old shuffle Barrel Alley had known so well.

Near the camp he ran plunk into Roy.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," said Roy, and passed on.

"Roy," Tom called after him, "I want to speak to you a minute."

Roy paused.

"I--I was thinking--do you smell smoke, Roy? It makes me think how we
used to rake up the leaves."

Roy said nothing.

"I understand the troop is going home tomorrow and some of you are going
in the _Good Turn_. I hope you'll have a fine trip--like when we came
up. I wish you could all stay longer. It makes me kind of homesick to
see you all go."

"We might have stayed longer," said Roy, coldly, "only--is that all you
want to say to me?" he broke off.

"I just want to say good-bye and----"

"All right, good-bye," said Roy, and walked away.

Tom watched him for a few seconds, then went on down to supper.

CHAPTER XVII

THE WINNING OF THE GOLDEN CROSS

The wind had become so strong that it was necessary to move the mess
boards around to the leeward side of the pavilion. Several fellows
remarked on the pungent odor which permeated the air and a couple who
had been stalking spoke of the woods fires over beyond Tannerstown.

Garry was not at supper, nor the little sandy-haired fellow, but the
others of his patrol came down before the meal was over.

"Guess we'll cut out yarns to-night," said Jeb Rushmore, "and hike out on
a little tour of inspection."

"There are a couple of tramps in the woods this side of the cut, right
up the hill a ways," said Tom.

"We need rain, that's sure," said another scout.

"Maybe we'll get some with this wind," remarked another.

"No, I reckon it's a dry wind," said Mr. Rushmore, looking about and
sniffing audibly. "Gol smash it," he added, rising and sniffing still
louder. "Thar's somethin' in the air."

For a minute he stood near his place, then strode off up the hill a
little way, among the trees, where he paused, listening, like an animal
at bay. They could see his dark form dimly outlined in the darker night.

"J. R.'s on the scent," remarked Doc. Carson.

Several fellows rose to join him and just at that minute Westy Martin,
of the Silver Foxes, and a scout from a Maryland troop who had been
stalking, came rushing pell-mell into camp.

"The woods are on fire!" gasped Westy. "Up the hill! Look!"

"I seed it," said Jeb. "The wind's bringin' it."

"You can't get through up there," Westy panted. "We had to go around."

"Ye couldn't get ro