Joyously Don broke from cover. The Eagles might threaten later, but just now the field was clear. He took great breaths of the fresh air. It was good to breathe deeply after having been almost afraid to breathe at all.
Tim brought back the haversacks and canteens and pushed them out of sight behind the wall of brush. After a moment's thought he changed his mind and pulled out one of the canteens.
"That ankle may need another wetting," he said. "For the rest of the way we'll travel light. We should have dropped that load long ago."
"How will we find it again?" Don asked. "There's lots of brush."
Tim took out a handkerchief and tied it where it could be plainly seen.
"Believe me," he said, "we're some team. What one forgets the other thinks about."
Some team! Don smiled. He had never thought to hear Tim say a thing like that. All at once the troubles that Tim had given him in the past seemed as nothing. That was what a patrol leader was for—to stand up under thoughtless knocks from wayward scouts and to bring them back.
They struck off north. Tim had decided that the Eagles could not be in this neck of the woods, else they would have run into the Foxes and somebody would have been captured. He led the way more boldly, with a swing to his shoulders. Don, watching him, smiled again, this time wistfully. What a dandy patrol leader Tim would make—now.
At the first rest, while the red-haired boy poured water over the ankle bandages, Don said:
"You've heard about the new patrol, haven't you?"
Tim shook his head.
"It came up in the last patrol leader's meeting. We've had six fellows on the waiting list for a long time. Mr. Wall's going to organize a fourth patrol and take them in. There's a big chance for you."
Tim looked up quickly. "For patrol leader?"
"Yes."
Tim knelt motionless. After a while he slung the canteen on his back and slowly shook his head. "Nothing doing. What a fine mess I'd have made if I had become patrol leader of the Wolves! I can see it now."
"Just the same," said Don, "I'm going to recommend you."
Tim stared away through the trees. Patrol leader! He had always wanted that. As for Don recommending him—Gee! wasn't that a hot one?
"If I get it," he said in a low voice, "will you stand by me if I get stuck? I'm an awful bonehead sometimes."
"Every patrol leader in the troop will be glad to help," said Don.
"I know." Tim nodded. "But I'd sooner go to you."
Their course still carried them north. By degrees, as they advanced, Tim's boldness became tinged with caution. They had gone quite some distance from their hiding place; there might be Eagles around.
The old whistling signals were resumed. Tim would slip off through the trees and whistle after a while, and Don would go forward and join him. There seemed to be no end to the trees. Were they never going to get out?
The third time Don went forward, Tim was frowning and biting his lips.
"I thought I heard something again," he said nervously. "It can't be that the Foxes swung down and around and headed us off. Wait here; I'll sneak closer."
When the whistle sounded, several minutes later, Don limped forward eagerly.
"I knew I heard something," Tim warned. "Listen, now."
They held their breaths. Voices! No doubt of it. And then, faintly from a distance, a call of:
"Bobbie! O Bobbie! Bob—bie!"
Don forgot that he was a woods fugitive. "That's Andy's voice," he shouted. "We're almost out. Come on, Tim. Rush for it."
They gave no care now to what noise they made. Don felt Tim take his arm to help him. He hobbled and hopped and squirmed, and only paused when the tender ankle brought him up wincing and shivering.
"Easy," said Tim. "No hurry. See that opening? We're almost out. Easy now."
But Don found it agony to go slow. Suppose they were gobbled here within sight of victory! He took another chance on a hobbling run. Around a clump of trees, straight ahead, another turn—and there was the wide, free outside in front of them.
"Safe!" gasped Don. No need to hurry now. He sank to the ground and rested his injured ankle. The Scoutmaster's Cup was theirs!
Three scouts, walking together, were disappearing over a knoll of ground in the distance.
"Andy!" Tim bellowed. "Andy Ford!"
One of the scouts looked around and pointed. He shouted to someone in the distance. Then he and his companions came forward on a wild run.
Tim pulled the cup from the box and held it up for them to see. At that the wild run became a desperate sprint.
"Ours, ours, ours!" cried Andy. The other scouts, Ritter and Wally Woods, caught Tim's arms and poured out a stream of questions. What had become of the haversacks and blankets? Had they been afraid in the woods? Had they seen the Foxes? Where had they found the cup?
