As for Tim, the hot, angry blood was still in his cheeks.  What did Don mean by jumping on him?  He wouldn’t stand for it.  He was to blame!  How about Don being to blame for not answering the signal?

“Tim!” Don called from the rear.  “How about making camp?  It’s getting late.”

“Nothing doing,” said Tim.  “We’re between blazes.  In the morning we wouldn’t know which way to start.”

“We have compasses,” said Don.

Tim was just stubborn enough to refuse to listen to reason.  Besides, he felt that his judgment was questioned.

“We’ll camp at the next blaze,” he said.  “Then we’ll know where we are.”

After a moment of hesitation Don followed.  The easiest way was best.

They soon reached the blaze.  Tim began to gather leaves and young twigs for his bed.  Before long he knew that he had blundered again.  It took time to make a camp bed properly, and the failing light would not give him the time.  He had made camp too late.

The knowledge of his second mistake increased his ill humor.  He spread his poncho and sat on the bed.  Don still gathered leaves.

“Trying to rub it in,” Tim reflected.  “Just like telling me, ’See, why didn’t you camp when I said so?’”

Don turned from his bed, dived into his pack and brought out a can.

“How about eats, Tim?”

Tim was disgusted with the whole adventure.  In this black mood he did not relish the thought of cold food in the dark.  He wanted light, and a hot drink—­something to chase away the gloom.

He kicked together some wood.  He found small twigs, broke them and made a pile.  Then he drew out matches.

Don was opening a can.  “What’s wrong, Tim?”

“I’m going to have a fire.”

“Fire?” Don dropped the can.  “Good night! do you want the Eagles and Foxes coming down and gobbling us?”

“Piffle!” said Tim.  “Do you think they’ll sit around in the dark?  Anyway, I want a cup of coffee.”

Don drew a deep breath.  Why hadn’t he brought Andy Ford!  However, it was too late for regrets.  Once Mr. Wall had said that sometimes a fellow had to brace his legs and stand firm.  One of those times had come.

“There’ll be no fire,” he said in a voice he did not recognize as his own.

“There will be a fire,” Tim retorted.  “I worked as hard as you today.  You can’t say I didn’t.  But I’m not going to put up with crazy notions.  Who ever heard of a night camp and no fire?”

Don’s fingers twitched.  He was the leader here and he had said no fire.  The scout law read obedience.  And yet, if Tim insisted, what was he to do?  Oh, it wasn’t fair for a fellow to get bull-headed and smash the rules.

Tim scraped the match.  It burst into a tiny flame.

Don took a step forward.  “Tim—­”

“Oh, forget it,” said Tim.  He was going to light that fire, even if he put it out a moment afterward.  He shielded the match with his hands and bent over the wood.