"If I did, it was only fair," the older chap said suddenly, in low, abrupt tones. "I--I've been a beastly cad, Dale. I've worked against you every way I could." His voice grew sharp and self-reproachful. "I kept it up like a stubborn mule even when I began to see-- Why, look at the rotten, conceited way I kept you out of baseball. After that it was only--decent to do what I could to--make up." They stood in the moonlight, the water at their feet, while back among the trees the fire blazed up, sending a shower of sparks drifting across the spangled heavens. The talk and laughter of the crowd gathered there seemed to come from very far away. "You did it to--to square up, then?" Dale asked presently in a low tone. There was another pause. Suddenly an arm slid about his shoulders, and for the first time Ranny turned and looked him squarely in the eyes. "No," he answered quietly. "It was because I wanted us to be in camp--together." CHAPTER XXVII THE SURPRISE The last barrier of reserve between the two had fallen. From that moment they were friends of the sort Dale had sometimes dreamed of, but only lately dared to hope for. And as the weeks lengthened into months, as summer sped along to fall, the bond grew closer, until they became well-nigh inseparable. In school and out, on the football field, at scout meetings, on hikes, they were always together, until at last those early days of clash and bitterness seemed as unreal as the figments of a dream. Troop Five held well together during the following winter. Inevitably, two or three boys dropped out and new ones took their places. But the majority stayed on and had better times than ever on the lake and in their cabin. After Christmas they began work in earnest on their share of the big scout rally, which was to be given in the spring to illustrate for the towns-people the aims and purposes of scouting, and also as a means of gaining new recruits. Every troop was to take part, and not a little good-natured rivalry developed between them. Troop Five was to illustrate the various uses of the scout staff in a number of drills and formations, the most effective and also the most difficult of which was one that Mr. Curtis called the riot wedge. Though necessitating a good deal of hard work, most of the boys were keen about it, for they were determined to excel the work of the other troops. Perhaps the only fellow who complained was only Bob Gibson, and he wouldn't have seemed himself at all without finding something to grumble about. "Gee! but I'm sick of this silly drill!" he growled under his breath one night when they had been practising steadily for an hour. He slumped his shoulders a bit and his staff tilted to a slovenly angle. "What's the sense of it, anyhow?"