Don walked past the bench and waited.  Bobbie came directly to him.

“Tim just started,” he said.  “He had to do chores for his mother and couldn’t get away earlier.”

“It will be almost dark when he gets there,” Don cried.

“Tim went just the same,” Bobbie answered.  “He told the fellows they could hurry and get there before sunset, and then start back after taking a little look around.”

Don could understand harum-scarum Tim refusing to give up a plan.  But as for his companions—­

“What fellows are with him?” he asked.  “Not scouts?”

Bobbie nodded,

“Any from our patrol?”

“Ritter.”

Don caught his breath.

“There’s a scout from the Foxes and one from the Eagles, too,” said Bobbie.

But Don could find no consolation in the fact that other than Wolf patrol scouts were derelict.

“I think they wanted to quit,” Bobbie went on, “but Tim jawed them—­you know—­and they went along.”

Don could find no comfort in that, either.  The inning was over.  It was Little Falls’ turn to go to bat.  He took a few steps toward the diamond, and paused.

“Come on, Don,” called Ted.

He turned back.  “Wait here with your bike,” he said quickly.  “Have you a wrench?  Raise the seat.”

There was no use pretending that he did not care.  And his duty, he thought, was clear.  He could ride after Tim and overtake him before he had gone very far.  What sort of patrol leader would he be to let two of his scouts break faith with the Scoutmaster and not fight to the very last to bring them back?  For it was breaking faith.  Mr. Wall had not dreamed that they would do anything like this.

He was on fire now for the game to end.  In his eagerness he began to pitch wildly.  The first batter got a base on balls.

Ted walked down to him.  “Steady, there; you’re pitching too fast.”

Don saw that if he gave bases on balls he would prolong the struggle.  Though it was torture for him to go slow, he fought his desire to hurry.  But it was impossible to lose himself in the game.  The edges of his skill were blunted.  Little Falls began to hit freely again.

Two runs came over the plate before the third player was out.  The score was now 5 to 2.

“Arm tired?” asked Ted.

Don shook his head.  Why wouldn’t the batters hurry?  When the third Chester boy was thrown out he sprang to his feet and strode to the mound.

Desperately he worked, trying to retire Little Falls’ batters in order.  But Little Falls, in that last inning, had tasted blood.  Now she would not be denied.  Three runs were scored.  The game was a tie.

Ted came to the bench with puckered eyes.  Here was something he couldn’t understand.  It was a common thing to see pitchers gradually weaken, but Don had lost his effectiveness all in a moment.  He dropped down on the bench and motioned for Don to sit beside him.