“That ankle may need another wetting,” he said.  “For the rest of the way we’ll travel light.  We should have dropped that load long ago.”

“How will we find it again?” Don asked.  “There’s lots of brush.”

Tim took out a handkerchief and tied it where it could be plainly seen.

“Believe me,” he said, “we’re some team.  What one forgets the other thinks about.”

Some team!  Don smiled.  He had never thought to hear Tim say a thing like that.  All at once the troubles that Tim had given him in the past seemed as nothing.  That was what a patrol leader was for—­to stand up under thoughtless knocks from wayward scouts and to bring them back.

They struck off north.  Tim had decided that the Eagles could not be in this neck of the woods, else they would have run into the Foxes and somebody would have been captured.  He led the way more boldly, with a swing to his shoulders.  Don, watching him, smiled again, this time wistfully.  What a dandy patrol leader Tim would make—­now.

At the first rest, while the red-haired boy poured water over the ankle bandages, Don said: 

“You’ve heard about the new patrol, haven’t you?”

Tim shook his head.

“It came up in the last patrol leader’s meeting.  We’ve had six fellows on the waiting list for a long time.  Mr. Wall’s going to organize a fourth patrol and take them in.  There’s a big chance for you.”

Tim looked up quickly.  “For patrol leader?”

“Yes.”

Tim knelt motionless.  After a while he slung the canteen on his back and slowly shook his head.  “Nothing doing.  What a fine mess I’d have made if I had become patrol leader of the Wolves!  I can see it now.”

“Just the same,” said Don, “I’m going to recommend you.”

Tim stared away through the trees.  Patrol leader!  He had always wanted that.  As for Don recommending him—­Gee! wasn’t that a hot one?

“If I get it,” he said in a low voice, “will you stand by me if I get stuck?  I’m an awful bonehead sometimes.”

“Every patrol leader in the troop will be glad to help,” said Don.

“I know.”  Tim nodded.  “But I’d sooner go to you.”

Their course still carried them north.  By degrees, as they advanced, Tim’s boldness became tinged with caution.  They had gone quite some distance from their hiding place; there might be Eagles around.

The old whistling signals were resumed.  Tim would slip off through the trees and whistle after a while, and Don would go forward and join him.  There seemed to be no end to the trees.  Were they never going to get out?

The third time Don went forward, Tim was frowning and biting his lips.

“I thought I heard something again,” he said nervously.  “It can’t be that the Foxes swung down and around and headed us off.  Wait here; I’ll sneak closer.”

When the whistle sounded, several minutes later, Don limped forward eagerly.