riety;
though they managed to scrape enough together to satisfy everybody but
Fritz, who growled a little, and wanted to know however a scout could do
his best when on short rations?

Then to the inspiring notes of Eben's silver-plated bugle the boys of
the Beaver Patrol left Alabama Camp, and started on the last lap for
their home goal.

CHAPTER IX

THE RUNAWAY BALLOON

"Hey! look at all the crows flying over, would you?"

Seth called this out as he pointed upwards, and the rest of the patrol
naturally turned their heads in order to gape.

"Whew! did you ever see such a flock of the old caw-caws?" burst out
Eben.

"Give 'em a toot from your bugle, and see what they think?" suggested
Jotham.

"For goodness sake, be careful," broke in Fritz, "because they might be
so knocked in a heap at Eben's fine playing, they'd take a tumble, and
nearly smother the lot of us. We'd think it was raining crow, all
right."

"Are they good to eat?" demanded Babe, who was pretty green as yet to a
great many things connected with outdoor life, "because, if we have time
to stop at noon to cook a meal, we might--"

He was interrupted by a shout from several of the other and wiser
scouts.

"Say, hold on there, Babe, we haven't got that near being starved as to
want to eat crow," declared Andy.

"Can they be eaten at all, Paul?" persisted Babe, as usual turning to
the scoutmaster for information; "seems to me I've heard something like
that."

"Yes, and people who have tried say they're not near as bad a dish as
the papers always make out," Paul replied. "I don't see myself why they
should be, when most of the time they live on the farmer's corn."

"But can you tell where that bunch is coming from, and where bound?"
continued Babe. "They all come out of that same place, and keep
chattering as they soar on the wind, which must be some high up there."

"Well, I've heard it said that there's a big crow rookery somewhere back
in the gloomy old Black Water Swamps; but I never met anybody that had
ever set eyes on the same. Every day, winter and summer, that big flock
comes out, and scatters to a lot of feeding grounds; some going down the
river, where they pick up food that's been cast ashore; others bound for
a meal in the corn fields."

"And they come back again in the night to roost there; is that it,
Paul?"

"Yes, I guess if we stood right here half an hour before dark we'd see
squads of the noisy things heading o