es home early Saturday afternoons. He said I could
have it for a hundred dollars if I wanted it. I got twenty-five dollars
more than I need."

"You're rich. And the girl; don't forget _her_. She's worth more than a
hundred and twenty-five."

"I'm going to give her a ride in it Sunday, maybe," Tom said.

For a few minutes neither spoke, and there was no sound but the
crackling of the blaze and the distant voices of scouts down on the
lake. "You can hear them plain up here," Tom said; "are your scouts fond
of boating?"

Still his companion did not speak.

"Well, then," he finally said; "if you're going Thursday that means you
go to-morrow. I was going to try to talk you into changing your mind,
but just now, when I was piking around, and taking a squint at the work
and at your face, I saw it wouldn't be any use. I guess people don't
influence you much, hey?"

"Roy Blakeley influenced me a lot."

"Well then," said Barnard, "let's put the finishing touch on this job
while both of us are here to do it. What do you say? Shall we haul up
the flagpole?"

The shortest way down the hill in the direction of the new property was
across a little gully over which they had laid a log. This was a
convenient way of going when there was no burden to be borne. The
hauling and carrying were done at a point some hundred feet from this
hollow. In the woods beyond, they had cut and hewn a flagstaff and since
two could easily carry it, Barnard's idea was that this should be done
then, so that he might have Tom's assistance.

With Barnard, to think was to act, he was all impulse, and in two
seconds he was on his feet and headed for their makeshift bridge across
the gully. Tom followed him and was startled to see his friend go
tumbling down into the hollow fully three feet from where the log lay.
Before Tom reached the edge a scream, as of excruciating pain, arose,
and he lost not a second in scrambling down into the chasm, where his
companion lay upon the rocks, holding his forehead and groaning.

CHAPTER XXIII

FRIENDS

"Take your hand off your forehead," Tom said, trying gently to move it
against the victim's will; "so I can tell if it's bad. Don't be scared,
you're stunned that's all. It's cut, but it isn't bleeding much."

"I'm all right," Barnard said, trying to rise.

"Maybe you are," Tom said, "but safety first; lie still. Can you move
your arms? Does your back hurt?"

"I don't want any doctor," Barnard said.