Still Tim waited.

“Which do you want to do, send or receive?”

“I—­I’ll send,” said Tim.  He felt like a boy who had squeezed his fingers in his ears and had waited for a gun to go off, and had then found that the gun was not loaded.  He was bewildered, lost, confused.

Wednesday he came again.  And still there was no bossing, no giving orders, no high hand of authority.  Perhaps there was no trick.

“Ah!” Tim told himself, “there must be.  Why did he shift me here?  Why didn’t he let me stay with Alex?  There’s a reason, all right.”

And so, whenever he and Don were together, on the baseball field or in Don’s yard, he found himself weighing every word and act.

Friday night’s meeting brought no change in the score.  Each troop, eager and keen, reported faultlessly.  The blackboard read: 

PATROL POINTS

Eagle 122-1/2
Fox 127
Wolf 124-1/2

Tonight there was silence when the scores were posted.  The contest had grown too tight for mere noise and bluster.  A false step now by any patrol might drop it hopelessly to the rear.  When Mr. Wall’s commands still held the scouts in ranks, the faces they turned to him were boyishly sober.

“I am going to keep a promise,” the Scoutmaster said, “that I made some time ago.  Next week’s meeting will be held in Lonesome Woods.”

The sober faces were suddenly aglow.

“Attention!” came the low voices of the patrol leaders.  The ranks stood firm.

“It will be part of an overnight hike.  We will leave here Thursday afternoon at one o’clock.”

A quick murmur—­then silence.

“The signaling contests will be held in the woods.  Break ranks.”

The pent-up enthusiasm swelled up in a wild cheer.  The Scoutmaster found himself pushed and jostled.  A dozen boys tried to shout questions at once.  He laughed and covered his ears with his hands.  When he brought them away Don spoke quickly: 

“How about telegraphy, sir?”

“Each patrol will bring its own wire and rig its own instruments,” was the answer.

Why, this was just like war—­signaling from hidden places, and running telegraph wires over tree limbs and across the ground.

Tim’s adventurous blood quickened.  The troop meeting seemed tame and prosaic.  He went through his setting-up exercises mechanically.  He could almost smell the tang of a wood fire burning.

There was work tonight in identifying leaves and barks of trees, and stems of plants.  Tim twisted restlessly.  The moment the meeting was over he followed Don down the room.

“How far apart will they put us in the woods?” he demanded.

Don didn’t know.

“We’d better get out among some trees and practice,” Tim said.

The suggestion was good.  Don said so.  Tim’s face flushed.