A dead silence suddenly prevailed.

"Oh, I know who you fellows are," Roy finally said. "You're going to bunk in the three cabins on the hill, aren't you? Is your name Mr. Barnard?"

"Yes sir," the young man answered pleasantly, "and we're the first Dansburg, Ohio, troop."

"Do you like mince-pie?" Peewee shouted.

"We eat it alive," said scoutmaster Barnard.

"Can you eat seven pieces?" Peewee demanded.

"If we can get them," young Mr. Barnard replied.

"G—o—o—d night!" Peewee commented.

"Our young hero has a fine voice for eating," Roy observed. "Sometimes he eats his own words, he's so hungry."

"I don't think you can beat the Dansburg, Ohio, scouts eating," Mr. Barnard observed.

"Is Dansburg on the map?" Peewee wanted to know.

"Well, it thinks it is," Mr. Barnard smiled.

"I know all about geography," Peewee piped up, "and natural history, too. I got E plus in geometry."

"Can you name five animals that come from the North Pole?" Peewee demanded, regaining his seat after an inglorious tumble.

"Four polar bears and a seal," Roy answered; "no sooner said than stung. Our young hero is the camp cut-up. You fellows ought to be glad he won't be up on the hill with you. He's worse than the mosquitoes."

"We used to bunk in those cabins on the hill," Peewee said; "there are snakes and things up there. Are you scared of girls?"

"Not so you'd notice it," one of the Dansburg scouts said.

"Gee, I'm not scared of girls, that's one thing," Peewee informed them. "I'm not scared of any kind of wild animals."

"And would you call a girl a wild animal?" young Mr. Barnard inquired, highly amused.

"They scream when they get in a boat," Peewee said; "most always they smile at me."

"Oh, that's nothing, the first time I ever saw you I laughed out loud," Roy said.

And at that everybody laughed out loud, and somebody gave Peewee an apple which kept him quiet for a while.

"I'm very sorry we can't all be up on that hill together," Mr. Barnard said, "I gather that it's a rather isolated spot."

"What's an isolated spot?" Peewee yelled.

"It's a spot where they cut ice," said Roy; "shut up, will you?"

"Are there only three cabins up there?" one of the Dansville scouts wanted to know.

"That's all," Westy Martin, of Roy's troop answered. "We spent, let's see, three summers up there. We had the hill all to ourselves. We even did our own cooking."

"And eating," Peewee shouted.

"Oh sure, we never let anyone do that for us," one of the Bridgeboro scouts laughed.

"If you want a thing well done, do it yourself—especially eating," Roy said. "A scout is thorough."

"Do you know Chocolate Drop? He's cook," Peewee piped up. "He makes doughnuts as big as automobile tires."

"Not Cadillac tires," Roy said, "but Ford tires. Peewee knows how to puncture them, all right."

"He'll have a blow-out some day," Connie Bennett observed.

"So you boys used to be up on the hill, eh?" Mr. Barnard inquired, turning the conversation to a more serious vein. "And how is it you're not to bunk up there this year, since you like it so much?"

As if by common consent Roy's troop left it for him to answer, and even Peewee was quiet.

"Oh, I don't know," Roy said; "first come, first served; that's the rule. You fellows got in your application, that's all there was to it. I guess you know Tom Slade, who works in the camp's city office, don't you, Mr. Barnard?"

"Indeed I do," young Mr. Barnard said. "We met in a shell hole in France. We knew each other but have never seen each other. It's rather odd when you come to think of it."

"I suppose that's how he happened to assign you the cabins," Connie Bennett observed; "old time's sake, hey?"

"Oh, dear no," young Mr. Barnard laughed. "I should say that you boys come first if it's a question of old time's sake. No indeed, we should feel like intruders, usurpers, if there were any question of friendly preference. No, it was really quite odd when you come to think of it. I never dreamed who Tom Slade was when our accommodations were assigned us; indeed, his name did not appear in the correspondence. It was just a case of first come, first served, as you say. Later, we received some circular matter of the camp and there was a little note with it, as I remember, signed by Slade. Oh, no, the thing was all cut and dried before I knew who Slade was. Then we started a very pleasant correspondence. I expect to see him up here. He was one of the bravest young fellows on the west front; a sort of silent, taciturn, young fellow. Oh, no," young Mr. Barnard laughed in that pleasant way he had, "you boys can't accuse us of usurping your familiar home. You must come up and see us there, and I hope we shall all be good friends."

