepy. Come along, Hugh. Me for my little bunk!”

When the two Wolves went back to their lair, Alec followed them, on a pretense of having abandoned his idea of subterfuge. He saw that Hugh disapproved of it, and he resented that attitude.

Bidding them good-night, he hurried to his locker, got out his favorite claspknife, and returned to the mess-cabin, upon which he at once began to work, whittling off the burnt and half-burnt wood.

In the midst of this occupation, he heard the same stealthy footsteps, and, looking up, saw Joe, the half breed, standing beside him.

The grin that distorted Joe’s features made his splendid white teeth fairly gleam in the moonlight.

“Me know wot you do dere,” he said softly. “Me hear wot you say to Hugh Hardeen. Why you say eet, boy?”

Alec gave an uncomfortable start.

“You won’t tell on me, Joe?” he asked, with a laugh of pure bravado. “You’re a pretty good friend of mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Joe your frien’.”

“I like you, Joe, and I’ll tell my father to be sure and hire you for a guide up in Maine, next October. I—I’ll tell him to give you more pay than the other guides get, too, if—if you’ll say nothing about this accident. Someone else can take the blame, for a change.”

“Yes, some boy he get bad talk. Not you.”

“That’s right!” Alec laughed again, a strained, hollow, mirthless laugh. “Joe, I know you admire my silver-handled knife; want it?”

“You no want it, Joe take it. Tanks.”

“Joe, you—you don’t like Hugh Hardin, do you?”

The halfbreed’s answer was merely an ambiguous grunt.

“Neither do I, just now,” said quick-tempered Alec Sands.

Joe said nothing. Doubtless he understood the hint.

CHAPTER V.
REVEILLE.

When Alec stole back to his cabin, noiselessly entered it, and climbed into his bunk, half an hour later, it was not very clear in his mind how he could contrive, even with Joe’s possible assistance, to bring Hugh Hardin into the shadow of blame for the fire. Of course, he could admit that he had caught Hugh and Billy in the act of putting out the flames, and the fact that they had done it secretly, as it were, without arousing the whole camp, would cast some suspicion upon them.

But their words would be worth exactly as much as his, and, moreover, Hugh would have Billy’s testimony in support.

How much credence would be given to the halfbreed’s vague hints? Could Joe be trusted to say anything? Or, might he not even say just the wrong thing at the critical point, the right thing at the wrong moment?

These questions troubled Alec as he crept shivering between his chilly sheets and drew his blanket around him closer.

“Wish I had primed Joe a little more,” he said to himself miserably, “but perhaps I’ll get a chance to speak with him again to-morrow.”

With this comforting reflection he sank into uneasy slumber.

It was strange that a boy trained in the principles and spirit of scout-craft, particularly a boy who had reached Alec’s position among his mates, could be capable of feeling such jealousy as Alec showed in his attitude toward Hugh. But young Sands was an unusual boy, and he had always been over-indulged. Only with difficulty had he ever been able to overcome an instinctive dislike of any rival, and in the case of Hugh he had not tried to do more than comply with the rules of outward courtesy that obtained in camp.

The rules of Pioneer Camp were few and simple, and every boy in the four patrols that formed the troop was put on his honor and trusted to live up to them. Faithfulness to duty, one of the scout virtues, was required by Lieutenant Denmead, and scarcely a boy in the camp cared or dared to shirk.

Reveille was sounded at six o’clock every morning, except Sunday, when it was an hour later. At six-thirty on week-days and seven-thirty on Sundays mess was served to two of the patrols, and half an hour later to the other two, the patrols alternating in the order of service. Noon mess was served from twelve to one o’clock, and evening mess from six to seven-thirty. At nine o’clock came “taps” which meant “camp-fires carefully extinguished, lights out, and every boy in bed.”

Every morning, also, a detail from each cabin was assigned to police the camp; that is, clear up all rubbish, chop fire-wood, draw water from the bubbling spring nearby, wash dishes, and keep the camp in order.

In the two log cabins, the beds were plain box bunks arranged in a double tier down the sides, each containing a tick stuffed with straw. Red blankets, sheets, and a thin pillow filled with aromatic fir balsam completed the equipment. Of course each boy was expected to look after the airing and making of his own bed.

Accordingly, when the bugle sounded before sunrise next morning, all was hustle and activity at the camp, in strange contrast with the quiet lake and the majestic calm of the mountains.