Another scout came over the knoll—Bobbie Brown. After that came a rush of Fox scouts and Eagle scouts, and finally Mr. Wall. Scout whistles began to blow a salute and a welcome. Cheers came in ringing waves. Tim, his eyes bright with excitement, stood close to Don. Oh, but this was great!
Mr. Wall shook hands. His grip was hard and strong and gloriously friendly, and his smile made their blood run warmly. He stepped back and looked at them, and his gaze seemed to rest on Don's puffed lip. Tim caught his breath.
"How do you like it?" the Scoutmaster asked.
"Great!" said Don. "Wasn't it, Tim?"
Tim nodded.
"Who found the cup?"
"Tim did."
"I didn't," cried Tim. "You found the place."
"But you said it had probably been buried and to look for freshly turned dirt. And if you hadn't stuck to me when I hurt my ankle we'd been captured sure. And when the Eagles were trailing us you threw them off the scent—"
"Aw!" said Tim, "you deserve all the credit for limping along on that bum foot."
A light of satisfaction leaped into Mr. Wall's eyes. There was little that went on in Chester troop of which he was in ignorance. He had known what that trip into the woods meant, and he had wondered many times that morning what would come of it. From the look of Don's lip and from a lumpy look above one of Tim's eyes, he would say there had been a fight. He proposed, though, to ask no questions. Whatever had happened, the atmosphere was clear. The Tim who had come out was a vastly different boy from the Tim who had gone in, and that was all that mattered.
He slipped off Don's shoe and examined the foot. "Nothing much," he said. "A couple of days' rest and you'll be as good as new." As he stood up his hand rested in the old familiar way on Tim's shoulder.
"I told you it would happen some day, Tim."
Tim looked up timidly. "What, sir?"
"That we'd be proud of you."
Tim's eyes dropped. A thrill ran through his veins. Not because he had been praised—paugh! that didn't mean so much—but because Mr. Wall seemed to speak to him as man scout to boy scout. He was accepted without question as worthy. He could see it in the eyes of Andy Ford and of every scout there. Gee! what a difference it made.
The scouts had been shrilling a succession of short, sharp blasts, the rallying signal. Now Larkins and Rood burst out of the woods. When they saw Don and Tim their faces lengthened, but they came forward and offered their congratulations.
The whole story had to be told. Don related how they had followed the trail, he told of finding the treasure, of getting away and learning of pursuit, of cutting away from their trail, and of his tumble at the ravine, and of how Tim had refused to leave him.
"Good boy," cried Andy.
Next Don described their journey with Tim ranging around as scout. When he told of laying out the haversacks Larkins' face went red.
"Were you fellows hiding behind that brush?" he demanded.
"You bet," said Don. "We hid the haversacks there after you went on.You'll find Tim's handkerchief tied there now."
A grudging look of admiration came into the Fox leader's eyes. "It was some plan," he admitted, "and it surely fooled us. That's one we owe you, Tim."
Tim laughed.
The story was over at last, and the position of the sun warned the troop that it was time to start for home. At Mr. Wall's orders a coat stretcher was made and Don was lifted in. Just before the start he thought of something.
"What became of the Eagles?" he demanded.
"Shucks!" said Larkins. "They built a fire the first night, and we sneaked up and bagged them."
Tim looked at Don miserably, and Don flashed a glance that told him to forget it. It was their secret. Nobody would ever know.
Tim walked a step behind the stretcher, with his head bent thoughtfully. What a good scout Don was—fair, and square, and willing to be white where another fellow would hold a grudge! Tim sighed. He wasn't built like that. He scrapped and got himself in Dutch, and let himself think things that he shouldn't think.
Well, he was going to stop that. He had thought of the laws and the oath back there in the woods and they had begun to mean something serious. Fellows like Andy, and Alex Davidson, and Don showed what the laws and the oath were. Some day—The muscles in Tim's jaw hardened. Some day he would be that kind of scout, too.
End of Project Gutenberg's Don Strong, Patrol Leader, by William Heyliger