"Well," said Bert Winton, his awe at the sight of death somewhat subsiding at thought of the victim's cowardice, "there's an end of Aaron Harlowe who ran over Willie Corbett with a gray roadster and----"

"And was going to send a letter to the kid's father," concluded Tom.

"And here's his footprint, too. I'd like to take his shoe off and fit it into this footprint," Tom said.

"What for?" Roy asked.

"Just to make sure."

But Tom soon dismissed that thought and the others did not relish it.

Moreover, Tom knew that the law prohibited him from doing such a thing.

With the mystery, as it seemed, cleared up, there remained nothing to do but explore the immediate vicinity for the sake of scout thoroughness.

Their search revealed other loose boards, a few cooking utensils and finally the utter wreck of what must have been a very primitive and tiny shack. This was perhaps a couple of hundred feet from the body and below the highest point of the mountain. It was conceivable that a fire here might have shown in a faint glare down at camp. The blaze could not have been seen. Amid the ruin of the shack were a few rough cooking utensils.

The soaking land and the darkness effectually concealed the charred remnants of any fire.

"Well, he'll never shoot any buffaloes and wild Indians," said Roy.

Tom replaced the cards and letter, or rather put them in the dead man's pocket for fear the wind might blow them away, though being under the lee of the trunk they had been somewhat protected. Then the party retraced their path down the mountain and, circling its lower reaches, found themselves at last upon the lake sh.o.r.e.

Thus ended the work of that fretful night, a night ever memorable at Temple Camp, a night of death and devastation. The mighty wind which smote the forest and drove the ruinous waters before it, died in the moment of its triumph. The sodden, sullen heaven which had cast its gloom and poured its unceasing rain, rain, rain, upon the camp for two full weeks, cleared and the edges of the departing clouds were bathed in the silver moonlight. And the next morning the bright, merry sun arose and smiled down upon Temple Camp and particularly on Goliath who sat swinging his legs from the springboard.

CHAPTER XVI

THE WANDERING MINSTREL

He was defying, single handed, half a dozen or more scouts who were flopping about in rowboats under and about the springboard. They had just rowed across after an inspection of the washed-out cove, and were resting on their oars, jollying the little fellow whose legs dangled above them.

"Where did that big feller go?" he asked.

"To the village."

"He found a dead man last night, didn't he?"

"That's what he did."

"I know his name, it's Slade."

"Right the first time. You're a smart fellow."

"I like that big feller. He says Gilbert Tyson is all right; I asked him. I bet Gilbert Tyson can beat any of you fellers. He's in my troop, he is. I bet you were never in a hospital."

"I bet you were never in prison," a scout ventured.

"I bet you never got hanged," Goliath piped up.

"I bet I did," another scout said.

"When?"

"To-morrow afternoon."

"To-morrow afternoon isn't here yet," Goliath said, triumphantly.

"Sure it is, _this_ is to-morrow afternoon. Somebody told me yesterday.

If it was to-morrow afternoon yesterday it must be to-day."

"Posolutely," said Roy Blakeley. "What was true yesterday is true to-day, because the truth is always the same--only different."

"Sure," concurred another scout, "to-morrow, to-day will be yesterday.

It's as clear as mud."

Goliath thought for a few moments and then made a flank attack.

"Gilbert Tyson is a hero," he said; "he saved the lives of everybody in that bus--he did."

"That's where he was wrong," said Roy Blakeley; "a scout is supposed to be generous. He mustn't be all the time saving."

"Isn't it good to save lives?" Goliath demanded.

"Sure, but not too many. A scout that's all the time saving gets to be stingy."

Goliath pondered a moment.

"Gilly is all right but he's not a first-cla.s.s scout," said Roy.

"A first-cla.s.s scout," said Westy Martin, "is not supposed to turn back.

Gilbert turned back. Then he shouted '_stop_.' Law three says that a scout is courteous. He should have said '_please_ stop.' Law ten says that a scout must face danger, but he turned his back to it. He wasn't thinking about the danger, all he was thinking about was the bus. All he was thinking about was being thrifty--saving lives. I've known fellows like that before. It's just like striking an average; a scout that strikes an average is a coward."

"You mean if the average is small?" said Roy.

"Oh, sure."

"Because it all depends," Roy continued; "a scout isn't supposed to fight, is he? But he can strike an att.i.tude. The same as he can hit a trail. Suppose he hits a poor, little thin trail----"

"Then he's a coward," said Connie Bennett.

"Not necessarily," said Westy, "because----"

"_A scout has to be obedient! You can't deny that!_" Goliath nearly fell off the springboard in his excitement. "That other feller is going to get sent away because I heard a man say so!"

This was not exactly an answer to the well-reasoned arguments of Roy and his friends, but it had the effect of making them serious. Moreover, just at that juncture, Mr. Carroll, scoutmaster of the Hillsburgh troop, appeared and very gently ordered Goliath from his throne upon the springboard. The little fellow's mind had been somewhat unsettled by the skillful reasoning of his new friends. He trotted off in obedience to Mr. Carroll's injunction that he go in and take off his wet shoes.

"Boys," said the new scoutmaster, in a pleasant, confidential tone which won all, "I want to say a word to you about the little brownie we have with us. You'll find him an odd little duck. I'm hoping to make a scout of him some time or other. Meanwhile, we have to be careful not to get him excited. It's a rule of our troop to take with us camping each summer, some little needy inmate of an orphan home or hospital or some place of the sort, and give him the benefit of the country air. This little fellow is our charge this year. You won't talk to him about his past, because we want him to forget that. We want to take him home well and strong and I look to you for help. Make friends with him and get him interested in things about camp. His heart isn't strong; be careful."