nning, and the work
started. Don took splints and bandages from the troop's medicine chest.
Tim and Andy fashioned a stretcher from staves and coats.

"Try it again," said Tim. "Too slow."

"Let Bobbie button as soon as the first coat goes on," said Andy.

"Let Bobbie keep out of the way," said Tim.

Don looked up quickly. However, the work seemed to be going on
satisfactorily. He brought his attention back to the splint he was
adjusting.

After that, from time to time, he walked over to see how Tim and Andy and
Bobbie were making out. Twice he thought that Andy frowned at him and
gave a cautious movement with his head.

"Ouch!" Bobbie cried toward the finish. "You're hurting, Tim."

"You can't help hurting a fellow a little on artificial respiration," Tim
answered gruffly.

Don frowned. Had Andy been signaling to him? Had something been going on
over there?

When the work ended the staves and the splints and the bandages were put
away. Tim mopped his face and breathed heavily. Bobbie Brown edged over
toward the farthest window.

"How about another session Friday?" Don asked.

"Can't," said Tim. "Saturday we play our first game. Ted Carter wants
everybody out for practice Friday afternoon. He told me to tell you."

"Well--" For the moment Don wasn't interested in baseball. "How about
Monday?"

Monday, it appeared, would be all right. Tim put on his coat and walked
toward the door.

"You're forgetting your mitt," Don called.

"I'm not going to the field," said Tim.

There was something peculiar in the way he said it. Don looked
inquiringly at Andy. The assistant patrol leader nodded toward
the window.

"Anything wrong, Bobbie?" Don asked.

Bobbie gave a start, and smiled and shook his head. "Guess I'll go
along," he said; but he made no move to leave the place.

Something was wrong. Andy sauntered down to the door, peered at the
woodwork as though examining it, scratched with his finger-nail, and then
began to tap with his knuckle.

Don wrinkled his forehead. Why did Andy tap like that--two taps, pause,
another tap--over and over again? Suddenly he understood. Andy was
sending him a message in Morse, and the first letter was C. He looked
up, caught Andy's eye, and nodded. The tapping went on.

".."

"O," whispered Don.

"- -"

"M."

"."

"E. Come."

A pause, longer than the other. The tapping began again.

".. ..-- ... .. -.. ."

"Come outside," Don muttered. He strolled toward t