Roy Blakeley heard these words as in a dream, and even Peewee was silent. The others of Roy's troop looked at each other but said not a word. No indeed, we should feel like usurpers if there were any question of friendly preference. These words rang in Roy's ears, and as he said them over to himself there appeared in his mind's eye the picture of Tom Slade, stolid, unimpassioned, patient, unresentful—standing there near the doorway of the bank building and listening to the tirade of abuse which he, Roy, hurled at him. "If you want to think I'm a liar you can think so. You can tell them that if you want to. I don't care what you tell them." These words, too, rang in Roy's ears, and burned into his heart and conscience, and he knew that Tom Slade had not deigned to answer these charges and recriminations; would not answer them, any more than the rock of Gibraltar would deign to answer the petulant threats and menaces of the sea. Oh, if he could only unsay those words which he had hurled at Tom, his friend and companion! What mattered it who bunked in the cabins, so long as he knew what he knew now? How small and trifling seemed Tom's act of carelessness or forgetfulness, as he loomed up now in the strong, dogged pride which would not explain to one who had no right to doubt or disbelieve. How utterly contemptible Roy Blakeley seemed to himself now!

He tried to speak in his customary light and bantering manner, but he was too sick at heart to carry it off.

"He's—he's sort of like a rock," he said, by way of answering Barnard's comments on Tom. "He doesn't say much. You don't—you can't understand him very easy. Even—even I didn't——. I don't know where he is now. We haven't seen him for a long time. But one thing you can bet, you're welcome to the cabins on the hill. He said we wouldn't lose anything. Anyway, we won't lose much. We've got a tent we're going to put up down on the tenting space. You bet we'll come up and see you often, and you bet we'll be good friends. Our both knowing Tom, as you might say, ought to make us good friends."



CHAPTER XXXI

ARCHER

When these two troops reached camp they found the tall scout Archer waiting for them. How much he knew or suspected it would be difficult to surmise.

"Uncle Jeb told me I might show you up to the hill," he said. "Some of you fellows came from Ohio, I understand. You're all to bunk up on the hill."

"I guess that's a mistake," Roy said.

"No, I think Uncle Jeb has things down about pat," Archer said in his easy off-hand manner. "The old man's pretty busy himself and so he told me to be your guide, philosopher and friend, as old somebody-or-other said."

The two troops followed as he led the way, the Bridgeboro boys glancing fondly at the familiar sights all about them.

"There's where we'll put up our tent," one of them said, pointing at the area which was already crowded with the canvas domiciles. The place did not look so attractive as Roy and his companions had tried to picture it in their mind's eyes. They had never envied the scouts who had been compelled to make their camp homes there. It seemed so much like a military encampment, so close and stuffy and temporary, and unlike the free and remote abode that they were used to. They all of them tried not to think of it in this way, and Roy was in no mood to cherish any resentment against Tom now.

"It's near the cooking shack anyway, that's one good thing," Peewee observed.

"Listen to the human famine," Connie Bennett said. "Peewee ought to be ashamed to look Hoover in the face."

Roy said nothing. There was one he would be ashamed to look in the face anyway.

When they reached the hill, he was the first to pause in amazement.

"What do you call this?" Connie asked in utter astonishment.

There stood the six cabins, the new ones bright and fresh in the afternoon sun.

"I—I don't understand it," Roy said, almost speechless with surprise.

Archer sat down upon a rock and beckoned Roy to him. "There isn't much to tell you," he said. "A fellow from your town has been up here building these three cabins, that's all. We fellows down at camp called him Daniel Boone, but I believe his name is Slade. He's been a kind of a mystery up here for some time. The cabins are for you and your troop, there's no mistake about that; Uncle Jeb knows all about it. You can see him later if you want to; there's no use bothering him now. I just want to say a word to you there isn't much time to spare. Uncle Jeb tried to make that fellow stay, but he wouldn't. I don't know anything about his business, or yours. I'm just going to tell you one thing. That fellow started away a little while ago, lame and without any money to hike home to the town where he lives. It's none of my business; I'm just telling you what I know. I've banged around this country a little since I came up—I'm a kind of a tramp—I have an idea he's hit into the road for Kingston. There's a short cut through the woods which comes out on that road about six or seven miles down. You could save—let's see—oh, about three miles and—oh, yes, Uncle Jeb told me to say you can have lunch any time you want it. I suppose you're all hungry."

Not another word did Archer say—just left abruptly and, amid the enthusiastic inspection and glowing comments of his companions of both troops, Roy saw, through glistening eyes, this new acquaintance strolling down the hill, hitting the wildflowers to the right, and left with a stick which he carried.

There was no telling how much he knew or what he suspected. He was a queer, mysterious sort of fellow....



CHAPTER XXXII

TOM LOSES

"Me for lunch! Me for lunch!" Roy heard Peewee scream at the top of his voice. And for just a moment he stood there in a kind of daze, watching his companions and new friends tumbling pell mell over each other down the hill. He was glad to be alone.

