"I guess the picture's the principal thing," Roy said despairingly. "The principal thing is to wait a day or so," said Warde; "and see what we can find out. It looks bad, that's sure. It's his picture as far as I can see. I don't see how we're going to take his measurement; we don't want to make him suspicious." "It's funny how he never speaks about his past," said Roy. "Anybody can see there's something funny about him," Warde said. "What he said about the robin makes me think that if he committed a murder he was probably crazy when he did it. Maybe he doesn't even remember that he did it." "You can't say he's crazy," Roy protested. "I know I like him," Warde said; "I just can't help it. I like him now. Maybe he isn't smart, but he's always thinking about us. He's for the scouts good and strong. Maybe it's because he's so simple and easy--maybe that's what makes me like him so much...." For a few moments neither spoke. It seemed as if both were preoccupied by pleasant memories of their friend. Weak, uncertain, queer he may have been, and a failure into the bargain. Shabby and all that. But his smile haunted them now; he had been their comrade, their friend, their champion. "Something always gets in the way when you try to swing a _big_ good turn," Roy mused. "It takes Pee-wee to manage the big ones," said Warde. "Poor kid," Roy said. Again neither spoke. A loose board creaked somewhere in the darkness. A crude little weathervane, the handiwork of some departed soldier, rattled nearby. "_Listen_," said Roy. "Do you hear that voice again?" As he spoke a long, discordant cry could be heard somewhere in the distance, ending in a spasmodic jerk. It was like nothing human. Yet strangely it suggested something human. As if some unearthly ghoul were trying to simulate the wailing of human anguish.... Then again it was quite grotesque, bearing no resemblance to the cry of a living thing. "What do you suppose it is?" Warde asked. "It's a--I don't know," said Roy doubtfully. "I never heard anything just like that before." The sound was not continuous, but came at intervals. "Do you know what I'd like to do?" said Warde. "I'd like to get just one good look at Blythe while he's lying asleep. I'd like to see his face calm and still like in the picture. I'd like to see it when he isn't looking at me." "That's easy," said Roy, caught by the idea. "Let's go. Maybe we can tell better." They returned to their camp, as they called it, through the dismantled frame of the first shack, and past the sleepers under the big elm. Pee-wee was there, tied in a bowline knot, the official knot of the Raven patrol, sleeping the sleep of the righteous. "If he should hear us, remember we're just turning in," said Roy. "Have you got your flashlight?" Warde asked. "Sure," Roy whispered. "Walk softly." They entered the sleeping shack, "Blythe's Bunk," and tiptoed to the spot where Blythe usually lay. Then Roy turned on his light.