Anyway, at supper all the fellows were shouting about Skinny. Everybody said he'd have the gold cross--even Uncle Jeb and Mr. Elting. And you never hear Mr. Elting saying much about those things till he's sure. All the Elks were shouting about the gold cross and where they'd keep it, just as if it was theirs. Hardly any of them said anything about Skinny. At camp-fire it was just the same only more so, and I noticed across the fire that Mr. Ellsworth and a couple of the scoutmasters were talking together and I guessed they were deciding about getting a searching party started. Pretty soon Bert Winton came over and squatted down alongside of me. "Kind of hot on the other side," he said, "flame blows right in your face. These fellows all in your patrol?" I told him, "Yes," and then I said, "mostly we hang together." "Good idea," he said; "any news of the little codger?" "_I_ couldn't find him," I said, kind of mad like. "Guess he didn't go far," he said; "just wanted to get off by himself and think it over. Natural enough. Didn't hit his tracks, did you?" I said, "Nope." "Stole a march on you," he said. "Oh, sure, he stole a couple of marches," I said; "maybe he even stole a look." "Well, he stole away," Winton said; "he'll be back." Cracky, I couldn't make heads or tails of that fellow. Somehow I kind of liked him--I couldn't help it. CHAPTER XVII TELLS ABOUT CAMP-FIRE AND SKINNY All of a sudden I heard a fellow shout, "There he is!" And then everbody around the camp-fire set up a howl. Skinny was standing in the dark away from the fire, just as if he was afraid to come in among the fellows. His uniform was all wrinkled and stained and he looked even worse than he did other times. There was a long mark on his cheek where I guess the gold dust twin had scratched him, and he didn't have his hat or his shoes. _Good night_, he didn't look much like pictures you see of heroes. But he was all quieted down, that was one thing. I guess he was played out. "There he is, the crazy little Indian!" a fellow shouted; "come in here, Skinny, till we get our fists on you. You've won the gold cross, you little spindle shanks!" Then a lot of fellows shouted, "Hurrah for Skinny! Come here, Skinny, till we pat you on the back--you little water snake!" They didn't even seem to know his last name or his front name either, and it made me mad. "You trot right over here to mamma, Skinny," Vic Norris of the Elks shouted; "we'll take care of _you_." The kid was smiling, all confused, as if he didn't know _what_ to do. "Come ahead over; don't be scared," Connie Bennett shouted. So then Skinny went over, kind of bashful and staring all around him, and sat down with the Elk patrol. Westy leaned over and whispered to me, "_Can you beat that?_ His own patrol leader telling him not to be afraid to go and sit down with his own patrol! I'll fix that bunch," he said.