Don fell into step with him. "How about some practice in the woods this
afternoon, Tim?"
"Sure." Tim's eyes danced. "We'll be first if we win this time."
Now it was Don who felt like dancing in the road. Tim, for some reason,
had had another change of heart, and was once more eager.
Soon the whole patrol was walking with Don and Tim. And Tim,
light-hearted, irrepressible, kept the talk flying merrily. When the call
came for the Wolves to take the wagon again, he was the first to reach
the shafts.
"Come on, slaves," he called.
Andy winked at Don. Don clutched the assistant patrol leader's arm and
squeezed hard.
Tim made lively work of the next half-mile. The relief found Bobbie Brown
gasping and wilted.
"Gee!" said Tim; "you're packing too heavy a load for a runt. Here, I'll
take your blanket."
Bobbie straightened his shoulders. "I'm all right. I--"
"Aw! forget it." Tim turned him around, unstrapped the blanket, and stuck
it under his arm. "Feels better, doesn't it?"
"Y-yes," said Bobbie.
Mr. Wall, coming down the line to watch for stragglers, saw what
happened, smiled quietly, and went back to the head of the column.
After a time the jokes and the laughter stopped. They were approaching
Lonesome Woods. Of course, this was going to be all kinds of fun,
but--but--Well, Lonesome Woods was Lonesome Woods, wasn't it? A mile from
camp Mr.
Pages:
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135