Hardly had the notes of the bugle call died away in impressive silence, when new echoes were aroused to sudden life by the lusty shouts and calls of forty boys, who, being thus musically wakened from the profound sleep of healthy and vigorous youth, sprang from their bunks and bestirred themselves about their morning duties.

It seemed to Alec, however, that he had slept scarcely an hour. He felt tired and out-of-sorts with himself and everybody else, quite devoid of any zest for the events which the day might bring forth. Wearily he rose, partly dressed, and went outside the cabin, where, upon a bench, stood a row of aluminum washbasins, each with a towel, soap, and brush and comb to bear it company. While he and Dick Bellamy performed their ablutions, envying those who were going down to the lake for a swim, Alec “pumped” his comrade with leading questions, in an effort to find out whether Dick knew anything about the fire. To his satisfaction, Dick appeared wholly unaware that any accident to the mess-cabin had occurred.

Dick was jubilant that morning, because it was the last morning of his week of police duty. After this day he would be free to follow his own devices and in various ways build up his record for election to the signal corps.

“Fine day, Alec,” he remarked genially.

“Yes—for ducks!” retorted Alec, glancing up at the sun which now shone ominously red through a veil of low, swiftly-moving clouds. “Looks like rain,” he added, in explanation.

“For fish, too,” said Bellamy. “You know they always bite better a morning like this. I hope to get some big ones to-day.”

“Speaking of fish,” began Alec, “we’re going to have some broiled trout for breakfast this morning, some that you and Don caught yesterday.”

“Broiled——! Oh, Alec, what time is it now?”

“Quarter past six.”

“Will those lucky chaps never come up from the lake? I’m almost starved! Where, oh, where has my tummie gone?” warbled Dick, as he resumed his dressing leisurely. “I’m ’most starved and I can’t pull my belt in another hole. ’Cause why? There isn’t any.”

“Patience, Dickie, patience. Take courage, don’t worry.”

Dick Bellamy breathed a sigh.

“Worry!” he echoed. “It’s not worry that is troubling me, it’s want of food. I’m ravenous! My insides are in such a state of emptiness that they resound like a drum. I could eat every scrap of a five-pound sirloin steak this very minute.”

“No, you couldn’t,” said Sam Winter, overhearing the remark as he passed by, dripping water from his limbs and hair. “No, you couldn’t,” he repeated, “not with me around! I’d defy you to get your lunch-hooks on it!”

Dick cocked an eye in Alec’s direction.

“Think of it, fellows,” he urged maliciously. “Think of a nice juicy steak an inch thick, cooked to a turn, and all covered with delicious crisp fried onions! Doesn’t that make your mouths water?”

The swimmer moaned and clapped both hands over his stomach.

“Don’t,” he begged, “don’t speak of it! I can’t stand it! It makes me feel faint!”

So saying, he went on into the cabin, followed shortly by his brother.

After Buck came a whirlwind of glistening white forms racing up the path from the lake to the cabin door, piling through it, and scattering in all directions to dry and dress themselves.

“Wonder where Spike and Shorty are going this morning?” said a lad.

“Oh, they’ll show up before lunch,” replied one of the Fox patrol carelessly. “I heard them say they were going up-stream in a canoe, with Joe.”

Alec pricked up his ears. So he would not have a chance to speak privately with Joe that morning! The halfbreed would be away from camp, perhaps taking Spike to some sylvan glade in the forest among the hills, where he could take photographs of living wild animals, and where “Shorty” McNeil could collect specimens of rare plants. Why had he, Alec, not asked permission to enlist Joe’s instructive services on some expedition yesterday, while waiting with the scouts on the summit of old Stormberg?

“Evidently we’re not going to have signal practice to-day?” he said wonderingly.

“Oh, yes,—if it doesn’t rain. If it does, I’ll vote for water-polo, instead.”

“I’ll second that motion,” returned Alec. “Hurry up, now! It’s nearly mess-time.”

Half an hour later, when the boys were seated at the long table in the dining cabin, they heard the sudden patter of raindrops on the roof of the building, at first soft and stealthy, then louder and faster, as the drifting clouds relinquished their burden. There would be no games that morning, it was feared; yet there was a hope that the heavy shower would be over within a couple of hours. Meanwhile, there was always plenty to do, and the small but well-selected library in Lieutenant Denmead’s cabin was available at all times. Thither some went immediately after breakfast, while others, donning bathing-suits, disported themselves in the lake or on it in canoes.

Among the latter, those whose energies were not even dampened by the rain, were Hugh Hardin and Don Miller, and they forthwith rounded up a few followers from their respective patrols and proposed a game of canoe-tag, at which Rawson consented to be umpire.

