Tim stared off at the mountain.  “It doesn’t seem so hard,” he said, and his eyes lighted with eagerness.  Mr. Wall’s face became grave.

The hike home was all downhill.  The scouts swung along gayly.  The prospect of penetrating Lonesome Woods shortened the miles.  What would they find?  What strange adventures would befall them?

“Adventure?  Piffle!” said Tim.  “Give me Danger Mountain.”

“Sssh!” warned Ritter.  “Mr. Wall will hear you.”

“Gee!  Can’t I even say what I’d like?” Off in the distance a dog barked.  Tim barked in reply.  The dog answered.  It became a duel of sound.

Tim was in his glory.  Weird, nerve-racking screeches came from his throat.  Presently the uproar became unbearable.

Mr. Wall’s whistle shrilled.  The noise stopped.

“What’s the matter back there?” Mr. Wall demanded.  “Can’t the patrol leader keep order?”

“Cut it out, Tim,” said Don.

“Go on!” Tim answered sullenly.  “Say it louder so Mr. Wall will hear you.”  He slouched through what was left of the hike and did not speak a word to anyone.

“He surely can make things pleasant,” said Andy.  “Some day he’ll go too far and Mr. Wall will bundle him out of the troop, and it will be good riddance.”

Don said nothing.  He wanted to be relieved of the burden of Tim’s trouble-making, but not by expulsion.  That, he thought, was no way for a fellow to end as a scout.  If Tim would only be a little bit more like the other fellows in the patrol!

But the chances of Tim doing that seemed remote.  He had his good moments—­times when it seemed that he had struck the right road and was on his way to better things.  Always, though, something happened to turn him aside.

Next day there was baseball practice.  Don came to the field eager for a warm-up.  He nodded hopefully to Tim, and took his place, and noticed that Ted Carter was loitering near by.

“Come on,” cried Tim.  “Let’s see if you can do a little better pitching today.”

Don bit his lips.  Evidently, Tim was in one of his sour, irritating moods.  He served the ball and resolved to pay no attention to the catcher.  By and by he threw his first curve.

“They’d kill that,” said Tim.

Don pitched again.

“Oh, come on! Come on!”

Ted Carter walked out between the boys, “That will be all from you, Tim.  When you come out on this field, you come out to play ball.  If you can’t play ball, you quit.”

Slowly Tim pulled off his mitt.  He was the only regular catcher.  Ted was trying to bluff him.  And his temper was flaring because he had been rebuked in front of Don.

“Think you can get anybody to play any better for you than I play?” he asked flippantly.

“You bet I can,” said Ted.  “I can use a fellow who’ll be in the game every minute.”

“Get him,” Tim said indifferently.