It’s a long lane that has no turning, and at last Sam, who had been watching anxiously for a good half-hour for their destination, gave an exclamation of relief. The winding road turned a sudden corner, and there, straight ahead, loomed a white triangle on which was lettered: “Railroad Crossing--Look Out for the Engine.” With whoops of joy the boys gained the track and set off northward, fatigue and disappointment forgotten in the prospect of reaching the end of the journey. Only a hundred yards or so further on a wider road than the one they had abandoned crossed the railway. On one side, perhaps a half-mile away, lay Indian Lake, glimpsed through a fringe of trees that bordered a meadow. In that direction stood a red-brown farm-house, and the sun, slipping for an instant from the wrack of clouds above the western horizon, flashed ruddily against the distant windows. Turning their backs on the lake, they followed the new road. A house came into sight, a dog barked at them, somewhere a rooster crowed, civilisation drew near. And then, without warning, the brief glimpse of sunlight faded and the rain began once more. And at almost the same moment a lane branched to the right ahead of them and a sign nailed to a tree directed them to “Centennial Park.” With raincoats thrown hastily over their heads to keep their blankets dry the boys broke into a trot. The lane ascended a hill, a gleam of white shone through the trees ahead, voices came to them, and a moment later they were “out of the woods” in more ways than one. The trees gave place to open turf and they were on a hill, the lake stretching below in the rain-blurred twilight. In front was a roofed building, open on all sides. To the left were some smaller structures; sheds, booths, and so on, all tightly boarded up. Under the big roof of the auditorium boys were lounging or moving about, and as Sam’s squad crossed the park a shout of greeting met them. With rather less enthusiasm the newcomers waved and answered. Tom Crossbush turned to Sam. “They aren’t all there,” he said. “Maybe, if Mr. Brown comes along soon, we’ll beat them after all!” “Why, no, they’re not all there by any means,” answered Sam. “I see only about a dozen. Perhaps the rest are around, though.” “They’re all kids, too, sir!” said Joe Groom excitedly. “They must be Mr. Gifford’s second squad, sir!” By this time they were close to the building and some of the boys came out to meet them and Mr. Haskins called from the shelter. “That your first squad, Craig?” he asked. “Yes. Is that yours?” “No, second. Goodness knows where the rest are. We’ve been here nearly an hour. Either they took the wrong road or we did. We haven’t seen them since about four o’clock!” Sam smiled. “How many of you are there?” he asked. “Only eleven,” replied Mr. Haskins ruefully. “You’ve got us beaten, I guess, unless the Chief and Gifford show up soon. I suppose your second squad will be right along?”