ing to put up with crazy notions. Who
ever heard of a night camp and no fire?"

Don's fingers twitched. He was the leader here and he had said no fire.
The scout law read obedience. And yet, if Tim insisted, what was he to
do? Oh, it wasn't fair for a fellow to get bull-headed and smash the
rules.

Tim scraped the match. It burst into a tiny flame.

Don took a step forward. "Tim--"

"Oh, forget it," said Tim. He was going to light that fire, even if he
put it out a moment afterward. He shielded the match with his hands and
bent over the wood.

There was no other way--not if Tim was twice as big. Don's heart was in
his throat. He was afraid. Nevertheless, without hesitation, he knocked
Tim's hands apart and the match went out.

"You will, will you?" cried Tim. He scrambled to his feet and rushed.

There was not much light. What there was aided Don, for Tim could not
make full use of his superior weight and strength. One rush followed
another. Don kept striking out and stepping aside. Sometimes a fist came
through his guard and stung him and made him wince. Always, ever since
becoming patrol leader, he had feared that he and Tim would some day
clash. Now the fight was on.

Slowly, as blows stung him, his blood quickened. The boy in front of him
had spoiled so much scouting. If he could only give him the thrashing he
deserved! If he only could! He set his teeth. He would thrash him. He
swung, and felt a sharp pain in his knuckles.

"I'll get you for that," roared Tim.

Don, aroused now, scarcely felt the blows. A hard knock caught him off
his balance and sent him sprawling.

"Got enough?" Tim demanded, breathing heavily.

Don, battle mad, sprang to his feet and rushed.

That rush was a mistake. Tim's fist caught him as he came in and
staggered him. Another blow shook him up. And then a third blow sent him
to the ground again. He was beaten, winded, and all but sobbing.

"I guess you've got enough now," said Tim. There was no answer. He turned
away and found his matches.

The sound of the match box being opened brought Don to his knees. Tim,
muttering, scraped the tip.

Don struggled to his feet. The tiny flame seemed to fill him with a new
strength. If necessary he would fight again, and again, and again. An
iron doggedness was in his blood--the same doggedness that nerves men
to sacrifice everything for principle. The lot had fallen to him to face
Tim on a matter of scout discipline. Tim might thrash h