Hearing of the plan, Walter Osborne and Alec Sands summoned their patrols, each with the appropriate patrol-call, and inquired who would take part in the game.

“We can make it a game between the two cabins, with any number of canoes,” said Walter. “The game is for one canoe to tag another by throwing a cotton bag filled with corks into it. It’s great sport, and it gives you a chance to show what you can do with a paddle; you’ve got to be so quick about dodging, turning, and chasing around! The rules are just like those of ordinary cross-tag.”

“Instead of playing tag, merely, why don’t you get up a tilting-match?” suggested the Scout Master, standing in the doorway of his cabin and listening with interest. “Play it with the two larger canoes each manned by four of you, four of a patrol from each cabin in one canoe tilting with four of another.”

“Great!” exclaimed Alec.

“That will be even more fun,” Walter agreed warmly, “I’ll run ahead down to the lake, and put the plan up to Hugh and Don. Come on, fellows.”

He sped down the path, followed by several of his Hawks who were eager to take part in the tilt.

“We’ll have to draw lots to see who shall man the canoe,” he said, as he ran on. “There are more of us than can play at one time, but we will all have a chance. Where’s Alec? Why isn’t he coming?”

“He stayed behind to collect his ablest Otters,” said Arthur Cameron, in reply, “and I saw him talking with the Chief, just before we ran ahead.”

“Oh, well, I guess he’ll be with us in a few minutes. Hugh! Don! Come here! I’ve got something to say to you.”

In a few words, he repeated the lieutenant’s suggestion, which the others welcomed readily. Alec soon joined them, having satisfied himself that no one as yet had noticed the carefully concealed damage to the mess-cabin, and presently the four young patrol leaders were drawing lots, while their followers were dragging the two “war canoes” out of the boat house, making them ready to launch.

For each canoe four men were required: a spearman, who was also the captain, a pilot, and two oarsmen. It fell to Hugh’s lot to be spearman of the first canoe, of which Bud Morgan was one oarsman, Cooper Fennimore the other, and Arthur Cameron the pilot. In the other canoe, manned by the Otters, Alec was pilot, Dick Bellamy spearman, Sam Winter and a tenderfoot being oarsmen.

Armed each with a light ash pole eight feet long with a soft pad on one end, the spearmen took their places on a little quarter-deck or raised seat in the bow of the canoe. On the other end of each spear was a hook made of a forked branch about a foot long, one limb being lashed to the pole, the other projecting out and slightly backward. Both ends of the pole were wrapped in waterproof, to keep it from getting wet and heavy. The padded end of the pole was intended for pushing the enemy from his stand upon the deck of the canoe, while the hook could be slipped behind his neck, if a quick change from pushing to pulling should be required.

“To push your opponent back into the canoe on one foot counts you five; both feet, ten,” said Denmead. “If he loses his spear, except when he may be pushed overboard, you count five. If you put him down on one knee on the fighting deck, you count five; two knees, ten. If you put him overboard, it counts twenty-five. One hundred points is a round, a battle, we’ll say, is two rounds.”

A cheer broke out, as the two canoes dipped lightly into the water and skimmed over its placid surface.

By this time, as luck would have it, the rain had ceased, and the lake shone like polished steel under a gray sky. The figures in the canoes were silhouetted sharply against it, as the light craft darted to and fro over the waters. Sam was a better paddler than Bud, but Bud’s slight clumsiness with the paddle was offset by Hugh’s superior deftness as a spearman; indeed, at the first encounter of the canoes, Hugh almost succeeded in pushing Dick Bellamy down on his knees, and was prevented from doing so only by Alec’s quick turns and returns.

Alec would fain have had Dick’s place and felt the grim satisfaction of contending with Hugh; but that was not to be, this time. Failing that, he did his level best to “put it all over poor old Bud,” as he expressed it to himself; and once he tried the trick of pretending to run his canoe accidentally against the Wolves’ when Dick had succeeded in hooking Hugh, thus making Hugh lose his balance and drop back into his canoe.

But Rawson, the keen-eyed umpire, declared this move a “foul,” and so the Otters did not win those ten points.

The battle lasted almost half an hour, at the end of which time the Otters won, owing to Alec’s skill as a steersman and Sam’s strong, even stroke which he so skillfully adapted to the tenderfoot’s. The next battle, between the Hawks and the Foxes, was not so long; it ended with Don’s laughable plunge into the bosom of the lake, a victory for the Hawks.

