rch" in a tree several hundred feet distant
but in full view of the stream. Tom had climbed up after him and was
looking with curious pleasure at the little kit of rations and other
personal paraphernalia which hung from neighboring branches. "How do you
like my private camp? Got Temple Camp beat, hey?" he broke off in that
erratic way of his. "All the comforts of home. Come on, get into your
camouflage."

"You don't seem the same as when you used to come up to our office from
the bank downstairs--that's one sure thing," said Tom, pulling the
leaves about him.

"You thought all I was good for was to jolly Margaret Ellison, huh?"

"I see now that you didn't only save my life but lots of other fellers',
too," said Tom. "Go on, you started to tell me about it."

It was very pleasant and cosy up there in the sniper's perch where
Roscoe had gathered the thinner branches about him, forming a little
leafy lair, in which his agile figure and his quick glances about
reminded Tom for all the world of a squirrel. He could hardly believe
that this watchful, dexterous creature, peering cautiously out of his
romantic retreat, was the same Roscoe Bent who used to make fun of the
scouts and sneak upstairs to smoke cigarettes in the Temple Camp office;
who thought as much of his spotless high collar then as he seemed to
think of his rifle now.

"I got to thank you because you named it after me," said Tom.

"And I _got to thank you_ that you gave me the chance to get it to name
after you, Tommy. Well, you see it was this way," Roscoe went on in a
half whisper; "there were half a dozen of us over here in the woods and
we'd just cleaned out a machine gun nest when we saw this miniature
forest moving along. I thought it was a decorated moving van."

"That's the trouble with them," agreed Tom; "they're no good in the
woods; they're clumsy. They're punk scouts."

"Scouts!" Roscoe chuckled. "If we had to fight this gang of cut-throats
and murderers in the woods where old What's-his-name--Custer--had to
fight the Indians, take it from me, we'd have them wiped up in a month.
That fellow's idea of camouflaging was to bury himself under a couple of
tons of green stuff and then move the whole business along like a clumsy
old Zeppelin. I can camouflage myself with a branch with ten leaves on
it by studying the light."

"Anybody can see you've learned something about scouting--that's one
sure thing," said Tom proudly.

"_One sure thing!_"