what you thought. All I know is what everyone in camp thinks. But
listen. If a fellow is willing to give up his life, as Bert did, trying
to prove a fellow innocent--if he's just willing to give up doing
everything else--he sat on the top of his troop cabin--he did--and said
to me--"

"Don talk," Westy said; "just sit still and let me row you around. Hear
that night hawk?"

"Then doesn't that prove that he's innocent?" I asked him. "Any fellow
with any sense can see that. You needn't tell me what you think--but
the--the gold cross isn't dead--it isn't--and a fellow can--he can win
it after he's dead--and those Elks--"

"Listen," Westy said; "there's somebody on shore."

"What do I care?" I said.

He said, "I know, but maybe it's the Gold Dust Twins. If they came home
through the open country, they'd be sure to hit the lake at the wrong
spot. Maybe they're looking for their camp. Let's get closer in,
anyway."

I didn't care much what he did. If it hadn't been for the Gold Dust
Twins there would never have been any trouble, I knew that.

"I don't care where you go," I said.

"A good turn is a good turn," Westy said. "Maybe everything has
changed, but good turns haven't changed. Their own tent is gone, their
canoe is smashed--you said so yourself--and they're on the opposite
side from Temple Camp. You know our signboard over there, '_Welcome to
friend or stranger!_'"

"Come on in and get them," I said, "I don't care. I don't care about
anything. Why did he ever try to paddle across in all that rain? That
was the beginning of all the trouble. A couple of bungling tenderfeet--"

As we rowed in and skirted the shore, I could see a dark figure
following along at the edge.

"Who are you? What are you doing there?" Westy asked.

"Want to get across," the person said and his voice sounded kind of
husky.

"What for?" Westy asked him.

I guess he didn't answer; anyway, I didn't hear him, because I wasn't
paying much attention. Westy rowed in and the fellow stepped out on a
rock in the water and waited.

I saw he had a stick in his hand.

CHAPTER XXXV

TELLS ABOUT A NEW CAMP

"That you, kiddo?" he called.

"Bert!" I said.

"Give us a lift over, will you?"

I just said, "What--is it you--Bert? Say yes, Say it's you."

"Well, then, it's me," he said; "hold her steady, my leg is stiff. All
right, shall I push off?"

He stood there in the boat and he was lame and his left hand was
hanging in his scou