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Updated: August 22, 2024
And all the while trouble had been lurking at his elbow. He walked back into troop headquarters with his head bent. If one scout was going to nag another there would be no harmony, no pulling together, no striving toward a common goal. It would be good-by to the Wolf patrol so far as the Scoutmaster's Cup was concerned. He paused in front of the slate. What should he do?
"All safe," said Romper, who had been appointed custodian of the precious bunting. "Fine!" said the leader of the Owl patrol. Bugler Benson sounded the call, "Forward, scouts," and the brown-clad column started toward the tall pole near the center of the field, where Mr. Ford, in Scoutmaster's uniform, stood waiting.
The boy scouts in the car had been watching the scoutmaster's progress since they could see his light bobbing around. Occasionally he would shine it up at a tree or across the landscape for an instant, so they knew where he was in relation to the trees and thickets. They saw him stop at the edge of the open, shadowed area and shine his light ahead of him.
We're almost out. Easy now." But Don found it agony to go slow. Suppose they were gobbled here within sight of victory! He took another chance on a hobbling run. Around a clump of trees, straight ahead, another turn and there was the wide, free outside in front of them. "Safe!" gasped Don. No need to hurry now. He sank to the ground and rested his injured ankle. The Scoutmaster's Cup was theirs!
Over Friday night's meeting hung the promise of something to happen. Roll-call and inspection brought to light no derelicts. The score board read: PATROL POINTS Eagle 170 1/2 Fox 177 1/2 Wolf 175 1/2 The ranks broke. Usually there was play for a few minutes. Mr. Wall rapped for order at once. "Next week," he said, "the contest for the Scoutmaster's Cup comes to an end.
They found nothing, just a plain, unmagnetized, unradioactive, unheated, common, everyday knife. The cap was sent to a laboratory in Washington, D.C., along with the scoutmaster's story.
Through old Tory Cave there surged the noise of a rising wind, silencing that weak gust afar off, now baleful, the sound of the hidden water; reverberating among the rocks, it might be taken for anything, for the hum of aircraft for a perfect onslaught of sky cavalry! And the Scoutmaster's cry was convincing.
Next morning a letter came from the Scout Scribe announcing the terms of the contest for the Scoutmaster's Cup. The competition would start at Friday night's meeting. For each scout present a patrol would be awarded a point, while for each scout absent it would lose a point.
We boomed it," came the laughing reply, as Jack at a Pinch, second fiddle now, marched off with his companions. "Who is he?" Pemrose caught wildly at the arm of Stud, who was wishing that he and not those patronizing big boys had caught the Scoutmaster's cue and created airdrawn aëroplanes by the corps. "Do you do you know who he is; that biggest that gaudiest one among them?" "Yes! No-o!
But I don't hate him as bad as it seems like I would, and I don't want to get in bad with the scoutmaster so I don't know as I'll do much. The Scoutmaster's a Christian and I've got more use for Christians than I ever had before. Mr. Newton sure treats me fine. Apple's a Christian, he says I ought to be, too, and he's surely a peach. Mr. Gates is a Christian and nobody ever treated me better.
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