on, "that's just like old-fashioned Indian warfare."

Mr. Wall smiled. "I think you'll like it. There will be another meeting
Wednesday night. I want every scout to notify his patrol leader in
writing whether he will be allowed to make the trip if he is chosen.
Wednesday night each patrol leader will announce the name of the scout
who will accompany him into the woods. I think you're too excited to do
scout work tonight. Would you prefer to talk this over?"

"Yes, sir," came a roar.

Mr. Wall laughed and waved his hands.

Instantly the room broke into riot. A night camp at Lonesome Woods, a
blazed trail, a buried treasure and a threat of sudden capture! This was
great!

"Will trails cross?" cried the leader of the Foxes. "Must we watch out
for Eagles and Wolves even before we get to the treasure?"

"Perhaps," the Scoutmaster answered.

Here was uncertainty--and uncertainty made the game all the more
fascinating.

Tim's breath came fast. If he could get into a thing like that--

"Aw!" he told himself hopelessly, "Don would never take me." He stood
around listening to every word, but saying little. His heart ached with
an empty longing. Once he caught Don's eye, and flushed and turned away
his head quickly. And Don, who had been as high-strung as any of the
others, suddenly became sober and grave.

Next day, between innings, he sat on the bench and studied his catcher.
If they should go into the woods together--He sighed, and shook his head,
and thought of Andy Ford. Andy would pull with him. Perhaps Andy would
expect the place.

Over Sunday Wally and Ritter brought around written consents, and Bobbie
announced gloomily that his father would not let him go. Monday morning
Andy brought his paper.

"Seen Tim yet?" he asked. "No?" He fell to whistling softly.

Late that afternoon Tim appeared. "There's mine," he said defiantly.
There was an awkward silence. Presently Tim walked out through the gate
and was gone.

Don sat beside his work and pondered. As a patrol leader, what should he
do? What was expected of a patrol leader--that he strive heart and soul
to bring victory to his patrol, or that he stake everything on making
one boy the kind of scout he ought to be? Victory for the Wolves, he
suspected, would soon be forgotten. That was how it was with baseball
victories.

Suppose he took Tim into the woods and nothing came of it. But suppose
something did come of it--something big.

"I wonder," Don mused