The prize was theirs.  In their excitement they hugged each other joyously.

“You did it, Tim!” cried Don.  “You get the credit.”

“You found it,” Tim said huskily.  “You’d have found it without me.  You—­” Something he had kept bottled all morning, something he had never expected to say, tumbled from his lips.  “You should have knocked my block off last night.”

“Forget it,” Don muttered lamely, but his eyes flamed with a new light.  He knew now that he had made no mistake in bringing Tim into the woods.

They stood with that queer awkwardness that moves boys when they bare their hearts.  Tim fingered the string around the box.

“Say, if we could open this—­”

The spell was broken.  They cut the string and lifted the cover.  Inside, packed in a soft bed of cotton, was a prize that shone out at them with a soft splendor—­the Scoutmaster’s Cup!

“One little beauty,” breathed Tim.  “Who ever thought Mr. Wall would hide it like that.  If we lost it!”

“Let’s get out of here,” Don cried in fright.  He ran for his haversack.  They took the back trail.

“We had better go easy,” Tim said in a low voice, “until we’re sure there’s no chance of meeting the Eagles or the Foxes—­”

“Sssh!” Don caught his arm.

Was that a noise?  After a time it came again—­the dry swish of dead leaves and the sharp crackle of dead wood under a weight.

Tim put his lips to Don’s ears.  “Over there—­to the right.”

Another silence.  Then the noise again, farther off.

“They’re at the last blaze,” Tim whispered.  “This is too close for comfort.”

They made off with stealthy caution.  Whenever they found clear ground they hurried, but for the most part it was slow work.  All at once came a faint cry.

“They’ve found the empty hole,” cried Tim.  “Now they’ll be after us.”

“How will they know which way we went?” Don asked.  Nevertheless, he hurried.

Ten minutes later they paused to listen.  Far back of them they heard something which made them look at each other anxiously.

“Can’t waste time here,” said Tim.

At first, when they paused again, there was silence.  Then came that which told them of pursuit.  Don’s pulse quickened.

“They’ve got our trail, Tim.”

“They’re following our blazes,” said Tim.  “We’ll fool them.  Let’s strike off here to the east.”

They swung off at a right angle.  The blazed trail they knew, but necessity counseled that they face the unknown.  Tim pulled out his compass.

When next they listened the sounds of pursuit were gone.

“We’ve shaken them,” said Don, and drew a long breath of relief.

An hour later they came to a slight ravine with a brook flowing along the bottom.  They squatted on the bank and opened their beans, but beans and pilot biscuit made dry eating, and soon the canteens were empty.