weathervane, the handiwork of some departed soldier,
rattled nearby.

"_Listen_," said Roy. "Do you hear that voice again?"

As he spoke a long, discordant cry could be heard somewhere in the
distance, ending in a spasmodic jerk. It was like nothing human. Yet
strangely it suggested something human. As if some unearthly ghoul were
trying to simulate the wailing of human anguish.... Then again it was
quite grotesque, bearing no resemblance to the cry of a living thing.

"What do you suppose it is?" Warde asked.

"It's a--I don't know," said Roy doubtfully. "I never heard anything
just like that before."

The sound was not continuous, but came at intervals.

"Do you know what I'd like to do?" said Warde. "I'd like to get just one
good look at Blythe while he's lying asleep. I'd like to see his face
calm and still like in the picture. I'd like to see it when he isn't
looking at me."

"That's easy," said Roy, caught by the idea. "Let's go. Maybe we can
tell better."

They returned to their camp, as they called it, through the dismantled
frame of the first shack, and past the sleepers under the big elm.
Pee-wee was there, tied in a bowline knot, the official knot of the
Raven patrol, sleeping the sleep of the righteous.

"If he should hear us, remember we're just turning in," said Roy.

"Have you got your flashlight?" Warde asked.

"Sure," Roy whispered. "Walk softly."

They entered the sleeping shack, "Blythe's Bunk," and tiptoed to the
spot where Blythe usually lay. Then Roy turned on his light.

The two scouts stood appalled, speechless. Blythe's old shabby coat
which he always folded and used as a pillow was there with the
depression made by his head still in it. But Blythe had gone away....

[Footnote 2: Edition of 1910, containing much interesting and important
matter omitted from subsequent editions.]

CHAPTER XXI

THE DIAGONAL MARK

Warde had always his wits with him. "_Shh_, don't wake up the
troop," he whispered. "Come outside."

"We'll need them all--alarm--" Roy whispered excitedly.

"Shut up and come outside," Warde whispered emphatically. He picked up
Blythe's coat and, tiptoeing, led the way out into the night. "He hasn't
gone away," he said more freely. "Don't you see this coat? Do you think
he'd go away without his coat? Stick your flashlight here, _quick_;
here's our chance."

Warde held the collar of the poor threadbare coat close to Roy's light.
There, on the inside was