CHAPTER X

GOOD LUCK AND BAD

There was not much sleep that night.  The beds were too uncomfortable.  Tim, lying awake, had lots of time to think, and as he tossed in the darkness, the voice of his conscience reproached him sternly.  He wondered what would happen in the morning.  So great was his concern that he forgot that his was a forest bed and that all around him were strange noises of the night.

At the first gray light he was out of bed.  Last evening the trail had crossed running water.  He went back, filled his canteen and washed.  The water was like ice.  The early morning air had a biting edge.  Shivering, he rolled down his sleeves, buttoned his collar snug and wished that the sun was up.

Don was about when he got back to camp.  One of the patrol leader’s lips was puffed.  Tim looked away quickly.  A cup of hot coffee would have put the early morning chill to route, but not for anything would he have suggested a fire.  He pretended to poke through his things, trying to kill time, trying not to look at his companion, trying to figure out how they were going to get through breakfast.  That Don was sore on him for keeps he did not doubt.

Don pulled a towel from his haversack.  “How’s the water?” he asked.  His voice was forced, as though he had strained himself to speak.

Tim’s mouth dropped.  Gee! was this—­was this real?  He caught Don’s eyes.

“Cold,” he gulped.

“Look for dry pine.  Pine doesn’t make much smoke.”

Tim gathered wood, and his face burned.  He saw what the patrol leader meant—­a fire stood a good chance of passing unnoticed now.  Flame would not reflect and smoke would mingle with the rising mist.  Last night a fire would have been madness.  He could see it all now and he could see, too, the sorry part he had played.

“I always was a bonehead,” he told himself bitterly.  The feeling that he had been brought into the woods for some selfish purpose dwindled and died.  Perhaps what had happened in the signaling test had been an honest mistake, just as Don said.  He began to sense dimly that in all the troubled weeks of the contest the patrol leader had been working for something big, something clean.

He had everything ready for the match long before Don came back from the brook.  They made a small, cautious fire.  The water came to a boil.  They hastened to fry bacon before the fire died out.  There was still some heat when the bacon was done and they dumped their beans into the hot pan.

Then, quickly, they killed the fire with dirt and water, and the discovery from that source was over.  The hot coffee routed the morning chill.  Not once were last night’s happenings mentioned.  Tim breathed with relief as the minutes passed.  They took the trail.  Before they had gone far the sun broke over the horizon and faintly touched the tops of the trees.