felt that itwas part of his initiation into their envied circle. They were bigboys--brown like the woods of which they had become a part,panther-footed, eagle-eyed, efficient. Danny felt that he would bewilling to suffer much to become as they.
The tenderfoot watched them all to see just how a scout was supposedto act, but it was to Willard McKenzie, the resourceful leader of thepatrol, that his eyes turned oftenest in frank admiration.
McKenzie was the oldest of the bunch--quite seventeen--and five yearsof scouting had stamped him a man as Nature meant him to be. He knewand could answer every bird-call, could follow a wood-trailunerringly, could find himself in any emergency by the chart of thestars above him. He was the trusted friend of every wild thing abouthim, and brother to every wind that blew. The tenderfoot watched thegraceful movements of the leader's Indianlike figure, studied hisgenius for quiet command, and decided promptly to be, one day, asecond Willard McKenzie.
In obedience to McKenzie's orders, the boys built their camp-firewithin the cove, where it would be hidden on three sides by peakswhich towered above, and on the fourth by a dense thicket.
Mr. Gordon, the Scout Master, had not come, nor did they know when toexpect him. But they knew enough to obey their leader, and this theywere proceeding to do.
It was a simple matter--getting the camp ready--and the boysthoroughly enjoyed it. As they were to sleep on the ground, rolled intheir blankets, they had merely to clear the space about them ofunderbrush and fallen timber, and build the fire for cooking.
Of course they talked of war as they worked, for they were scouts inkhaki, preparing for action.
Ed Rowell claimed for cousin one of the American engineers who foughttheir way out of German captivity with their bare fists. Batre's olderbrother was right then cleaving his winged way through clouds ofbattle in the service of the La Fayette Escadrille. Whitman knew a manwho knew a man who was in the 167th Infantry Regiment when it madewith others that now historic march, knee-deep in French snows.
Danny said nothing, for he was a quiet, thoughtful lad. But he hadvividly in mind a handsome fellow of only eighteen who, untilAmerica's declaration of war, had Sunday after Sunday carried thegolden cross up the aisle of the little Church of the Holy Innocentsto "Onward, Christian Soldiers." Danny had heard his mother say thatit was that song which had sent the young crucifer bearing the RedCross of Mercy right up to the German guns.
But their talk was not all serious. They were brimming over with life,and they laughed and scrapped and worked together with a zest whichmade even bramble-cutting enjoyable.
It was when the big fire was glowing red and they set about preparingtheir evening meal that the best part of the fun began. Whoever hasnot broiled great slices of bacon or toasted cold biscuits onsharpened sticks before a cheery camp-fire, who has not roasted sweetpotatoes and green corn in glowing ashes, who has not inhaled thearoma from an old tin coffee-pot, spitting and sputtering on a hotrock, should join the Boy Scouts and hike back to the heart of nature.
Oh, but it was fun! All except the holding in check of savageappetites till the mess should be cooked. Ed Rowell had been detailedto toast the biscuits, and repeatedly threatened to "eat 'em alive" ifthey didn't brown faster.
Danny, who, with Alex Batre, had been directed to broil the bacon,couldn't for the life of him keep from pinching off a crisp edge nowand then to nibble. And yet only yesterday Danny Harding would haveturned up his nose at bacon. The stimulating fresh air and the hardwork of camp life had begun to get in their good work on him.
On the other side of the fire from Danny, Ham and Roger Gayle wereroasting corn and sweet potatoes in the ashes, and a little beyond,Elsie Whitman was filling the water-cans from a trickling mountainspring--while Biddie Burton was busily engaged in getting undereverybody else's feet and teasing whomever he could.
McKenzie, their leader, was momentarily absent, having gone down tothe road below the cliff on which they were encamped to see if theirfire could be sighted from that point through the screening thicket.
The boys had from the first been instructed by McKenzie to keep theirvoices lowered. They were there for serious service, he had told them.And the necessity for stealth and the promise of adventure had for atime keyed them up to the highest pitch of excitement.
