OUT OF THE WOODS
Joyously Don broke from cover. The Eagles might threaten later, but just
now the field was clear. He took great breaths of the fresh air. It was
good to breathe deeply after having been almost afraid to breathe at all.
Tim brought back the haversacks and canteens and pushed them out of sight
behind the wall of brush. After a moment's thought he changed his mind
and pulled out one of the canteens.
"That ankle may need another wetting," he said. "For the rest of the way
we'll travel light. We should have dropped that load long ago."
"How will we find it again?" Don asked. "There's lots of brush."
Tim took out a handkerchief and tied it where it could be plainly seen.
"Believe me," he said, "we're some team. What one forgets the other
thinks about."
Some team! Don smiled. He had never thought to hear Tim say a thing like
that. All at once the troubles that Tim had given him in the past seemed
as nothing. That was what a patrol leader was for--to stand up under
thoughtless knocks from wayward scouts and to bring them back.
They struck off north. Tim had decided that the Eagles could not be in
this neck of the woods, else they would have run into the Foxes and
somebody would have been captured. He led the way more boldly, with a
swing to his shoulders. Don, watching him, smiled again, this time
wistfully. What a dandy patrol leader Tim would make--now.
At the first rest, while the red-haired boy poured water over the ankle
bandages, Don said:
"You've heard about the new patrol, haven't you?"
Tim shook his head.
"It came up in the last patrol leader's meeting. We've had six fellows on
the waiting list for a long time. Mr. Wall's going to organize a fourth
patrol and take them in. There's a big chance for you."
Tim looked up quickly. "For patrol leader?"
"Yes."
Tim knelt motionless. After a while he slung the canteen on his back and
slowly shook his head. "Nothing doing. What a fine mess I'd have made if
I had become patrol leader of the Wolves! I can see it now."
"Just the same," said Don, "I'm going to recommend you."
Tim stared away through the trees. Patrol leader! He had always wanted
that. As for Don recommending him--Gee! wasn't that a hot one?
"If I get it," he said in a low voice, "will you stand by me if I get
stuck? I'm an awful bonehead sometimes."
"Every patrol leader in the troop will be glad to help," said Don.
"I know." Tim nodded. "But I'd sooner go to you."
Their course still carried them north. By degrees, as they advanced,
Tim's boldness became tinged with caution. They had gone quite some
distance from their hiding place; there might be Eagles around.
The old whistling signals were resumed. Tim would slip off through the
trees and whistle after a while, and Don would go forward and join him.
There seemed to be no end to the trees. Were they never going to get out?
The third time Don went forward, Tim was frowning and biting his lips.
"I thought I heard something again," he said nervously. "It can't be that
the Foxes swung down and around and headed us off. Wait here; I'll sneak
closer."
When the whistle sounded, several minutes later, Don limped forward
eagerly.
"I knew I heard something," Tim warned. "Listen, now."
They held their breaths. Voices! No doubt of it. And then, faintly from a
distance, a call of:
"Bobbie! O Bobbie! Bob--bie!"
Don forgot that he was a woods fugitive. "That's Andy's voice," he
shouted. "We're almost out. Come on, Tim. Rush for it."
They gave no care now to what noise they made. Don felt Tim take his arm
to help him. He hobbled and hopped and squirmed, and only paused when the
tender ankle brought him up wincing and shivering.
"Easy," said Tim. "No hurry. See that opening? We're almost out. Easy
now."
But Don found it agony to go slow. Suppose they were gobbled here within
sight of victory! He took another chance on a hobbling run. Around a
clump of trees, straight ahead, another turn--and there was the wide,
free outside in front of them.
"Safe!" gasped Don. No need to hurry now. He sank to the ground and
rested his injured ankle. The Scoutmaster's Cup was theirs!
Three scouts, walking together, were disappearing over a knoll of ground
in the distance.
"Andy!" Tim bellowed. "Andy Ford!"
One of the scouts looked around and pointed. He shouted to someone in the
distance. Then he and his companions came forward on a wild run.
Tim pulled the cup from the box and held it up for them to see. At that
the wild run became a desperate sprint.
"Ours, ours, ours!" cried Andy. The other scouts, Ritter and Wally Woods,
caught Tim's arms and poured out a stream of questions. What had become
of the haversacks and blankets? Had they been afraid in the woods? Had
they seen the Foxes? Where had they found the cup?
