Two blocks farther on he stopped short. Tim was coming toward him carrying an oil can.

"Are you going to Danger Mountain?" Don demanded.

Tim put down the can and c.o.c.ked his cap over one eye. "Sure. Why?"

"You can't. Mr. Wall said it's a bad spot."

"He didn't say we couldn't go."

"That's what he meant."

"How do you know?"

"Everybody knows. That's why he won't take us there. He said you could get broken bones."

"I'm not afraid." Tim picked up the can and swung it carelessly. "I guess Mr. Wall was trying to scare little fellows like Bobbie. He didn't mean a big fellow like me."

Don knew that arguing with Tim would be useless. And yet, as the trouble-maker stepped around him, he made a last plea.

"You'll get the patrol in trouble, Tim, and we're only one point behind the Eagles."

"I knew you weren't worrying about _me_," said Tim.

Don followed slowly. He had pleaded for the troop thinking that that might win where all else had failed. And, as usual, Tim had misunderstood.

At the corner he paused. New thoughts were crowding through his brain.

Tim's recklessness was jeopardizing not only himself--it was threatening the entire troop.

Suppose he fell and broke an arm, or a leg, or--or worse. People would say, "There; that's what comes from letting boys become scouts and go hiking." Boys would be taken from the troop. The troop might even break up. All Mr. Wall's plans for the future would be ruined.

"It isn't fair," Don told himself bitterly. "If there was somebody who could make him stay home--"

His eyes puckered and his mouth grew tight. He had told Bobbie that this wasn't carrying tales. It wasn't. Suddenly he turned to his left and went up a side street.

A few minute's later he rang the doorbell of a plain, pleasant-looking house. The screen door opened.

"Good afternoon, Donald," said a woman's voice. "Are you looking for Mr.

Wall?"

"Yes, Mrs. Wall." Don's cap was in his hand. "Is he home? Could I see him right away?"

Mrs. Wall shook her head. "He went to the city this morning. I do not expect him until evening. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"N-no," said Don. He went down the stoop, stumbling on the last step, and walked slowly toward home.

CHAPTER V

A PLEA ON THE ROAD

Dinner was almost over when Don reached home. Barbara brought his food from the kitchen where she had kept it warm.

"Didn't you hear me say twelve sharp?" she scolded.

Don told of Bobbie's message, of his interview with Tim, and of his fruitless trip to Mr. Wall's house. Barbara, engrossed in the tale, dropped into her own seat and listened intently. Mr. Strong shook his head soberly.

"Going to Danger Mountain will be a foolhardy trick," he said.

"I wish Mr. Wall were home," said Don. He had lost appet.i.te for his dinner and pushed his plate away. "I did right to go to him, didn't I, dad?"

"You'd have been foolish not to go," said his father.

Don stared hard at the tablecloth. He had entered joyously on his duties as patrol leader, but one disagreement after another with Tim had roughened his road. And now--now that he seemed powerless to stay this latest folly--he suddenly felt very, very tired.

"Why will Tim be so headstrong?" cried Barbara.

"It's a way some boys have," Mr. Strong explained. "Tell them not to do a thing, and immediately that is the one thing they want to do. As for Tim--Well, I fancy he's disgruntled because Ted Carter dropped him. He doesn't want to sit around and watch baseball today. He probably figured that the best way was to go off and pretend he didn't care. If he could add spice to the going off, it would make it seem all the more as though he was really having a good time."

"And won't he have a good time?" Barbara asked.

"No boy really enjoys himself, when he knows he's doing wrong," Mr.

Strong answered.

Don roused himself from his dull, discouraged mood. "Is there anything I could try, dad, to stop him? Just one more trial?"

"You might take him by the back of the neck and tell him you're boss."

"I would," Don said slowly, "if I were able."

He went upstairs and got into uniform--all except his spiked shoes. He would put those on on the porch where there was no carpet to rip and tear. He went over to the window and looked down at the yard. Nothing was there but gra.s.s, and hedge, and a small bed of flowers. And yet he saw a steep side of Danger Mountain, and khaki-clad boys climbing that steep side and missing their steps.

"Twenty minutes of two, Don," Barbara called.

He carried the spiked shoes down to the porch. He was angry now. Why should he worry when he had done the best he could? He _wouldn't_ worry.

He'd pitch his game and have a good time. If Tim wanted to get hurt, that was his funeral.

In this mood he walked to the field. The practice had already started. He gave the Little Falls players a casual glance. Visiting teams no longer worried him--not before the umpire's cry of "Play ball!" anyway. He had had his baptism of fire. He was a veteran.

"I was just going to send somebody to look you up," said Ted. "Everything all right? Good! Shoot away."

Thoughts of Tim came, but Don thrust them aside and shook his head stubbornly. What had happened was no fault of his. He had done his best.

Now he was going to enjoy himself.

"Great stuff," said Ted when the warm-up was over. "Sting them in like that during the game and there'll be nothing to it."

Don laughed and walked toward the bench. His eyes scanned the spectators.