Wall halted the column.
"Volunteers to go forward and cut firewood," he called.
But though the scouts might draw together a bit, here was too good an
adventure to be missed. There was a rush for the Scoutmaster. Tim got
there first.
"The Wolves have it," Mr. Wall decided.
"Little more load for the Eagles and the Foxes," sang Tim, and pitched
his blanket and haversack into the trek wagon. Don and the others unslung
theirs. Two minutes later the Wolf patrol was running in advance of the
column with only their axes and canteens.
They plunged into the woods with a whoop. Presently they all drew
together and listened. The place was still--ghostly still. The air was
cooler, and heavier, and--and different.
"Gee!" said Bobbie. "It _is_ lonesome in here, isn't it?"
Tim shrugged his shoulders. "Come on. Let's get firewood."
The sound of the axes chased away the quiet. The firewood became a small
pile, a great pile, and then a fat, clumsy pyramid.
"Hello there, Wolves," came a faint hail.
The troop had arrived. Soon the woods rang with high-pitched shouts and
cries.
The problem now was to find a camp site. Scouts swung out in all
directions. One group tried to advance the wagon. Now the wheels would
get tangled in clumps of underbrush, and now there would be seemingly
no way to squeeze through the trees.
Pages:
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136