“When I asked Bobbie for his vote,” said Tim, “it wasn’t fair.  But you could ask the fellows, couldn’t you?”

“I didn’t ask anybody,” said Don.

Tim laughed.  “When do you think I was born—­yesterday?  How did you get the votes if you didn’t ask for them?  We’ll see about this.”

He walked out of headquarters.  Ritter and Wally Woods whispered together, looked at Don, and seemed unable to make up their minds.  Finally they edged their way toward the door.

There was work for Don to do—­checking up what property the Wolf patrol owned and signing that he received it in good condition.  But all joy was gone from the honor that had come to him.  The Wolves were divided among themselves!  What chance would they have for the Scoutmaster’s Cup?

CHAPTER II

THE FIRST CLASH

Barbara and Mr. Strong were sitting on the porch when Don reached home.  He reclined on the top step and fanned himself with his hat.

“Was Tim elected?” Barbara asked.

“No,” said Don; “I was.”

“Don!” The girl sprang to her feet.  “Isn’t that fine!  We must celebrate with a piece of berry cake—­”

But Don said gloomily that he did not feel like celebrating.  He told about having won through the aid of his own ballot.

Barbara, concerned, looked at her father.  “Was it wrong for Don to vote for himself?”

“Not at all,” said Mr. Strong.  “A candidate always votes for himself on a secret ballot.”

Don felt a load leave his heart.  He decided that perhaps he would like some berry cake.  While he ate he told himself that there was no sense in worrying about Tim.  Tim might get over his disappointment and not make a bit of trouble.

Next morning, while he built bird-houses, his mind was busy with eager plans for his patrol.  The first-aid contest would really be a test of skill.  With the exception of Bobbie Brown and Wally Woods, every member of the Wolves was a first-class scout.  They knew the theory of their first aid.  The thing to do was to make them freshen up in the actual work of doing.

“We’ll have to get on the job at once,” Don told himself.  “I’ll call a patrol meeting for Monday night.  If Bobbie comes around—­”

Bobbie rode up to the gate.  “Hello, Don.”

“Hello, Bobbie.  I was just hoping you’d show up.  Take a scout message for me?”

“Sure!” The boy held on to the palings of the fence and did not dismount.

“Pass the word that there’ll be a patrol meeting at my house Monday night.”

Bobbie rode away as though the message had to be delivered within the next five minutes.  Don smiled, and then grew thoughtful.  Wouldn’t it be fine if all scouts were as keen and as alert as that?

Tim did not come to the field that afternoon.  On the way home Don met Mr. Wall.

“Well,” the Scoutmaster smiled, “how’s the new patrol leader?”