If he had not been absorbed by very pressing business, he might have spared a moment to flatter himself that not many boys could prowl around a sleeping scout camp undiscovered. He was beating them at their own game. But his only thought about this remote scout community was that it was to serve his purpose. Two days previously he had never thought about it. Then he had had an inspiration, two days hence he would forget that there such a place as Temple Camp. He found the camp-fire spot, a circle of low masonry, about eight inches high and ten feet in diameter. It was well removed from the nearest building. As he looked at it, it reminded him of a tiny circus ring. It was all strewn with gray ashes and charred bits of log. He was in the very heart of Temple Camp. For as the camp had grown larger and extended up the wooded hillside away from the lake, this nightly gathering place had come to be more than just a camp-fire. Scouts who seldom met at other times, met here. It was the market-place of camp. The roaring blaze which nightly painted its counterpart in the dark lake, embodied the very essence of scouting. And the romance of this enchanted spot lingered in the daytime when only ashes remained within the stone circle, and only upturned boxes and ramshackle benches and pieces of canvas lay about outside, giving silent testimony of the throngs that gathered there when the day was done. The roaring fire is a feature of every camp. At Temple Camp it was an institution. But our stealthy visitor had no sentiment about this merry ceremonial of scouting. He approached the hallowed spot with caution and glanced about. There seemed to be a hill, or spreading knoll, rising from the neighborhood, but he could see no cabins on this rising ground. There was a trail, however, which seemed to come from around the cooking shack and peter out on this slight eminence. He hardly knew what to do. He had not fancied the camp to be anything like this, a community made up of cabin groups and rustic avenues and tiny isolated abodes far removed from the body of the original camp. It was like a little city with tiny suburbs. Even with the information he had, he was hunting for a needle in a haystack. His foot caught in a loop of rope attached to a square of old tent canvas on which several scouts had sprawled. He stumbled, fell over a bench, scrambled to his feet, and was instantly aware of a dark figure on the opposite side of the circle. It seemed to have risen simultaneously with him, almost like his shadow. He was startled, every nerve on edge. Was this another of those uncanny beings appearing to challenge him? The dark figure said not a word, only stared at him. CHAPTER V FACE TO FACE For a few moments the stranger scrutinized the figure. It moved, and he seemed relieved. "That you, Tiny?" he ventured hesitatingly. "It's--it's _Danny_!" said the other, aghast. "_Hsh_, not so loud. Yes, it's Danny. I'm in luck."