"A good turn is a good turn," Westy said. "Maybe everything has changed, but good turns haven't changed. Their own tent is gone, their canoe is smashed--you said so yourself--and they're on the opposite side from Temple Camp. You know our signboard over there, '_Welcome to friend or stranger!_'" "Come on in and get them," I said, "I don't care. I don't care about anything. Why did he ever try to paddle across in all that rain? That was the beginning of all the trouble. A couple of bungling tenderfeet--" As we rowed in and skirted the shore, I could see a dark figure following along at the edge. "Who are you? What are you doing there?" Westy asked. "Want to get across," the person said and his voice sounded kind of husky. "What for?" Westy asked him. I guess he didn't answer; anyway, I didn't hear him, because I wasn't paying much attention. Westy rowed in and the fellow stepped out on a rock in the water and waited. I saw he had a stick in his hand. CHAPTER XXXV TELLS ABOUT A NEW CAMP "That you, kiddo?" he called. "Bert!" I said. "Give us a lift over, will you?" I just said, "What--is it you--Bert? Say yes, Say it's you." "Well, then, it's me," he said; "hold her steady, my leg is stiff. All right, shall I push off?" He stood there in the boat and he was lame and his left hand was hanging in his scout scarf that was made into a sling. In the lantern light I could see the yellow and black stripes. And he pushed against the stone with the stick that he had in his free hand, and started the boat off. All I could say was just "Bert!" And I held the lantern close to him as he sat down. There was a long cut on his face and he didn't have any hat or jacket on and his trousers were all torn and dirty. "Where--did--you--where is Skinny?" I asked him. "Ever see a tiger use a crutch before?" he said. "I'm a punk tiger-- what d'ye say." "Royal--Royal Bengal," Westy said. "The kid is down near the Hudson shore," Bert said, in that easy way he had; "he's at Camp McCord. He's come up in the world since you saw him." "Bert," I said, "tell me--tell us--quick." "Not much to tell," he said, "except Skinny and I are both on the job. We're in the hands of the Gold Dust Twins." "The which?" I blurted out. "That's them," he said, "and if you ever want to guy those fellows you'd better not do it when I'm around. They're fourteen karat gold dust, that's what. Skinny walked around to their camp this morning, to ask them not to believe that he took the money." "Poor little codger," Westy said. "Oh, he isn't so poor," Bert said. "He's in soft with that pair. He went around and asked them _please_ not to believe it--_please_. Do you get that? _Please_. He asked them not to take the money if anyone gave it to them, because it _really wasn't theirs_. That's him. They kept him to lunch and told him they believed him and that nobody could cram any money down their throats with a ramrod. Hey? What do you think of that?"