Yet even still he paused and gazed at the task, which Tom Slade, traitor and liar, had completed. There it was, a herculanean task, the work of months, as it seemed to Roy. He could hardly control his feelings as he gazed upon it.

But he did not pause to torture himself with remorse. Down through the woods he went, and into the trail which Archer had indicated. Scout though he was, he was never less hungry in his life. Over fields he went, and through the brook, and up Hawk's Nest mountain, and into the denser woods beyond. Suppose Archer should be mistaken. Suppose this dim trail should take him nowhere. Panting, he ran on, trying to conquer this haunting fear. Beyond Leeds Crossing the trail was hardly distinguishable and he must pause and lose time to pick it up here and there. Through woods, and around hills, and into dense, almost impenetrable thickets he labored on, his side aching, and his heart thumping like a triphammer.

At last he came out upon the Kingston road and was down on his knees, examining minutely every mark in the dusty road, trying to determine whether Tom had passed. Then he sat down by the roadside and waited, panting like a dog. And so the minutes passed, and became an hour and——

Then he heard someone coming around the bend.

Roy gulped in suspense as he waited. One second, two seconds, three, four—Would the pedestrian never appear?

And then they met, and Roy Blakeley stood out in the middle of the road and held his arms out so the wayfarer could not pass. And yet he could not speak.

"Tom," he finally managed to say, "I—I came alone because—because I wanted to come alone. I wanted to meet you all alone. I—I know all about it, Tom—I do. None of the fellows will bunk in these cabins till you—till you—come back—they won't. Not even Barnard's troop. I'm sorry, Tom; I see how I was all wrong. You—you can't get away with it, you can't Tom—because I won't let you—see? You have to come back—we—we can't stay there without you——"

"I told you you wouldn't lose anything," Tom said dully.

"Yes, and it's a—it's a lie," Roy almost sobbed. "We're losing you, aren't we? We're losing everything—and it's all my fault. You—you said we wouldn't lose anything, but we are. Can't you see we are? You've got to come back, Tom—or I'm going home with you—you old—you old brick! Barnard wants you, we all want you. We haven't got any scoutmaster if you don't come back—we haven't."

Tom Slade who had chopped down trees and dragged them up the hill, found it hard to answer.

"I'll go back," he finally said, "as long as you ask me."

* * * * *

And so, in that pleasant afternoon, they followed the trail back to camp together, just as they had hiked together so many times before. And they talked of Peewee and the troop and joked about there not being anything left to eat when they got there, and Roy said what a fine fellow Barnard was, and Tom Slade said how he always liked fellows with red hair. He said he thought you could trust them....

Let us hope he was right.

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THE TOM SLADE BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of the ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.

The Tom Slade books have the official endorsement and recommendation of THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA. In vivid story form they tell of Boy Scout ways, and how they help a fellow grow into a manhood of which America may be proud.

Tom Slade, Boy Scout

Tom Slade lived in Barrel Alley. The story of his thrilling Scout experiences, how he was gradually changed from the street gangster into a First Class Scout, is told in almost as moving and stirring a way as the same narrative related in motion pictures.

Tom Slade at Temple Camp

The boys are at a summer camp in the Adirondack woods, and Tom enters heart and soul into the work of making possible to other boys the opportunities in woodcraft and adventure of which he himself has already had a taste.

Tom Slade on the River

A carrier pigeon falls into the camp of the Bridgeboro Troop of Boy Scoots. Attached to the bird's leg is a message which starts Tom and his friends on a search that culminates in a rescue and a surprising discovery. The boys have great sport on the river, cruising in the "Honor Scout."

Tom Slade With the Colors A WAR-TIME BOY SCOUT STORY

When Uncle Sam "pitches in" to help the Allies in the Great War, Tom's Boy Scout training makes it possible for him to show his patriotism in a way which is of real service to his country. Tom has many experiences that any loyal American boy would enjoy going through—or reading about, as the next best thing.

Tom Slade on a Transport

While working as a mess boy on one of Uncle Sam's big ships, Tom's cleverness enables him to be of service in locating a disloyal member of the crew. On his homeward voyage the ship is torpedoed and Tom is taken aboard a submarine and thence to Germany. He finally escapes and resolves to reach the American forces in France.

Tom Slade With the Boys Over There

We follow Tom and his friend, Archer, on their flight from Germany, through many thrilling adventures, until they reach and join the American Army in France.

Tom Slade, Motorcycle Dispatch Bearer

Tom is now a dispatch rider behind the lines and has some thrilling experiences in delivering important messages to troop commanders in France.

Tom Slade With the Flying Corps

At last Tom realizes his dream to scout and fight for Uncle Sam in the air, and has such experiences as only the world war could make possible.

Tom Slade at Black Lake

Tom has returned home and visits Temple Camp before the season opens. He builds three cabins and has many adventures.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

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THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of the TOM SLADE BOOKS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.

