othing but
contempt--contempt for his weakness in parleying with the outlaw, and
for his stupidity in being outwitted.

But there was a hope, a faint one, to be sure, but still a hope, that by
some special favor of Providence Pat and Alec might be able to trace his
assailant and recover the skin. Not to tell would be to surrender
without a fight, and this was directly contrary to the boy's nature. A
double motive urged him to leave no stone unturned that might lead to
the capture of the Indian--the desire to recover the rich prize and the
spirit of revenge. He could tell of the robbery without in any way
committing himself in the matter of the temptation which had led to the
parley with the outlaw. This is what he would do. He didn't want his
companions to think worse of him than was absolutely necessary.

So with his mind made up to this course he headed for camp.
"Click-clack, coward! Click-clack, coward!" His very shoes mocked him.
He tried to shut out the sound, but he could not. Had Edward Muldoon,
Boy Scout, won over Sparrer Muldoon, street gamin, only to lose in the
end? Where the trail led close to the end of the big beaver dam he
stopped abruptly and a last brief battle was fought between Scout and
gamin. When it was over he pushed on with an eagerness he had not felt
before, for the Scout had triumphed, and this time he knew that the
victory was final. He would tell the _whole_ story from beginning to end
and spare himself nothing. "Youse ain't no quitter!" he muttered to
himself fiercely. "Youse is goin' ter tell de truth, de whole truth and
nothing but de truth."

His progress was slow and his snow-shoes seemed strangely heavy. The
fierce conflict within, not less than the effects of the blow he had
suffered, had left him physically weak. He felt light-headed. His
nervous system had received a shock from which he was now feeling the
effects. He was possessed of a desire to sit down and rest every few
minutes. But he set his jaws grimly and plodded on. Upton was outside
the cabin splitting wood as he approached. He looked up as the
click-clack of snow-shoes caught his attention and seeing that it was
Sparrer called cheerily, "What luck?"

A shadow of his old-time impudent grin flashed across Sparrer's face as
he replied, "What luck wud ye be expecting with a tenderfoot loike me?"

"The greatest luck in the world. It's always that way in stories,"
retorted Upton. Then he noticed the pale face of the young