Amid cheers and shouts of encouragement, the canoe warriors returned to their cabins; and that afternoon the signaling games and practice were resumed. And thus, with alternate recreation and instruction, the days passed swiftly, bringing in their round the one eventful day when the members of the signal corps were to be chosen.

CHAPTER VI.
THE CHOSEN FEW.

Up to that day the records were fairly equal, the honors well distributed. The Otters had scored heavily by Alec’s winning the trail-finding contest and the stalking event, and Sam the long-distance swim. The relay-race had been won by two Foxes; the high and broad jumps, the pole-vault, and the fifty-yard dash by the Hawks; while Billy Worth, for the Wolves, had captured the rope-climb, and he and Hugh together had distinguished themselves in the two-mile cross-country hike without compass or trail.

Even more important than these athletic events were the various ways in which the winners as well as the losers had made good individual records. For example, one lad had completed a really remarkable set of flashlight photographs taken in the heart of the woods at night; another had “rigged up” a wireless instrument and built an aerial; a third had carried out some signal-tests with a heliograph; and Arthur Cameron had established a camp weather bureau, running up a set of flag signals each day in communication with the nearest United States Weather Bureau, which, upon request, sent daily bulletins to Pioneer Camp. Arthur, in charge of this weather bureau, found it full of personal interest as well as an opportunity to render the camp a real service. He made a weather vane of an old arrow which Joe gave him, posted a daily bulletin, kept a record of temperature, and measured the rainfall and the velocity of wind. For this achievement he received so many points that his election to the corps, like that of Walter and Hugh, was a foregone conclusion.

Again and again, in the various signal practice games, Walter, Alec, and Hugh had proved their ability to send and receive messages, in all codes, at the prescribed rate of sixteen letters per minute; so they were sure of making the corps.

At last, after much deliberation, the Scout Master and his assistant decided upon the following scouts for the corps:

From the Wolf patrol, Hugh Hardin and Arthur Cameron (no longer a tenderfoot).

From the Hawk patrol, Walter Osborne and a lad named Blake Merton, who, toward the end of the trials, showed unexpected skill as a signaler.

From the Otter patrol, Alec Sands and Sam Winter.

From the Fox patrol, Cooper Fennimore and his chum “Spike” Welling.

Strangely enough, neither Don Miller nor Billy Worth qualified for the corps; the former, because his chief energies had gradually been drawn into another channel of interest; the latter, because he was absorbed in the study of forestry. Billy hoped to obtain a merit badge for forestry, so his disappointment was but slight in comparison with his zeal.

On this account, however, and because he wanted to become thoroughly familiar with the surrounding country, he was given permission to accompany the members of the corps, guided by Joe, on a ten-mile cross-country hike, which was planned as a final test to see who the leader should be. Of course, the Scout Master joined the hikers. A day and a night were allowed for the expedition.

So on the same day the corps was formed it set forth from camp, bound for Oakvale, where the National Guard maneuvers were soon to take place.

“There will be two divisions of the Guard,” explained Denmead, “the Red Army and the Blue Army. Within a day or two I expect a visit in camp from my old friend Major Brookfield, of the National Guard, who will give us further details.”

“How many miles are we supposed to cover to-day?” inquired Blake Merton, as the corps were descending the further slopes of Stormberg, and threading their way through a ravine or gulch that presented only a broken path between jagged rocks and moss-grown boulders, along the dried bed of a stream.

“About three miles in one group,” was the Scout Master’s reply. “When we come out at the end of this ravine, we’ll separate; Joe will lead some of you northward as far as Rainbow Lake, and the rest will follow me in an easterly direction until we meet at the lower end of the valley, near the town of Oakvale. That will be about the middle of to-morrow morning. Then, by pretty steady ‘hiking,’ we ought to be in camp again by to-morrow night, as we’ll return by a shorter route.”

Emerging presently from the shadows of the narrow gulch, the corps halted to rest and to draw lots for a division of their number. Half an hour later they were again on their way, separately; and, at twilight, Joe’s party came in sight of a small lake set like an emerald in the darker green of the hills.

“Rainbow Lake, hurrah!” cried Hugh.

“Hurro!” shouted Billy, the odd number.

“Don’t be too sure it is,” Alec advised scornfully; then, turning to the guide: “Is that Rainbow Lake, Joe?”

“Sure, him Rainbow,” grunted the halfbreed.

“I thought there could be no doubt,” said Hugh, politely. “The route which brought us to this spot was clearly marked on my map, and it opened up as we proceeded. For the last hour or more, in spite of Alec’s opinion, I’ve felt sure we were following the right course. Joe knows this country, trust him for that!”

