amp,
or the whole outfit would be going up the mountain. But I suppose the
papers will have the whole business by to-morrow, and you might as well
have it now. The fellow who ran down the kid was found crushed to death
on the mountain last night. His name was Aaron Harlowe."

Tom told the whole harrowing episode to Mr. Carroll, who listened with
interest, commenting now and again upon the tragic sequel of the auto
accident. It was plain, throughout, however, that his chief interest was
in his little charge, Goliath.

"That's a very strange thing," he said; "it has a smack of Divine
justice about it, if one cares to look at it that way. Have you any
theory of just how it happened?"

"I haven't got any time for theories, Mr. Carroll; not with four new
troops coming to-morrow. It's a closed book now, I suppose. There are
some funny things about the whole business. But one thing sure, the
man's dead. I have a hunch he got crazed and rattled and hid here and
there and was afraid they'd catch him and finally went up the mountain.
He thought he had killed the kid, you see. I'd like to know what went on
inside his head, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I would."

Several of Mr. Carroll's troop, seeing him talking with Tom, approached
and hung about as this chat ended. Wherever Tom Slade was, scouts were
attracted to that spot as flies are attracted to sugar. They stood
about, listening, and staring at the young camp assistant.

"Well, how do you think you like us up here?" Tom asked, turning
abruptly from his talk with their scoutmaster. "Think you're going to
have a good time?"

"You said something," one piped up.

"Where's Gilbert?" another asked.

"Oh, he'll be back in a little while," Tom said. "I sent him on an
errand and I suppose he got lost."

"He did _not_!" several vociferated.

"No?" Tom smiled.

"You bet he didn't!"

"Well," said Tom, laughing, "if you fellows want to get into the mix-up,
keep your eyes on the bulletin board. Everything is posted there, hikes
and things. You'll like most of the things you see there."

"I'm crazy about tomatoes," one of the scouts ventured.

Tom smiled at Mr. Carroll and Mr. Carroll smiled at Tom.

There seemed to be a sort of unspoken agreement among them all that
Hervey Willetts should be thought of ruefully, and in a way of
disapproval. But, oddly enough, none of them seemed quite able to
conceal a sneaking liking for him, shown rather than expressed.

And there you ha