ed on their hike to the old camp.
Excepting their tents they carried full camping equipment, blankets,
cooking utensils, first aid kit, lanterns, changes of clothing, and
plenty of those materials which Roy's magic could conjure into luscious
edibles. The raw material for the delectable flipflop was there, cans
groaning with egg-powder, raisins for plum-duff, savory bacon, rice
enough for twenty weddings and chocolate enough to corner the market in
chocolate sundaes. Cans of exasperated milk, as Pee-wee called it,
swelled his duffel bag, and salt and pepper he also carried because, as
Roy said, he was both fresh and full of pep. Carrots for hunter's stew
were carried by the Elks because red was their patrol color. A can of
lard dangled from the end of Dorry Benton's scout staff. Beans were the
especial charge of Warde Hollister because he had come from Boston.

Most of the scouts had visited Camp Merritt during the war when it was
seething with activity, and when watchful sentinels stood on every road
of approach, challenging the visitor and demanding to see his pass. They
had been familiar with the boys in khaki, strangers in New Jersey
mostly, who filled the streets of Bridgeboro. But they had not visited
the old camp since it had become a deserted village.

It seemed strange to them that the place which had so lately swarmed
with life, and had a sort of flaunting air of martial energy and
preparation, should have become the lonely biding place of one poor soul
and that its only service now was to stand between that poor stricken
derelict and starvation.

If they had taken their way up the Knickerbocker Road along which auto
parties and pedestrians had once thronged to see the soldiers, they
would have found the going easy, but instead they followed the river
northward, for five or six miles, then cut through the country eastward
which would bring them to the western extremity of the old camp.

In this last part of their journey they fell into an indistinct trail,
much overgrown, running through an area of comparatively wild country.
This, indeed, had been a beaten path between the camp and the villages
to the west. It had known the tread of many an A. W. O. L.[1] soldier,
yet it had not been altogether a secret path, but rather one of
convenience. At all events it had been well clear of the main entrance
on the Knickerbocker Road, and this conspicuous advantage had given it a
certain popularity.

At the time of