Roy Blakeley heard these words as in a dream, and even Peewee was silent. The others of Roy's troop looked at each other but said not a word. _No indeed, we should feel like usurpers if there were any question of friendly preference_. These words rang in Roy's ears, and as he said them over to himself there appeared in his mind's eye the picture of Tom Slade, stolid, unimpassioned, patient, unresentful--standing there near the doorway of the bank building and listening to the tirade of abuse which he, Roy, hurled at him. "_If you want to think I'm a liar you can think so. You can tell them that if you want to. I don't care what you tell them_." These words, too, rang in Roy's ears, and burned into his heart and conscience, and he knew that Tom Slade had not deigned to answer these charges and recriminations; _would_ not answer them, any more than the rock of Gibraltar would deign to answer the petulant threats and menaces of the sea. Oh, if he could only unsay those words which he had hurled at Tom, his friend and companion! What mattered it who bunked in the cabins, so long as he knew what he knew now? How small and trifling seemed Tom's act of carelessness or forgetfulness, as he loomed up now in the strong, dogged pride which would not explain to one who had no right to doubt or disbelieve. How utterly contemptible Roy Blakeley seemed to himself now! He tried to speak in his customary light and bantering manner, but he was too sick at heart to carry it off. "He's--he's sort of like a rock," he said, by way of answering Barnard's comments on Tom. "He doesn't say much. You don't--you can't understand him very easy. Even--even _I_ didn't----. I don't know where he is now. We haven't seen him for a long time. But one thing you can bet, you're welcome to the cabins on the hill. He said we wouldn't lose anything. Anyway, we won't lose much. We've got a tent we're going to put up down on the tenting space. You bet we'll come up and see you often, and you bet we'll be good friends. Our both knowing Tom, as you might say, ought to make us good friends." CHAPTER XXXI ARCHER When these two troops reached camp they found the tall scout Archer waiting for them. How much he knew or suspected it would be difficult to surmise. "Uncle Jeb told me I might show you up to the hill," he said. "Some of you fellows came from Ohio, I understand. You're all to bunk up on the hill." "I guess that's a mistake," Roy said. "No, I think Uncle Jeb has things down about pat," Archer said in his easy off-hand manner. "The old man's pretty busy himself and so he told me to be your guide, philosopher and friend, as old somebody-or-other said." The two troops followed as he led the way, the Bridgeboro boys glancing fondly at the familiar sights all about them.