Don Strong, Patrol Leader Part 28

"Aw! forget it." Tim turned him around, unstrapped the blanket, and stuck it under his arm. "Feels better, doesn't it?"

"Y-yes," said Bobbie.

Mr. Wall, coming down the line to watch for stragglers, saw what happened, smiled quietly, and went back to the head of the column.

After a time the jokes and the laughter stopped. They were approaching Lonesome Woods. Of course, this was going to be all kinds of fun, but--but--Well, Lonesome Woods was Lonesome Woods, wasn't it? A mile from camp Mr. Wall halted the column.

"Volunteers to go forward and cut firewood," he called.

But though the scouts might draw together a bit, here was too good an adventure to be missed. There was a rush for the Scoutmaster. Tim got there first.

"The Wolves have it," Mr. Wall decided.

"Little more load for the Eagles and the Foxes," sang Tim, and pitched his blanket and haversack into the trek wagon. Don and the others unslung theirs. Two minutes later the Wolf patrol was running in advance of the column with only their axes and canteens.

They plunged into the woods with a whoop. Presently they all drew together and listened. The place was still--ghostly still. The air was cooler, and heavier, and--and different.

"Gee!" said Bobbie. "It _is_ lonesome in here, isn't it?"

Tim shrugged his shoulders. "Come on. Let's get firewood."

The sound of the axes chased away the quiet. The firewood became a small pile, a great pile, and then a fat, clumsy pyramid.

"h.e.l.lo there, Wolves," came a faint hail.

The troop had arrived. Soon the woods rang with high-pitched shouts and cries.

The problem now was to find a camp site. Scouts swung out in all directions. One group tried to advance the wagon. Now the wheels would get tangled in clumps of underbrush, and now there would be seemingly no way to squeeze through the trees. At last it could be advanced no further.

The Foxes had found a clearing on sloping ground. A brook ran at one end.

The ground slope insured good drainage in case of rain.

The Wolves went back to bring in their firewood, and the Eagles and the Foxes carted tents and equipment from the trek wagon.

Tim's blood ran riot in his veins. As he carried in the last of the kindling, the second tent arose against the background of trees.

"Say," he called eagerly, "let's help there."

The tent squad made a place for him.

He seemed tireless. By and by, with the last tent up and the last rope guyed, he wiped the sweat from his face and grinned.

"Doesn't look like Lonesome Woods now, does it?"

Mr. Wall's watch showed four o'clock. Supper cooking would start at five.

There was an hour in which to string telegraph wires.

"The messages," Mr. Wall said, "will be received here. Do not get too close to each other with your instruments."

Scouts hustled out to the trek wagon for batteries, wire and instruments.

Tim staked a claim for the Wolves' receiving station.

"How much wire must each patrol have out?" Andy Ford asked.

"Two hundred feet," was the answer.

Eagles and Foxes gathered and broke into clamorous discussion. How should the wire be measured? Don gathered his patrol and took it to one side.

"Andy has a fifty-foot tape. We'll measure as we unwind. Bobbie, you stay here and hold this end. Come on, fellows."

Into the dense growth of trees they wormed their way. It was slow work pa.s.sing the wire through the branches of trees. Tim climbed and s.h.i.+nned his way from limb to limb like a monkey. Wherever the wire was laid, it was fastened in place with rubber tape.

About one hundred and twenty-five feet were out when the Scoutmaster's whistle sounded the recall. The scouts came back to camp. There was a comparison of results. The Eagles had strung about seventy feet of wire, and the Foxes less than sixty.

"We'll have ours finished before the others know what's happening,"

chuckled Andy. "And then we'll get in some practice."

"Tim and I are going to get some practice after supper," said Don.

"Sure thing," said Tim.

Fires were lighted and pots and pans appeared. Somebody yelled that cocoa was ready. The Foxes dished it out, and Mr. Wall distributed bread thickly covered with mola.s.ses.

"Some feast," said Tim. He took his place in the circle of Wolves. He was one of them--at home.

There was still some daylight left after dishes had been washed and put away, and the supper refuse burned. Tim and Don walked off a way with their flags. Teams from the other patrols scrambled for their flags, too, and practiced until the last light began to go.

The night-fire grew brighter in the darkness. A hush fell over the camp.

The boys formed a circle about the blaze. Where they sat there was light and warmth, but ten feet back were the trees, and darkness, and the melancholy whispering of the breeze through stirring branches.

There was sober discussion of the morrow's contest. No voice lifted itself loudly. Mr. Wall told an Indian story. The scouts drew closer to the fire, and Bobbie glanced back over his shoulder. After a time heads began to nod.

"Time to turn in," said the Scoutmaster. "Better fill your canteens. You may want a drink during the night."

The brook was a hundred yards away, out in the darkness--and this was Lonesome Woods. Bobbie said he never took a drink during the night.

"Aw!" cried Tim. "Let's go down there and fill them up."

He led the way. Bobbie decided that he might need a drink after all.

Twenty minutes later they were all in the tents. Out at the dying camp-fire the bugler sounded "taps." As the mournful notes echoed, more than one scout, under his blanket, felt goose-flesh.

Ordinarily, in camp, the first night is one of restlessness. But Chester troop was tired. For a while voices sounded faintly. They grew fitful and yawny. Finally they ceased. The camp was asleep under the stars.

And then the bugle blew again. Reveille! The scouts tumbled out to a new world. The darkness was gone. Lonesome Woods was no longer spooky. The whole world smelled clean, and green, and damp, and sweet.

Breakfast was rushed. The Foxes were the first to get away from camp. The Wolves were next. They finished stringing their wire, adjusted a sender, and came back to install the receiver. As soon as everything was ready, Wally went off to the end of the line to send to Andy Ford.