The brook was a hundred yards away, out in the darkness—­and this was Lonesome Woods.  Bobbie said he never took a drink during the night.

“Aw!” cried Tim.  “Let’s go down there and fill them up.”

He led the way.  Bobbie decided that he might need a drink after all.

Twenty minutes later they were all in the tents.  Out at the dying camp-fire the bugler sounded “taps.”  As the mournful notes echoed, more than one scout, under his blanket, felt goose-flesh.

Ordinarily, in camp, the first night is one of restlessness.  But Chester troop was tired.  For a while voices sounded faintly.  They grew fitful and yawny.  Finally they ceased.  The camp was asleep under the stars.

And then the bugle blew again.  Reveille!  The scouts tumbled out to a new world.  The darkness was gone.  Lonesome Woods was no longer spooky.  The whole world smelled clean, and green, and damp, and sweet.

Breakfast was rushed.  The Foxes were the first to get away from camp.  The Wolves were next.  They finished stringing their wire, adjusted a sender, and came back to install the receiver.  As soon as everything was ready, Wally went off to the end of the line to send to Andy Ford.

The Foxes were the next to get rigged.  The Eagles rushed in almost on their heels.  Morse and semaphore teams practiced frantically.  Over everything lay a fever of preparation.

At ten o’clock Mr. Wall sent a squad to take down the tents and pack them away in the trek wagon.  Another squad brought wood and water.  The camp prepared for dinner.

It was a happy, noisy, high-strung meal.

“Clean camp for the contests,” Mr. Wall ordered next.

Empty cans and refuse went flying into the fire, to be raked out later and buried.  Presently the last sign of litter was gone.  The scouts waited expectantly.

“Telegraphy first,” said the Scoutmaster.  He handed a sealed envelope to each sender.  “There’s your message.  Read it when you get to your instrument.  Off you go.  A bugle blast will be the signal to start.  Speed and accuracy will count.”

Wally Woods ran off with Andy yelling after him to take his time and not get rattled.  Then came a wait.  Mr. Wall nodded to the bugler.  The woods echoed to a sharp blast.

Almost at once telegraph instruments began to click.  Andy, with puckered eyes, bent down and wrote slowly.  The scout at the Fox receiver was supremely confident, but the Eagle scout seemed worried and harassed.

To the watching boys it was impossible to tell who was ahead.  The minutes passed, the excitement grew.  All at once the Fox scout sprang to his feet and came running to Mr. Wall with his paper.

“Shucks!” said Tim.  “He may have it all mixed up.  Look at Andy.”

The assistant patrol leader of the Wolves was now running toward the Scoutmaster.  Two minutes later the Eagle scout came forward reluctantly.