But when the interest of cooking supper became uppermost--especiallywhen the scent of the bacon and coffee began to fill the air--thoughtsof adventure withdrew a little to a distance and whispered merrimentbecame the order of the hour.
As was natural, they turned on the tenderfoot their battery ofteasing, and the tenderfoot bore it as best he could.
"Its mother washes 'em," averred Biddie Burton, coming up behind Dannyand carefully examining his ears as he knelt at his work.
"Sure she does," laughed Ham across the fire, "and they say that a soretooth in its little mouth aches everybody in the family connection."
"Look out there, something's burning!" broke in Ed Rowell suddenly.And the next moment Ham and Roger were busy rescuing from the fire thescorching potatoes.
"I declare," scolded Biddie, lounging up, "I could beat you fellowscooking, with both hands tied behind me."
"Why haven't you ever done it, then?" snapped the elder Gayle, soreover his partial failure.
"Why, nobody has ever tied my hands behind me," came in seemingly hurtexplanation from Biddie, and the crowd laughed.
McKenzie had directed them not to wait for him, and they did not.Another five minutes found them eating like young wolves around alanguishing fire.
Later, when the fire winked lower, and the meal was finished--when thescreech-owls began to send their blood-chilling, shivering screamsthrough the forest--they drew closer together and began to talk ofweird and haunting things.
"Over yonder, on the real 'Death Head,'" began Roger, bringing theinterest down to the spot, "is the haunted tree where----"
"Look out," broke in young Rowell, "a little more of that and friendDanny over here will cut for home and mother."
"I'll do nothing of the kind; I'm not a baby!" exclaimed Dannyindignantly. But all the same, his heart was already in his mouth, forDanny had never been distinguished for signal bravery.
"No, you are not 'a baby,'" put in the unquenchable Biddie, "butbefore we get out of these woods you are going to wish you _were_ ababy, and a _girl_ baby at that!"
Danny did not reply to this. He only sat very still, wishing thatWillard McKenzie would return from his prolonged trip, and thinkingof the mother who was looking to him to play the man.
The scene lost its glow. The surrounding forest grew darker, taller,and began stealing up closer about them.
"If you cry like a baby--!" Danny's mother was whispering to hissinking heart.
The others had fallen into an argument about the exact location of thehaunted tree, but presently Ed Rowell asked impatiently:
"Well, what is it about the place, anyway?"
"Haunted!" exclaimed Ham. "A murderer, hunted with dogs through themountains, hanged himself on----"
"And the old tree died in the night," assisted his brother. "And itstands there now, naked and stark and dead. At night----"
Danny's heart stood still to hear.
"At night," broke in Whitman, "if you creep up close, you can see thedead man swinging in the wind!"
"_Listen!_" exclaimed Biddie under his breath.
It will have to be recorded that they all jumped violently at theexclamation.
"What?" demanded L. C.
"And hear old Danny being quiet!" finished the teasing scamp.
"You bet you, and he'd better be quiet--" began Roger.
But Whitman interrupted:
"Danny's afraid of ghosts, anyway," he declared, "I tried to leave himin the graveyard once, but he was home in his mama's lap before Istarted running."
"I'm not any more afraid of ghosts than you are," Danny protested hotly.
"Oh, _aren't_ you?"
"No, I'm not!"
"All right, then," the big boy
taunted; "I've been to the haunted treeby myself at night--these fellows all know I have--now suppose _you_ go."
"Sure, tenderfoot," put in young Rowell; "here's a perfectly goodchance to show your nerve."
"He hasn't any," sneered Alex Batre.
But Danny drew back, aghast at the proposition--go alone to a spotlike that, and at night!
"Go to it, kid," was suddenly spoken quietly in his ear.
Danny turned to see whose was the kindly voice that advised, andlooked into Biddie Burton's eyes.
"Don't let 'em make you take a dare," came in another whisper. "_Go._"Biddie was not smiling now, and there was a note of seriousfriendliness in his