"too, too
solid flesh" seemed to be melting and running off his face in the form
of streaming moisture, "don't we get a rest?"

A general laugh greeted poor Bob or Tubby Hopkins' remark.

"I always told you, Tubby, you were too fat to make a good scout,"
laughed Corporal Merritt Crawford, "this is the sort of thing that will
make you want to take some of that tubbiness off you."

"Say, Tubby, you look like a roll of butter at an August picnic,"
laughed Simon Jeffords, one of the second-class scouts.

"All right, Sim," testily rejoined the aggrieved fat one, "I notice at
that, though, that I am a regular scout while you are only a rookie."

"Come on, cut out the conversation," exclaimed Corporal Crawford
hastily, "while we are fussing about here, Rob Blake must be halfway
home."

With a groan of comical despair from poor Tubby, the Boy Scouts darted
forward once more. On and on they pushed across country, skillfully
tracking their leader by the various signs they had been taught to know
and of which the present scouting expedition was a test.

Their young leader evidently intended them to use their eyes to the
utmost for, beside the stone signs, he used blaze-marks, cut on the
trees with his hunting knife. For instance, at one place they would
find a square bit of bark removed, with a long slice to the left of it.
This indicated that their quarry had doubled to the left. The slice to
the right of the square blaze indicated the reverse.

Suddenly Corporal Crawford held up his hand as a signal for silence.
The scouts came to an abrupt stop.

From what seemed to be only a short distance in front of them they
could hear a voice upraised apparently in anger. Replying to it were
the tones of their leader.

"Seems to be trouble ahead of some kind," exclaimed Crawford. "Come on,
boys."

They all advanced close on his heels--guided by the sound of the angry
voice, which did not diminish in tone but apparently waxed more and
more furious as they drew nearer. Presently the woodland thinned and
the ground became dotted with stumps of felled timber and in a few
paces more they emerged on a small peach orchard at the edge of which
stood Rob Blake and a larger and older boy. As Crawford and his
followers came upon the scene the elder lad, who seemed beside himself
with rage, picked up a large rock and was about to hurl it with all his
might at Rob when the young corporal dashed forward and held his hand
up to stay