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.

There was still some restraint between them. The scars of last night's
fight could not heal in a moment. But as they hurried among the trees,
Don gave thanks that he had forced himself to speak and had broken the
ice. For Tim was almost pathetically eager to show good will--picking the
hardest tasks and the roughest paths, and squirming unbidden into
doubtful corners to sound them out.

Every step now increased their chances of encountering the other patrols.
They passed the fourth blaze since leaving camp, and then the fifth. The
trees became thicker, the foliage denser. The sun was almost shut out.
Even the sounds of the birds were hushed.

Don halted. "We must be getting near the end of the trail. We've come
about a mile."

Tim's voice trembled. "Let's make a rush for it."

Don shook his head. "Too dangerous. We'll go ahead, stop and listen, and
go ahead again."

"Gee!" said Tim. "Like stalking an Indian in Colonial days."

Now listening breathlessly, now darting forward, now creeping, they
slowly forged ahead. Two more blazes were passed. They found the next. It
was marked:

-O-

"The end