Don drew a deep breath. He knew what was happening. Tim was waiting to continue his plaguing.

"I--I guess I'll go," said Bobbie again.

"Wait," said Don. "I'm going down that way."

There was no help for it. He had no choice. He couldn't let Bobbie go out and get his hair pulled and his ears twisted. He'd have to see him past the danger.

There was vast relief on Bobbie's face as they came out of troop headquarters. But Don's face was grave.

It took but a minute to walk down the road to the fence. Bobbie's steps unconsciously became slower. He edged out toward the curb. Tim saw him and instantly became alert.

"Here, now," he called; "don't try to dodge past. Come over here and--"

"h.e.l.lo, Tim," said Don.

Tim stopped short. His eyes darkened suspiciously, as though he suspected that Don was acting as guardian. For a moment he seemed to be debating what he should do; and while he paused, Bobbie edged past.

"Don't forget Monday," said Don. He wanted to shift the other boy's thoughts.

"I may be busy Monday," Tim answered scowlingly. He took a step after Bobbie, but found the patrol leader in his way and stopped short.

Don continued on down the road. He knew that Tim was aware why he had walked with Bobbie, and he knew that Tim resented it. After all, what had he gained? He couldn't be with Bobbie always. If Tim wanted to plague, he could catch the little scout alone almost any day.

Abruptly Don swung around and went back. Tim, seeing him coming, set his feet farther apart. It was a fighting pose. Don's heart fluttered.

"Look here, Tim," he said; "what's the use of stewing around this way?

Why can't we all pull together?"

"Did I do anything to you?" Tim asked.

"No, but--What's the use of tormenting Bobbie?"

"Gee! Are you the keeper of the whole patrol?"

Don bit his lips. The talk wasn't going at all the way he wanted.

"We've got to work together," he said, "or we won't have a chance for the cup."

"Don't you worry about me," Tim said airily. "I'll do my share. Didn't I show up for practice today?"

"Yes."

"Well, what more do you want?"

Don hesitated. Tim began to grin. He walked back to the fence and leaned there carelessly.

"It--it's going to muss the practice if you tease Bobbie," Don said slowly. "He'll be edging away from you, not knowing what moment you'll twig him, and it will spoil the work. You can't give him a good fireman's lift if he's hanging back."

"What are you doing," Tim demanded, "asking me to let up on him or telling me?"

"I'm asking you," Don said slowly.

"Oh! Well, that's all right." Tim's grin grew broader. "I won't bother him."

All the way home Don was haunted by that grin. He knew what it meant. Tim thought he had started back to lay down the law and had wilted. Tim thought he was afraid.

Don swallowed a lump in his throat. There was no use in trying to disguise the truth. Deep in his heart he didn't know whether he was or not.

CHAPTER III

TIM STANDS BY

It was a very quiet Don who sat down to supper that night. He had the uncomfortable conviction that he had blundered. Having started to see Bobbie past trouble, he should have seen him past with quiet firmness. It had been a mistake to try to bargain.

Regrets, though, would do him no good. What was past was past. It was the future that troubled him the most.

Tim, he was sure, would now carry a chip on his shoulder. And if he tried to make him keep step with the other scouts of the patrol, and if Tim did not want to keep step--

"You're not eating, Don," said Barbara.

He came to himself with a start, smiled sheepishly, and gave thought to his supper. But for the rest of the meal he could see Barbara watching him. There was also a concerned look in the eyes of his sister Beth.

Why had he gone back that time? And having gone back, why had he not told Tim, bluntly and plainly, that he would have to let Bobbie alone? Had there been a clash of wills, it would all be over with now. Instead, the time of decision had been put off. It might come any day. And because he had hesitated to meet it once, it would be all the harder to meet it in the future.

"I don't think Don is hungry," said Beth.

He came to himself with a start and found that he was again staring fixedly at his plate. He was glad when the meal came to an end.

He went up to his room. There were two letters he ought to write to Audubon societies that had ordered bird-houses. But, though he drew out paper and ink and envelopes, he could not concentrate his thoughts on what he had to say. At last he went downstairs and sat on the porch.

He was discouraged. Under Phil Morris, the Wolf patrol had been strong and vigorous. Phil had refused to stand for any nonsense.

"I guess--I guess I haven't the s.p.u.n.k Phil had," Don told himself.

In the kitchen the sounds of dish-washing ceased. Presently Barbara came out on the porch. The chair in which he sat was wide. She touched his arm.

"Push over, Don."

He made room for her.

"Well," she asked, "what's the scout trouble now?"

He could always talk to Barbara as though she were an older brother. Now he told her about his meeting with Tim, and of the sorry way he had handled himself.

"And now," he ended, "Tim will think I'm scared of him and that he can do just as he pleases."