“You bet he does!” put in Billy.

Hugh’s compliment was not without effect on the guide, who was already growing weary of Alec’s continued rudeness to the Wolf leader.

They were some three or four hundred feet above the lake, and behind them lay the notch amid the mountains through which they had come. Although the descent to the lake was steep in places, they would have very little trouble in getting down.

“It’s great up here,” remarked Spike Welling. “I say, Hugh, what’s that little white mist blowing away from us down there above those trees? It looks like an Indian smoke signal, but if someone were lost in the woods there’d be two of them.”

“Joe, what do you make of that?” asked Hugh.

The guide was leaning against a projecting point of rock, gazing down at the lake without the least sign of emotion. Suddenly he straightened himself and sniffed the air.

“Hunters down there, make fire, cook bacon,” he announced solemnly.

“You mean to say you can smell frying bacon, at this distance?” queried Blake. “Joe, that nose of yours is sure a wonder!”

Joe grunted and grinned. “Hungry,” he explained. “Nose good; better when hungry.”

“Come on, let’s have some grub, ourselves,” suggested Billy. “Then we——”

“No. Wait till we get down little way. Then make camp for night; then eat.”

As they could plainly see, the shores of the lake were deeply indented by many inlets and coves. Even from this height, it was impossible to survey the entire surface of the lake. Afar to the eastward there seemed to be a portion of it hidden amid some hills.

“Gee! it certainly is pretty!” said Billy, noting the great variety of trees, shrubs, and plants that clothed the hills with verdure. “Where do you intend to pitch camp, Joe?”

“Where you say, Alec?” was Joe’s question.

“On that little plateau we’re coming to,” said Alec confidently.

“Where you say, Hugh?”

“I marked a spot on my map where I thought would be a good place for a one-night camp,” said Hugh. “It’s right here where we can be in signal communication with Uncle Sam’s weather bureau, and thence with camp,—in case anything happens,” he added, with a glance at Joe.

For a few minutes they trudged on in silence. Then:

“Good!” grunted the halfbreed, as they reached the spot Hugh had pointed out. “We camp here.”

The greater part of the next two hours was consumed in gathering branches suitable for a lean-to shelter, building a fire-place of flat stones and cooking the evening meal. Finally, when the lean-to was constructed, and a goodly fire was blazing cheerfully in front of it, they chatted and laughed as they ate supper.

After supper, Blake Merton, who had a very agreeable voice, entertained them by singing a number of Irish melodies. The others, with the exception of Joe,—who strolled to and fro, sniffing the breeze,—joined in the choruses. But soon Hugh lapsed into silence, listening to the plaintive airs, feeling a strange, indescribable thrill.

“I wonder what’s worrying Joe?” he remarked, during a pause in the singing.

Alec looked up quickly.

“He told me he didn’t like the way those hunters left that fire over there,” said he, then added in a louder tone: “You can’t be too careful of fires, you know, Hugh!”

If this observation was intended to reach the ears of Blake and Spike, it failed utterly, and only Billy heard it—with a start of surprise. The next moment Blake’s youthful tenor warbled out, “I’ve been workin’ on th’ railroad, all th’ livelong day.”

Now, lounging somewhat apart from the others, Joe betrayed amazing interest in Blake’s singing. He listened with his thick lips parted and a surprising expression of animation upon his usually stolid and immobile features. Once when the others clapped their hands vigorously in applause, he actually clapped his also.

“Gee!” exclaimed Billy, nudging Hugh with his elbow. “That Injun has an ear for music. Just look at him! I never saw him perk up this way before.”

“Yes,” murmured Hugh, “all his people love music. They have their own wild, sad songs. Perhaps Joe might sing. I’ll ask him, in a moment. Joe,” he added, “won’t you sing for us? We’d like to hear——”

“Sing? No!”

At first Joe refused, shaking his head almost sullenly, and regarding Hugh with suspicion. But when, after a little, he seemed somewhat satisfied that he was not being made sport of and that Hugh really wished him to sing, he reluctantly consented.

That song was one which none who heard it ever forgot. It was wild and weird and full of unspeakable pathos. It was more of a chant than a song, more wailing than tuneful, and to Hugh it seemed that Joe was lamenting the lost power and greatness of his people. This, however, Hugh knew could not be possible, for he had often talked with the halfbreed and had found that Joe knew no more of Indian history than a child might learn at school.