“I knew you weren’t worrying about me,” said Tim.

Don followed slowly.  He had pleaded for the troop thinking that that might win where all else had failed.  And, as usual, Tim had misunderstood.

At the corner he paused.  New thoughts were crowding through his brain.  Tim’s recklessness was jeopardizing not only himself—­it was threatening the entire troop.

Suppose he fell and broke an arm, or a leg, or—­or worse.  People would say, “There; that’s what comes from letting boys become scouts and go hiking.”  Boys would be taken from the troop.  The troop might even break up.  All Mr. Wall’s plans for the future would be ruined.

“It isn’t fair,” Don told himself bitterly.  “If there was somebody who could make him stay home—­”

His eyes puckered and his mouth grew tight.  He had told Bobbie that this wasn’t carrying tales.  It wasn’t.  Suddenly he turned to his left and went up a side street.

A few minute’s later he rang the doorbell of a plain, pleasant-looking house.  The screen door opened.

“Good afternoon, Donald,” said a woman’s voice.  “Are you looking for Mr. Wall?”

“Yes, Mrs. Wall.”  Don’s cap was in his hand.  “Is he home?  Could I see him right away?”

Mrs. Wall shook her head.  “He went to the city this morning.  I do not expect him until evening.  Is there anything I can do for you?”

“N-no,” said Don.  He went down the stoop, stumbling on the last step, and walked slowly toward home.

CHAPTER V

A PLEA ON THE ROAD

Dinner was almost over when Don reached home.  Barbara brought his food from the kitchen where she had kept it warm.

“Didn’t you hear me say twelve sharp?” she scolded.

Don told of Bobbie’s message, of his interview with Tim, and of his fruitless trip to Mr. Wall’s house.  Barbara, engrossed in the tale, dropped into her own seat and listened intently.  Mr. Strong shook his head soberly.

“Going to Danger Mountain will be a foolhardy trick,” he said.

“I wish Mr. Wall were home,” said Don.  He had lost appetite for his dinner and pushed his plate away.  “I did right to go to him, didn’t I, dad?”

“You’d have been foolish not to go,” said his father.

Don stared hard at the tablecloth.  He had entered joyously on his duties as patrol leader, but one disagreement after another with Tim had roughened his road.  And now—­now that he seemed powerless to stay this latest folly—­he suddenly felt very, very tired.

“Why will Tim be so headstrong?” cried Barbara.

“It’s a way some boys have,” Mr. Strong explained.  “Tell them not to do a thing, and immediately that is the one thing they want to do.  As for Tim—­Well, I fancy he’s disgruntled because Ted Carter dropped him.  He doesn’t want to sit around and watch baseball today.  He probably figured that the best way was to go off and pretend he didn’t care.  If he could add spice to the going off, it would make it seem all the more as though he was really having a good time.”