quite early in the evening, and who it was that
scared him away is what is puzzling me."

CHAPTER X.

THE WOLF MEETS A PANTHER.

The ragged soldiers halted when they came to where the amazed Jimmie
stood, and in a moment were joined by the drummer, a slender boy of
fourteen, who looked worn out.

When he saw Jimmie he smiled and saluted by extending the right arm
horizontally, palm out, three fingers vertical, with the thumb and
little finger crossed on the palm.

"Where did you get that?" demanded Jimmie.

"Did stunts for it," was the reply. "And look here."

The drummer swept his left hand down his right sleeve, tapping half a
dozen badges. These were those worn by Boy Scouts who had passed as
Fireman, Signaller, Pioneer, Marksman, Horseman, and Musician. The
officer in charge of the squad looked on with an amused smile as the
drummer exhibited his honors.

"The kid is crazy over the Boy Scouts," he said. "He's been hunting for
comrades among the Mexicans, and I reckon he found a few, at that.
Well, I'm in favor of the organization myself. It teaches, honor,
manhood, self-reliance, and has made a man of many a flat-chested,
cigarette-smoking youth. It will be the saving of boys in the city
slums if carried out properly."

"Sure it is all to the good," cried the drummer. "A Boy Scout can find
friends wherever he goes--and friends that will stick by him, too. We
get into the game ourselves and do things, instead of sitting on the
bleachers ad smoking cigarettes while others get the exercise."

The little fellow smiled winningly at Jimmie, cast his eyes up the
mountain, and then asked:

"Where did you come from? What patrol do you belong to? I'm Panther
Patrol, New York."

"New York Wolf Patrol," was the reply.

"What you doin' here with the ragged army? Say, but they'd make a hit
on a Bowery stoige, them soldiers."

"What do you know about the Bowery?" demanded the drummer. "Have you
been reading about it in the Newsboy's Delight?"

"I know every inch of the Bowery," was the indignant reply. "When I
walk down to Chatham Square the lamps bow to me. I'm hungry for it
right now."

The drummer threw out his arms in a gesture of approval.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, then.

"I'm editing this end of a detective case," laughed Jimmie.

"All alone?" grinned the drummer. "Where are the others?"

"Lost," cried Jimmie. "Jere! I wish Frank Shaw was here and had hold
of that dr