Roy Blakeley

In a book given by a kindly old gentleman. Pee-wee Harris discovers what he believes to be a sinister looking memorandum, and he becomes convinced that the old gentleman is a spy. But the laugh is on Pee-wee, as usual, for the donor of the book turns out to be an author, and the suspicious memorandum is only a literary mark. The author, however, is so pleased with the boys' patriotism that he loans them his houseboat, in which they make the trip to their beloved Temple Camp, which every boy who has read the TOM SLADE BOOKS will be glad to see once more.

Roy Blakeley's Adventures in Camp

Roy Blakeley and his patrol are found in this book once more happily established in camp. Roy and his friends incur the wrath of a land owner, but the doughty Pee-wee saves the situation and the wealthy landowner as well. The boys wake up one morning to find Black Lake flooded far over its banks, and the solving of this mystery furnishes some exciting reading.

Roy Blakeley, Pathfinder

Roy and his comrades, having come to Temple Camp by water, resolve to make the journey home by foot. On the way they capture a leopard escaped from a circus, which brings about an acquaintance with the strange people who belong to the show. The boys are instrumental in solving a deep mystery, and finding one who has long been missing.

Roy Blakeley's Camp on Wheels

This is the story of a wild and roaming career of a ramshackle old railroad car which has been given Roy and his companions for a troop meeting place. The boys fall asleep in the car. In the night, and by a singular error of the railroad people, the car is "taken up" by a freight train and is carried westward, so that when the boys awake they find themselves in a country altogether strange and new. The story tells of the many and exciting adventures in this car.

Roy Blakeley's Silver Fox Patrol

In the car which Roy Blakeley and his friends have for a meeting place is discovered an old faded letter, dating from the Klondike gold days, and it appears to intimate the location of certain bags of gold, buried by a train robber. The quest for this treasure is made in an automobile and the strange adventures on this trip constitute the story.

Roy Blakeley's Motor Caravan

Roy and his friends go West to bring back some motor cars. They have some very amusing, also a few serious, adventures.

Roy Blakeley, Lost, Strayed or Stolen

The troup headquarters car figures largely in this very interesting volume.

Roy Blakeley's Bee-Line Hike

The boys resolve to hike in a bee-line to a given point, some miles distant, and have a lively time doing it.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

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THE PEE-WEE HARRIS BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of THE TOM SLADE and ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.

All readers of the TOM SLADE and the ROY BLAKELEY books are acquainted with Pee-wee Harris and will surely enjoy reading every volume of this series.

Pee-wee Harris

Pee-wee goes to visit his uncle whose farm is located on a by-road. Pee-wee conceives the idea of starting a little shack along the road in which to sell refreshments and automobile accessories.

In accordance with his invariable good luck,—scarcely has he started this little shack than the bridge upon the highway burns down and the obscure country road becomes a thoroughway for automobiles. Pee-wee reaps a large profit from his business during the balance of the summer.

Pee-wee Harris on the Trail

Pee-wee gets into the wrong automobile by mistake and is carried to the country where he has a great time and many adventures.

Pee-wee Harris in Camp

The scene is set in the beloved and familiar Temple Camp. Here Pee-wee resigns from the Raven Patrol, intending to start a patrol of his own. He finds this more difficult than he had expected, but overcame all obstacles—as usual.

Pee-wee Harris in Luck

Pee-wee goes with his mother to spend the summer on a farm, where he meets a girl who is bewailing her fate that there is no society at this obscure retreat. Pee-wee assures her he will fix everything for her—and proceeds to do so—with his usual success.

Pee-wee Harris Adrift

A little spot of land up the river breaks away and floats down stream, with a laden apple tree growing upon it. Pee-wee takes possession of this island and the resulting adventures are decidedly entertaining.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

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THE EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW SERIES

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list

BIRDS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Neltje Blanchan. Illustrated

EARTH AND SKY EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated

ESSAYS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie

FAIRY TALES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie

FAMOUS STORIES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie

FOLK TALES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie

HEROES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie

HEROINES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Coedited by Hamilton W. Mabie and Kate Stephens

HYMNS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Dolores Bacon

LEGENDS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie

MYTHS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie

OPERAS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Dolores Bacon. Illustrated

PICTURES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Dolores Bacon. Illustrated

POEMS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Mary E. Burt

PROSE EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Mary E. Burt

SONGS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Dolores Bacon

TREES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated

WATER WONDERS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Jean M. Thompson. Illustrated

WILD ANIMALS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated

WILD FLOWERS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Frederic William Stack. Illustrated

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

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Transcriber's note:

1. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards. 2. Inconsistent spelling of "Peewee" (57 times) and "Pee-wee" (18 times) retained as in original.

THE END