"_Wonderful stunt!_" murmured Starrie Chase again. His hand in its restless uneasiness had been plucking large flakes of moss from the gray rock behind him and turning them over, revealing the medicinal gold thread that embroidered the earthy underside of the sod; he was sucking that bitter fibre--supposed to be good for a sore mouth, but no panacea for a sprained ankle--while a like gold thread of fascinated speculation embroidered the ruddy mask of his face. "Hurrah! we'll have a fire right away now, that will talk to us all night long." The triumphant scout lowered the flame-bud to the ground, piled over it some of the resinous pine-splinters and strips of inflammatory bark, fanning it steadily with his hat. In a few minutes a rollicking camp-fire was roaring in front of the old Bear's Den. "Now! we must gather some big chunks, dry roots and stumps, to keep the fire going through the night, cut sods to put round it and prevent its spreading into the woods, and break up some pine-tips to strew in the cave for a bed. There's lots of work ahead still, fellows, before we can be snug for the night!" The scout, having got his second breath with his great achievement, was working hard as he spoke; Marcoo and Colin followed his example in renewed spirits. Leon, chafing at his own inactivity, tried to stand and sank down with a groan. "How's the thunderstorm sprain?" they asked him. "Worse--ugh-h! And I'm parched with thirst--still!" "Well, we'll lope off into the woods and bring you back some more water. If you'll leave a little in the bottom of the mug I'll soak our handkerchiefs in it and wrap them round your ankle; cold applications may relieve the pain;" the scout was recalling what he had learned about first aid to the injured. Darkness descended upon the old bear's stamping-ground. But the camp-fire burned gloriously, throwing off now and again a foam of flame whose rosy clots lit in the crevices of the tall rock and bloomed there for an instant like scarlet flowers. The work necessary in making camp for the night done, the four boys gathered round it, dividing their scanty rations, the scraps of food left in Coombsie's basket, and speculating as to how early in the morning a search-party would come out and find them. "Toiney Leduc will certainly be one of the party. Toiney is a regular scout; he's only been here a year, but he knows the woods well," remarked Leon, then was silent a minute, gazing wistfully into the heart of the flames which filled the pause with snappy conversational fire-works. "Tell us something about this boy scout business, bo'!" he spoke again in the slow, sprained voice, his feverish eyes burning into the fire, his tone making the slangy little abbreviation stand for brother, as he addressed Nixon. "It seems as if it might be The Thing--starting that fire was a great stunt--and if it's The Thing--every fellow wants to be in it!" "Oh! you don't know what good times we have," began the scout.