, and fell upon the glittering
medal, making it shine with a dazzling brightness.

Often when Tom read of the Iron Cross being awarded to a submarine
commander, or a German spy, or a Zeppelin captain for some unspeakable
deed, he would come home and look at his own precious Gold Cross of the
Scouts and think what it meant--heroism, _real_ heroism; bravery
untainted; courage without any brutal motive; the courage that saves,
not destroys.

He breathed upon the rich gold now (though it needed no polishing) and
rubbed it with his handkerchief. Then he sat looking at it long and
steadily. There, shining under his eyes, was the familiar design, the
three-pointed sign of the scouts, with the American eagle superimposed
upon it, as if Uncle Sam and the scouts were in close partnership.

Tom remembered that the Handbook, in describing the scout sign, referred
to it as neither an arrow-head nor a fleur-de-lis, though resembling
both, but as a modified form of the sign of the north on the mariner's
compass.

"Maybe it's like a fleur-de-lis, so as to remind us of France, kind
of," Tom said, as he rubbed the medal again, "and----"

Suddenly a thought flashed into his mind. "And it's pointing to the
north, too! It's the compass sign of the north, and it tells me where to
go, 'cause Temple Camp and that hill are north from here.... Gee, that's
funny, when you come to think of it, how that Gold Cross can kind of
remind you--of everything.... Now I know I _got_ to do it.... Nobody
could tell me what I ought to do, 'cause the Gold Cross has told me....
And it'll help me to ... it will...."

CHAPTER VII

THE TRAIL RUNS THROUGH A PESTILENT PLACE

If Tom had entertained any lingering misgivings as to his path of duty,
he cast them from him now. If he had harbored any doubts as to his
success, he banished them. Uncle Sam, poor bleeding, gallant France, and
the voice of the scout, had all spoken to him out of the face of the
wonderful Gold Cross, and he wanted no better authority than this for
something which he must do in order to be off on his errand.

Cheerfully removing his holiday regalia, he donned a faded and mended
khaki suit and a pair of worn trousers, and as he did so he gave a
little rueful chuckle at the thought of poor Roscoe struggling with the
tangled thicket in a regular suit of clothes and without any of the
facilities that a scout would be sure to take.

He slipped on an old coat, into the pocket of whi