Another scout came over the knoll--Bobbie Brown. After that came a rush
of Fox scouts and Eagle scouts, and finally Mr. Wall. Scout whistles
began to blow a salute and a welcome. Cheers came in ringing waves. Tim,
his eyes bright with excitement, stood close to Don. Oh, but this was
great!
Mr. Wall shook hands. His grip was hard and strong and gloriously
friendly, and his smile made their blood run warmly. He stepped back and
looked at them, and his gaze seemed to rest on Don's puffed lip. Tim
caught his breath.
"How do you like it?" the Scoutmaster asked.
"Great!" said Don. "Wasn't it, Tim?"
Tim nodded.
"Who found the cup?"
"Tim did."
"I didn't," cried Tim. "You found the place."
"But you said it had probably been buried and to look for freshly turned
dirt. And if you hadn't stuck to me when I hurt my ankle we'd been
captured sure. And when the Eagles were trailing us you threw them off
the scent--"
"Aw!" said Tim, "you deserve all the credit for limping along on that bum
foot."
A light of satisfaction leaped into Mr. Wall's eyes. There was little
that went on in Chester troop of which he was in ignorance. He had known
what that trip into the woods meant, and he had wondered many times that
morning what would come of it. From the look of Don's lip and from a
lumpy look above one of Tim's eyes, he would say there had been a fight.
He proposed, though, to ask no questions. Whatever had happened, the
atmosphere was clear. The Tim who had come out was a vastly different boy
from the Tim who had gone in, and that was all that mattered.
He slipped off Don's shoe and examined the foot. "Nothing much," he said.
"A couple of days' rest and you'll be as good as new." As he stood up his
hand rested in the old familiar way on Tim's shoulder.
"I told you it would happen some day, Tim."
Tim looked up timidly. "What, sir?"
"That we'd be proud of you."
Tim's eyes dropped. A thrill ran through his veins. Not because he had
been praised--paugh! that didn't mean so much--but because Mr. Wall
seemed to speak to him as man scout to boy scout. He was accepted without
question as worthy. He could see it in the eyes of Andy Ford and of every
scout there. Gee! what a difference it made.
The scouts had been shrilling a succession of short, sharp blasts, the
rallying signal. Now Larkins and Rood burst out of the woods. When they
saw Don and Tim their faces lengthened, but they came forward and offered
their congratulations.
The whole story had to be told. Don related how they had followed the
trail, he told of finding the treasure, of getting away and learning of
pursuit, of cutting away from their trail, and of his tumble at the
ravine, and of how Tim had refused to leave him.
"Good boy," cried Andy.
Next Don described their journey with Tim ranging around as scout. When
he told of laying out the haversacks Larkins' face went red.
"Were you fellows hiding behind that brush?" he demanded.
"You bet," said Don. "We hid the haversacks there after you went on.
You'll find Tim's handkerchief tied there now."
A grudging look of admiration came into the Fox leader's eyes. "It was
some plan," he admitted, "and it surely fooled us. That's one we owe you,
Tim."
Tim laughed.
The story was over at last, and the position of the sun warned the troop
that it was time to start for home. At Mr. Wall's orders a coat stretcher
was made and Don was lifted in. Just before the start he thought of
something.
"What became of the Eagles?" he demanded.
"Shucks!" said Larkins. "They built a fire the first night, and we
sneaked up and bagged them."
Tim looked at Don miserably, and Don flashed a glance that told him to
forget it. It was their secret. Nobody would ever know.
Tim walked a step behind the stretcher, with his head bent thoughtfully.
What a good scout Don was--fair, and square, and willing to be white
where another fellow would hold a grudge! Tim sighed. He wasn't built
like that. He scrapped and got himself in Dutch, and let himself think
things that he shouldn't think.
Well, he was going to stop that. He had thought of the laws and the oath
back there in the woods and they had begun to mean something serious.
Fellows like Andy, and Alex Davidson, and Don showed what the laws and
the oath were. Some day--The muscles in Tim's jaw hardened. Some day he
would be that kind of scout, too.
End of Project Gutenberg's Don Strong, Patrol Leader, by William Heyliger