But Leon--who was not inherently cruel so much as thoughtlessly teasing and the victim of a destructive habit of mind, now felt that should he yield a point to this fifteen-year-old lad from a distant city, the leadership which he so prized, among the boys of Exmouth, would be endangered. He was the recognized head of a certain youthful male gang, of which Colin and Coombsie--though the latter occasionally deplored his methods--were leading representatives. "Go ahead, scout, prevent my doing anything I want to do--if you can!" he flung out, his brown eyes winking upward with that snapshot quickness as if he were photographing on their retina the figure of that new species of animal, the scout of the U.S.A. "I've heard of your kind before; you know a lot of things that nobody else knows--or wants to know either!" The last words were to the accompaniment of the goading stick which began to move vehemently to and fro in the hole again. That neat little hole, which had been one of the humbler miracles of the woods, now gaped as an ugly, torn fissure beneath its roof of rock. Before it was a defacing débris of torn grass and earth in which Blink scratched impatiently, whining over the delay in the chip-squirrel's exit. "Oh! give it up, Leon; I believe I can hear him stirring in the hole!" pleaded Colin Estey. Simultaneously the scout flung himself on his knees before the chipmunk's fortress, well-nigh captured, and seized the cruel goad. "Let go of this stick or I'll lick you with it! I can; I'm as old--older than you are!" Leon was now a red-eyed savage. "That would be like your notion of fair play! Oh! drop the stick an' come on with your fists! I'm not afraid of you." The probable result of such a duel remains a problem; any slight advantage in age was on Leon's side, but each alert movement of the boy scout showed that he possessed eye, mind, and muscle trained to the fullest to cope with any situation that might arise. Whoever might prove victor, the expedition to Varney's Paintpot would have been abruptly frustrated by a fight among the exploring party, had not Marcoo the tactful interfered. "Oh! what's the use of fighting about a chip'?" he cried, thrusting a plump shoulder between the bristling combatants. "It's just this way, Leon: Nix is right; it's a mean business, trying to force that chipmunk out of its hole for the dog to catch it! You can withdraw the stick right now, come with us an' share our luncheon; or you can go off on your own hook--and you don't get a crumb out of the basket--we'll find the Paintpot without you!" Leon drew a long wavering breath, looking at Colin for support. But Public Opinion as represented by the two younger boys, was by this time entirely with the scout. For it is the genius among boys, as among grown-ups, who voices what lies hidden and unexpressed, in the hearts of others; we are always moved by the bold utterance of that which we have surreptitiously felt ourselves.