four good men along
the way; those had been a strenuous fifteen days, but we were winning
through at last.

That last mile seemed to me longer than any twenty. The dust and gravel
were hot, the sun flamed, my blister felt like a cushion full of
needles, my legs were heavy and numb, that old head thumped like a drum,
and I had a notion that if I slackened or lost my stride I'd never
finish out that mile. So when Fitz stumbled on a piece of rock, and his
strap snapped and he stopped to pick up his camera, I kept moving. He
would catch me.

A shoulder of rock stuck out and the road curved around it; and when I
had curved around it, too, then I saw something that sent my heart into
my throat, and brought me up short. With two leaps I was back, around
the rock again, in time to sign Fitz, coming: "Halt! Silence!" And I
motioned him close behind the shoulder.

Beyond the rock the road stretched straight and clear, with the town
only a quarter of a mile. But only about a hundred yards away, where the
creek flowed close to the road, were two fellows, fishing. One was Bill
Duane!

Fitz obeyed my signs. He gazed at me, startled and anxious.

"What is it?" he asked, pantomime.

I held up two fingers, for two enemies. Then I cautiously peeked out.
Bill Duane was leaving the water, as if he was coming; and the other
fellow was coming. The other fellow was Mike Delavan. They must have
seen me before I had jumped back. We might have circuited them, but now
it was too late. I never could stand a chase over the hills, and maybe
Fitz couldn't.

But there was a way, and a chance, and I made up my mind in a twinkling.
I jerked out the message and held it at Fitz. He shook his head. I
signed what we would do--what I would do and what he must do. He shook
his head. He wouldn't. We would stick together. I clinched my teeth and
waved my fist under his nose, and signed that he _must_. He was the one.

Then I thrust the message into his hand, and out I sprang. Around the
shoulder of rock Bill and Mike were sneaking, to see what had become of
me. They were only about fifty yards, now, and I made for them as if to
dodge them. They let out a yell and closed in, and up the hill at one
side I pegged. They pegged to head me.

My legs worked badly. I didn't mind breaking the blister (I felt the
warm stuff ooze out, and the sting that followed); but those heavy legs!
As a Scout I ought to have skipped up the hill as springy and
long-winded a