"We're not going to tell about this to-morrow and maybe not the next day," said Warde. "We're going to make _dead sure_. Then if we have to, we'll have to, that's all. Blythe isn't going to run away and I don't think they're likely to take that notice down for about forty-eleven years. We don't want Mr. Ellsworth blowing into that post office; not yet. I'm not worrying about my scout rank, that can wait too. I'm thinking about what we've lost--maybe. I'm not thinking about what I wanted to get. Everything--it looks like--everything is changed--all the fun and--what do I care about the old badge?" Thus spoke Warde Hollister, second class scout. CHAPTER XIX THE DULL BLAZE This was all very well, and his willing sacrifice of the coveted badge in the interest of friendship and loyalty showed Warde's character. But he and his two companions found small comfort in an excuse for delay. This was a serious business, a business for man's handling, and in their hearts they knew it. Yet on the other hand it seemed right, and due to their friend, that they should make assurance doubly sure. One fact, and only one, did comfort them. Blythe wore no double-breasted vest; he wore no vest at all. But in the downward path of tramp life and poverty, the vest is very apt to disappear. Against this little gleam of forlorn hope was the fact that Blythe did wear a gray suit. And that suit was very old and shabby; as old as the notice with the picture, surely. For the rest, the printed description seemed all too accurate. It was a preoccupied and downcast trio that made their way through the old reservation to the scene of their recent toil and pleasure. How familiar seemed the spot! How friendly, and abounding in pleasant memories of their odd camping adventure! Their companions were just getting through for the day. Doc Carson and Connie Bennett were shinnying down one of the corner uprights of a bare frame, several scouts were piling some odds and ends, and Blythe, anxious as usual to get the camp-fire started, was gathering chips and small bits of waste lumber for that purpose. He heard them coming and looked up smiling. "We're going to have a big one to-night," he said. "You said it," called Roy. "A welcome home fire, hey?" said Blythe. Roy felt almost sick. "You're just in time to cook supper," said Westy. "We were going to send a tracer after you. What news?" "We'll tell you later," said Warde. As he spoke, the "boss" walked toward Blythe's Bunk, as the scouts had named their little headquarters, and tumbled his gatherings near the fireplace. Warde tried to determine whether he did actually walk a little sideways. But he could not be sure. It is so easy to imagine these things, to see something when one is looking for it.