t to go," replied Peter. "I didn't come down here to
sleep my head off, did I? Shall I take my drum?"

Jimmie sat down on the ground and chuckled.

"You an' your drum!" he exclaimed, being careful to speak in a tone
which would not reach the ears of the guards.

"That is a fine drum," urged Peter, the drummer.

"What do you want to lug it around for, then?" demanded Jimmie. "They
won't let you beat on it."

"That's what I came down here for--to drum," was the impatient reply.
"Think I came down here to get my hair cut?"

"You may get it cut off under your chin before you get back to the
Great White Way," Jimmie said. "This is no joke."

"I haven't had a chance to drum since I got here," complained the boy.
"The time you heard me is the only one. That's rotten!"

"Why did they let you drum then?" asked Jimmie.

"I just rolled it out before they could stop me."

"I was wondering," Jimmie said, with a sly smile, "if these secret
service men went sleuthing with a brass band ahead of them."

"Indeed they don't!" declared the drummer, in defense of his friends.
"They found me broke and lost and picked me up, which was mighty good
of them. Say," he added, with a slight scowl on his face, "this is a
fine, large country to get lost in."

"I should think so," agreed Jimmie. "I wasn't lost, but I hadn't any
more money than--than--than a--a--a rabbit when I found Fremont and Ned
at El Paso. And my clothes looked like they'd come out of a ragbag.
Wore 'em out reclinin' in my side-door Pullman."

"You're fixed up all right now for clothes," observed the drummer,
looking the boy's well-dressed, muscular figure over with approving
eyes.

"George Fremont bought these," said Jimmie, looking down at his suit.
"All right, ain't it? I'm goin' to pay him back when I get to working
again. I don't want anybody to give me anything."

"Lieutenant Gordon's son is a patrol leader at Washington," the drummer
said, after a thoughtful pause, "and I suppose that's the reason he
helped me out. I reckon a Boy Scout can find friends in any part of
the world, if he is deserving of them. I found a Mexican boy, over
here in the hills, who belongs to a patrol he calls the Owl. We may
meet him if we remain about here very long."

"A Boy Scout who is on the square won't have trouble in getting
through," Jimmie observed, "but we've got to be moving. I imagine the
guards want us to remain here, so we'll have to sneak off if we le